elisah
01-18-2004, 03:16 PM
I call and his voice still picks up on the machine. Strong, comforting and still there. I wait for the beep and hang up, hoping he will hear my distinctive click and call. Knowing he won't, and slowly accepting, it just has to be this way.
We met in Junior High. He was dating my best friend at the time and I broke up with him for her. Then took him for myself. Trent was beautiful. One of those children with innocent eyes and an old, old soul. We would talk for hours and I would listen to the rise and fall of his voice. Delighting in having finally found someone who could talk over my head...challenge me. No one else seemed to get him. But I tried.
We had two great dates back then which we still talk about to this day. The first was to the theater. We did the back row make out thing. Only noticing the movie was over when an old man tapped him on the shoulder and let him know it was time to go. It would always be like that. Even now. Kissing him so much like entering into some great void. The whole world melting away. Time spinning in fast forward spirals. Dizzy and spinning and not letting go.
The second date was to Six Flags. I was working in the haunted house and he pulled me out. We spent that night running through the rain. Children. Having finally found innocence and peace after a long hard fight. Soaked to the bone and not caring. We would later idealize this moment. Resurrecting it. Taking ourselves back for anniversaries. Hoping to recreate it. Aware that we had lost it, but maybe gained something so much more.
Shortly after that date, my parents divorced. Aware that love was blooming in my heart, I called him. Curled up under the desk for privacy, I told him I had another boyfriend. That I thought we should break up. Trent agreed then hung up. Throwing myself on the bed and sobbing, I thought to myself, it was only for the best. Having lied to him being so much better than breaking his heart later on. Love like this doesn't last, or so I thought.
We wouldn't talk again for years. Each of us taking the hits of our rocky adolescence. I, running away, accruing various addictions. Him doing much the same. It was three years and two moves later before I would come across him again.
It was my senior year in high school, and I was cleaning my room when I stumbled across my old address book. Finding his number in there, I called it. It had been disconnected. Oh well, I thought, and tossed the book aside. Some things are just meant to rest.
It was three days later when a message was left on my machine. From him. My name had come up in a conversation and he tracked me down. Calling various family until he got the right line. We resumed our conversations. Shy strangers now. Catching up on years that we ourselves could barely patch together. Tiptoeing around feelings we could not yet own up to. Him coming over. Playing with my daughter. Then later over the phone, whispering I love you so quiet, I was afraid he'd never said it.
When my father told me we were moving, all I could think about was losing him. Again. We arranged to see eachother. Each of us knowing it could be our last time. We went to his friends house and there. In his friends bedroom, with the fish tank glowing. He made me his. Taking me, laying me down, making me certain. I would never leave this.
I found an apartment in the projects shortly after that. Because neither of us had a car, seeing eachother was scarce. So we saw other people instead. Sometimes we would talk about it, other times not, but when we were together, that was all that mattered. Each of us understanding that the other had their own journey to travel. Neither one of us wanting to get in the way of eachothers life lessons, but there. Always there to comfort eachother through the hell we got ourselves into.
The projects got tight though. Scary walking through 2 a.m. streets knife in hand, just to work another long night at the bar. Just to make rent on a shaggy territory with crackheads banging on my doors. The day after a bullet slammed through my daughters nursery walls, I decided to move.
I moved to a school five hours away and again we had a break in contact. The last I heard after moving, he had become a father. He would occasionally draw me I love you pictures. I would sometimes call him. Most of the time he wasn't home.
The year that I turned 19, I married. A marriage that would last four years. Four rocky, hell beaten years. I moved back home with my husband. Closer to Trent who I had loved for so long. I would call him, beaten and afraid and he would get me through it. When I decided to divorce, Trent gave me the courage to tell my family. It was his face I pictured as I signed the papers.
We began to see eachother after that. Taking tiny steps. Shy strangers once again. We took our children to the air show. Blending our families. Going to dinner with friends. Grown up. In love. So deep we often forgot where each of us began. Once again his kisses spinning me into a vaccuum of bliss. Every now and then dancing around the idea of marriage. Celebrating 10 years of knowing eachother with a trip to Six Flags.
A living dream. But then, we started to slip. A girl he had slept with was pregnant. We put ourselves on hold. Her being a crackhead something he was unaware of. The truth behind her story, neither of us knowing. Yet another obstacle in our way. A small one compared to others we had faced. We still spoke of I love yous. Still laughing until the sun came up, but different. One of us occasionally tensing up, looking off into the distance. Afraid of what was to come.
Trying to keep what we had left, Trent invited me to a concert. I asked my daughters father, Tommy, to babysit, but he couldn't so I told him I couldn't go. Shortly after, Tommy called and told me he was on his way. But Trent was already gone. So Tommy stayed to visit with our daughter.
Trent called from the concert. Some sort of ruckus in the background. I could hear him yelling and then he was gone. He called me on his way home and heard Tommy in the background. Then lost it. I told him to call me when he got home. We would talk about it. Tommy was nothing now. Just my friend. Father to my daughter. But Trent didn't care.
It was in fact his mother who called me shortly after. Crying. Screaming for us to get out of the house. I gathered up my children, grabbed my keys and made it down the hallway. Stopping when I heard pounding on the door.
I could make him out through the glass and saw some metal pole waving. Tommy sent the kids to the room and I began screamimg for Trent to stop. He did. Only long enough to run through the garage and knowing that door was weaker, begin trying to kick it in. I slammed myself up against it. Screaming please lets talk. Him telling Tommy to prepare to die. Noticing it was a sword he kept poking through the door.
Tommy was calling the cops when Trent slammed through the door. Tommy through him to the ground and all I could do was watch as a bloody war began on my kitchen floor. The phone in pieces on the other side. Help nowhere to be found. Nothing left to do, but grab hold of the sword too and pray for reason. Tommy screaming, God this things sharp, as it drove into his hand.
And then, Trent stopped. Suddenly breathing out and saying I'm sorry as he slumped over in the kitchen. The air changing to calm. Tommy jumped up and went to wash his hand in the bathroom. I kissed Trent on the cheek, whispering I love you one last time, then cursing at the blood on my hands.
Tommy walked outside. Blood dripping from wounds still to be determined. Trent walked to his car apologizing. Tommy asked him to look at his hands then punched him in the face. Trent grabbed the sword and they were off again. Running down my steet. Another bloody battle begun, Tommy rolling up under a car as Trent ran past, then back again. Trent left in blazing trail of smoke as Tommy came walking back and we were done.
Seven police men, twenty-seven stitches and a broken heart, we were done. Trent called me for a week after. Still in hiding. No memory of what he had done. We would cry together on the phone. He called it the most tragic ending imaginable. Something he couldn't explain. Something neither of us will ever understand. Him telling me, no matter what, I could know he would always love me. And I know he will.
Two months later, and I still find spots of blood here and there. Like little memories on the floor, the walls. Bringing me back to a place I would rather not visit. I look at the pictures from the air show and remember him smiling. Carrying my daughter on his shoulders. Upon our entrance there, two planes made a smoke heart. I watched it fade into the sky. Thinking it was placed there just for us. Thinking he had been placed here just for me.
Remembering a love so strong, it stretched across boundaries of time and distance. Unbeatable. Unstoppable. Undefeatable. And I know that this is just another trial for us to go through. Another gap between phone calls. Another journey to embark on. Wishing we could be shy tiptoe strangers once again. So afraid of all the ways in which we could end. Knowing that even now, I'm still not quite sure.
We met in Junior High. He was dating my best friend at the time and I broke up with him for her. Then took him for myself. Trent was beautiful. One of those children with innocent eyes and an old, old soul. We would talk for hours and I would listen to the rise and fall of his voice. Delighting in having finally found someone who could talk over my head...challenge me. No one else seemed to get him. But I tried.
We had two great dates back then which we still talk about to this day. The first was to the theater. We did the back row make out thing. Only noticing the movie was over when an old man tapped him on the shoulder and let him know it was time to go. It would always be like that. Even now. Kissing him so much like entering into some great void. The whole world melting away. Time spinning in fast forward spirals. Dizzy and spinning and not letting go.
The second date was to Six Flags. I was working in the haunted house and he pulled me out. We spent that night running through the rain. Children. Having finally found innocence and peace after a long hard fight. Soaked to the bone and not caring. We would later idealize this moment. Resurrecting it. Taking ourselves back for anniversaries. Hoping to recreate it. Aware that we had lost it, but maybe gained something so much more.
Shortly after that date, my parents divorced. Aware that love was blooming in my heart, I called him. Curled up under the desk for privacy, I told him I had another boyfriend. That I thought we should break up. Trent agreed then hung up. Throwing myself on the bed and sobbing, I thought to myself, it was only for the best. Having lied to him being so much better than breaking his heart later on. Love like this doesn't last, or so I thought.
We wouldn't talk again for years. Each of us taking the hits of our rocky adolescence. I, running away, accruing various addictions. Him doing much the same. It was three years and two moves later before I would come across him again.
It was my senior year in high school, and I was cleaning my room when I stumbled across my old address book. Finding his number in there, I called it. It had been disconnected. Oh well, I thought, and tossed the book aside. Some things are just meant to rest.
It was three days later when a message was left on my machine. From him. My name had come up in a conversation and he tracked me down. Calling various family until he got the right line. We resumed our conversations. Shy strangers now. Catching up on years that we ourselves could barely patch together. Tiptoeing around feelings we could not yet own up to. Him coming over. Playing with my daughter. Then later over the phone, whispering I love you so quiet, I was afraid he'd never said it.
When my father told me we were moving, all I could think about was losing him. Again. We arranged to see eachother. Each of us knowing it could be our last time. We went to his friends house and there. In his friends bedroom, with the fish tank glowing. He made me his. Taking me, laying me down, making me certain. I would never leave this.
I found an apartment in the projects shortly after that. Because neither of us had a car, seeing eachother was scarce. So we saw other people instead. Sometimes we would talk about it, other times not, but when we were together, that was all that mattered. Each of us understanding that the other had their own journey to travel. Neither one of us wanting to get in the way of eachothers life lessons, but there. Always there to comfort eachother through the hell we got ourselves into.
The projects got tight though. Scary walking through 2 a.m. streets knife in hand, just to work another long night at the bar. Just to make rent on a shaggy territory with crackheads banging on my doors. The day after a bullet slammed through my daughters nursery walls, I decided to move.
I moved to a school five hours away and again we had a break in contact. The last I heard after moving, he had become a father. He would occasionally draw me I love you pictures. I would sometimes call him. Most of the time he wasn't home.
The year that I turned 19, I married. A marriage that would last four years. Four rocky, hell beaten years. I moved back home with my husband. Closer to Trent who I had loved for so long. I would call him, beaten and afraid and he would get me through it. When I decided to divorce, Trent gave me the courage to tell my family. It was his face I pictured as I signed the papers.
We began to see eachother after that. Taking tiny steps. Shy strangers once again. We took our children to the air show. Blending our families. Going to dinner with friends. Grown up. In love. So deep we often forgot where each of us began. Once again his kisses spinning me into a vaccuum of bliss. Every now and then dancing around the idea of marriage. Celebrating 10 years of knowing eachother with a trip to Six Flags.
A living dream. But then, we started to slip. A girl he had slept with was pregnant. We put ourselves on hold. Her being a crackhead something he was unaware of. The truth behind her story, neither of us knowing. Yet another obstacle in our way. A small one compared to others we had faced. We still spoke of I love yous. Still laughing until the sun came up, but different. One of us occasionally tensing up, looking off into the distance. Afraid of what was to come.
Trying to keep what we had left, Trent invited me to a concert. I asked my daughters father, Tommy, to babysit, but he couldn't so I told him I couldn't go. Shortly after, Tommy called and told me he was on his way. But Trent was already gone. So Tommy stayed to visit with our daughter.
Trent called from the concert. Some sort of ruckus in the background. I could hear him yelling and then he was gone. He called me on his way home and heard Tommy in the background. Then lost it. I told him to call me when he got home. We would talk about it. Tommy was nothing now. Just my friend. Father to my daughter. But Trent didn't care.
It was in fact his mother who called me shortly after. Crying. Screaming for us to get out of the house. I gathered up my children, grabbed my keys and made it down the hallway. Stopping when I heard pounding on the door.
I could make him out through the glass and saw some metal pole waving. Tommy sent the kids to the room and I began screamimg for Trent to stop. He did. Only long enough to run through the garage and knowing that door was weaker, begin trying to kick it in. I slammed myself up against it. Screaming please lets talk. Him telling Tommy to prepare to die. Noticing it was a sword he kept poking through the door.
Tommy was calling the cops when Trent slammed through the door. Tommy through him to the ground and all I could do was watch as a bloody war began on my kitchen floor. The phone in pieces on the other side. Help nowhere to be found. Nothing left to do, but grab hold of the sword too and pray for reason. Tommy screaming, God this things sharp, as it drove into his hand.
And then, Trent stopped. Suddenly breathing out and saying I'm sorry as he slumped over in the kitchen. The air changing to calm. Tommy jumped up and went to wash his hand in the bathroom. I kissed Trent on the cheek, whispering I love you one last time, then cursing at the blood on my hands.
Tommy walked outside. Blood dripping from wounds still to be determined. Trent walked to his car apologizing. Tommy asked him to look at his hands then punched him in the face. Trent grabbed the sword and they were off again. Running down my steet. Another bloody battle begun, Tommy rolling up under a car as Trent ran past, then back again. Trent left in blazing trail of smoke as Tommy came walking back and we were done.
Seven police men, twenty-seven stitches and a broken heart, we were done. Trent called me for a week after. Still in hiding. No memory of what he had done. We would cry together on the phone. He called it the most tragic ending imaginable. Something he couldn't explain. Something neither of us will ever understand. Him telling me, no matter what, I could know he would always love me. And I know he will.
Two months later, and I still find spots of blood here and there. Like little memories on the floor, the walls. Bringing me back to a place I would rather not visit. I look at the pictures from the air show and remember him smiling. Carrying my daughter on his shoulders. Upon our entrance there, two planes made a smoke heart. I watched it fade into the sky. Thinking it was placed there just for us. Thinking he had been placed here just for me.
Remembering a love so strong, it stretched across boundaries of time and distance. Unbeatable. Unstoppable. Undefeatable. And I know that this is just another trial for us to go through. Another gap between phone calls. Another journey to embark on. Wishing we could be shy tiptoe strangers once again. So afraid of all the ways in which we could end. Knowing that even now, I'm still not quite sure.