Tuesday, September 12, 2006

I read conversations, saved on my computer, that he and I had nearly seven years ago. Our inferior vocabularies, our youthful exuberance, and references to first-run Simpsons episodes that were still funny are all reminscent of a very different time. I was trying to break him into liking the newly-released "Mad Season" CD by Matchbox Twenty, which, of course, wasn't going to happen. We planned impossible trips to Mexico. We invented words together-- Sarcasmic. We didn't yet know each other's last names-- I still called him Andrew-- and we were learning bits and pieces about each other in a way that was constantly new and exciting; we had the advantage, I suppose, being that our lives were still new and exciting, back then.

I like trying to figure out how old the conversations are from the context clues, since the harddrive has been moved from computer to computer enough so that the "date created" stamps have nothing whatsoever to do with the date they were actually created. But I feel pretty safe to say that we're partying like it's 1999.

Two days ago, we had a conversation which has left me thinking of very little else, with the exception of the recently persistent feelings of dread which drove me to go to him in the first place. I've been thinking about how badly I needed to confide in someone about my plans, how I expected him to react; the quite unexpected way in which he did react. I am thinking about his anger laced with compassion, his telltale frustration which revealed a surprisng concern for my wellbeing, and, consequently, his. My future and his; two things I honestly didn't expect to have become woven together in seven years of online conversations, scattered late-night phone calls and three real-life appearences.

Not out of lack for my love for him, mind you.

He told me, "I guess all I can say, is that from what I've learned from you, from what I've experienced through you and from the person I've come to know as Linda, if you're done with it, then Andrew Elorza, being forever less than that, has even less to hope for and to expect from himself."

It's what stands out about the conversation now, that concept...what he's experienced through me, the person he's come to know as Linda. He seems to know my weakness for people calling me by my name. He seems to know that all I've ever really wanted from him is the chance to know him, the chance for him to know me, and the chance that one day, the extent of my esteem for him would be mutual.

That's the thing that stands out about the conversation; that, and the ending line, which has me terrified. Something I've waited so long for, and now I fear it was all out of...strategy and desperation. One line that, in this particular relationship, has become something of a holy grail. One line that has brought down epic friendships before-- a line that brought down me and Casey. But, then, I've seen a lot of people come and go in the time I've known Elorza.

I want to tell him I'm terrified, but it's a bad idea to give the event the attention that...that I've already given it, times ten. It's a bad idea to acknowledge that I've been thinking about it, but I get so detrimentally honest when I'm scared. It's an instinct. It generally happens when my planning or manipulation has gone badly, when the things I've been hiding are blowing up in my face. When I can't keep track of my own lies anymore. So I tell the truth, all of it.

That, I guess, is what this is. Odds are, he'll read this eventually, and then I'll be exposed, and he'll realize that I paid attention when he said it, and he'll regret it. He'll be afraid to take it back-- no one wants to disappoint the girl who's unsure whether or not she wants anything to do with her future-- he'll be convinced it'll upset me more. Instead, he'll avoid me, block me, not come online for a few months.

God, I hope I'm wrong. It seems I've lost my ability to believe anything but the worst.

I should have quit the word when Casey did, when Casey suggested that I should, too. I should have adjusted my vocabulary, clung to awkward phrasing. "Ineffable fondness." Didn't give that it's due credit. Seems fucking perfect, about now. Had I been willing to go with that, I wouldn't be where I am now with Elorza, and I'd still have Casey as a buffer. It's just, it didn't seem honest enough for me. And I get honest when I'm scared.

Which I always am.

Scared shitless and detrimentally honest. That's what this is, I guess. On with it.

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