So… I graduated from college this past December…
Finding a job should be easy, right?
Maybe I would feel stronger if I knew death was near.
I was tired. I had a headache. And per usual, conversation had moved from entertaining to awkward. I just wanted to go home. I hated everything about how I was feeling. So I left.
I evaluated my every movement as I walked to my car. I felt fine. I didn’t feel drunk.
All of my friends were already quite drunk when I arrived. So I had a couple of screw drivers. But I hadn’t had a drink in over an hour. I was fine.
The drive home was expectantly dull. When I pulled up to the red light I noticed I cop behind me but I wasn’t concerned. I was a minute away from home. I pull onto my street and of course…
Should I just pull into my driveway? Is that rude? To be safe I went ahead and pulled off to the right, practically in my neighbors ditch trying to get off the road some.
The police officer whom I recognize to be a boy that I went to high school with asks if I am aware that my city sticker had expired.
No, I tell him I didn’t know.
Have you been drinking ma’am?
Will you do a blood alcohol test/sobriety test?
Damn. Shaking from the cold and pure terror I agree to both. Fighting tears I blink away at the light in my eyes and stumble around. Heel toeing and balancing on one leg proves impossible.
Ma’am, you’re under arrest for driving under the influence.
15 hours of starving and shivering in jail. 15 hours of sitting with women, decaying from meth and coke addiction. 15 hours to kick myself for not renewing my city sticker.
This is my life. I still do not know if my blood alcohol level was too high. June 27 is the day the court lets me know.
The moment I knew. The moment I started imagining that we could feel the same way. Was just that. A moment. An inconsequential moment that more than likely exploded in my mind because it was the first moment in years that I felt something real.
People speak of crushes and butterflies as though they aren’t important. That maybe those feelings are driven by lust and hormones. That those feelings are fleeting. Those people have no idea what it means to be crushed, I suppose. After your heart has been annihilated, you beg any God that will listen for the ability to feel.
A crush. Love. Hate. Lust. Anything.
Anything other than empty.
I enjoyed three years of that emptiness. Not even a racing pulse, or an ounce of desire to connect with another individual. After three years of romantic apathy…
I have my moment.
With warm arms around my waist and an odd feeling of finality, I felt it. A painfully beautiful sensation that my heart was in my throat. That my skin was bursting into flames. A crush. Dizzy with a dancing spirit, or an inability to inhale.
Then immediately, my intense moment of content quickly turns into an internal alarm screaming to end this irrational feeling.
This irrational moment.
I wasn’t ready for such an attack. I pulled out of the embrace that shook my every thought and was surprised again.
Eyes looking into my mine. Eyes lit up with a light you read about in books.
A coy glance.
It didn’t seem real. This momentary glance causing a relapse of both joy and anxiety.
So I walked away. I fled from that moment in more ways than one.
Isn’t that what I’d been praying for? To feel?
Several months have passed and I haven’t had the privilege of living another moment such as that. I opted for logic and rationale to drive away any possibility. Possibility that this crush could flourish into multiple moments.
I may be a coward.
Or maybe, I am just too damaged.
I just wish that imagining that moment didn’t leave me wanting more.
I wish my cheeks to flush and to feel my pulse race.
I want you to know me.