princess_buckethead

His Best Friend

March 15 2001

It’s been almost 12 hours. I’m half afraid that the more
time that goes by the less likely it is to happen again.
It’s not as though it hasn’t been mentioned, since it has,
but simply in passing as a joke or a backhanded comment.

It was nothing like what I had expected. Then again, I’m
not sure I had any real expectations. We both knew it was
coming. It was as though the month leading up had been the
foreplay, and then we were right there. It was unexpected
in the sense that any time we had done anything before it
was always late at night when everyone else was asleep. We
were like conspirators, knowing that if we got caught other
people would have their own opinions to share. We were
sick of hearing other people’s opinions. Everyone else in
the free world lately had been acting on their own selfish
whims, why couldn’t we? So, after spending too much time
coming up with justifiable reasons as to why it was okay
and why nothing else really mattered, we gave up on all of
that and simply let go.

Afterwards I talked to Carrie about it all. I know that I
probably shouldn’t have, but Carrie knows everything
already, what is one more detail going to hurt. She had a
mix of jealously and happiness. While she was excited
about the fact that it had finally happened, she couldn’t
help but look back and reminisce about the time she had
shared with him. But for the most part she had moved on
and knew that she couldn’t hold onto him forever. I had
been worried to tell her. Almost everyone else in the world I can
get over, but if I hurt Carrie I don’t think I could live
with myself. She has shown me strength, support and
unconditional love time and time again. No
one else laughs at my mishaps with as much enthusiasm as I
tell them. I knew that by telling her I ran the risk of
having to stop things completely, because if it bothered
her too much, I would.

The funny thing is, it wasn’t finally going through with it
that meant anything. It was before and afterwards that
mattered to me. I know that this isn’t good; I know that
if I hold on to that too tightly I’m going to get hurt. But
for this moment, at 1:04am, I can’t see any harm in
admitting it. I could forget everything else that happened
this afternoon, but no one will ever be able to take away
the fact that we built a fort, told scary stories and
laughed about what kind of children we were. No one will
ever be able to erase the fact that he always gives me
little, “condescending pats on the head.” I hate to admit
that I like them at times, but I do. They send this surge
of feeling safe throughout me.

I don’t know if I want to happen again. It was good this
time, but I’m afraid that if it keeps happening I won’t be
able to stifle the feelings that I know are right there.
They are right under the surface. I can do it now, I just
have to keep telling myself to keep my eyes open and pay
attention to the truth. But I know how I work, and it
would be so easy to shut my eyes. That would do no good,
the feelings aren’t there for him. I know this, but I can’t
deny that I want that to change. I can’t help but question
why? Why is it that he doesn’t want anything more from me?
Why is it that I can see the truth about him and yet that
doesn’t alter anything? Why is it that I can’t just put
these feelings for him aside like I have countless other
times and just get on with my life? What hold is it that he
has on me?

I put on an act when I’m with him. It’s one that is
slightly coy and flirtatious…one part tease, one part
little kid. This is the only way I know to keep myself
from letting him in completely. But there are times, times
when I will catch him looking at me with this look in his
eyes, that I want nothing more than to let my guard down
completely. But I can’t. I know that his is a brain that
is constantly moving forward, already onto it’s next
thought before it finishes it’s last. I would love, just
for a single moment to be inside that head. I want to know
once and for all what it is that he is thinking when he
looks at me like that. That look scares me though. I know
how easy it is for him to turn things around to make him
look good; how easy it is for him to manipulate people to
believe what he tells them. I don’t want to be some
sucker.

The funniest realization today was that everyone else in
the free world saw this coming from miles away. I didn’t.
There have always been jokes and remarks, but never ones
that I took seriously. However a comment made when he and
I went out to lunch over the Christmas break has
continually stayed on my mind. “If Justin were not in the
picture you would have a thing for Crystal” a friend of his
said to him. I want to pass it of as just a random
comment, something he told me simply to make me laugh.
Something is keeping me from doing that though. Maybe it’s
simply that it was the first mention that there were actual
feelings behind the jokes, or maybe it made me realize that
if Justin weren’t in the picture I would have a thing for
him. Or better yet, it is just my normal analytical self,
trying to find something that I can hold on to. But
nevertheless, this part of me can not let go of the
question I have in my mind of whether or not he agreed with
this friend.

I’m torn. I don’t want to be the latest notch on his
bedpost, or his “wham bam thank you mam” girl. I want it
to be more than that. So I am stuck between listening to
my head and my heart. My head says, “just enjoy it while
it lasts,” and then doesn’t give it another though. My
heart says, “keep doing it and maybe he’ll come around.”
But somehow that seems too much like manipulating to be any
good. Then there is of course, the one other thing we all
listen to…the wonderful world of Lust. She tells me just
to lay back and enjoy the ride…in not so many words of
course but complete with an array of visuals that keep me
awake long after I should be sound asleep. And so I think
I’ve pretty much given into a nice mix of my head and my
libido. It seems to be the perfect solution. This way I
still get what I want, but there is no fear that I’ll get
hurt as well. I get the best of both worlds, his
friendship and the benefits. But then again, at this point
in time I have no way of knowing if all these thoughts
matter. It could have been a one-time thing.

He just walked in the room. I admitted outright that it was
him I was writing about. A look of worry passes over his
face, as though he is afraid that I am judging him in
someway that can not be erased. Welcome to the world of
the written word, it can always be erased. He wants to
know if he can read it. That I’m not so sure about. Part
of me wants him to, but I am terrified to let him know the
truth of the thoughts that run through my head. I’m afraid
that these thoughts alone, whether acted upon or not, will
send him running for cover.