Forever and a day
I can't focus on writing what I'm supposed to be writing. My hero and my heroine met for the first time, and the dialogue seems to be the easy part. The rest is the toughie-- I want to make the description interesting, and not filler. But then a song on my playlist completely distracted me.
I first heard Fisher's "I Will Love You" three nights after my eighteenth birthday. Listening to it put me back where I was at the start of my relationship with Mike, and all the terrible confusuion and heartache that entailed. A lot of you didn't know me then. Allow me to reminisce.
Mike and I met at AC Moore, an arts & crafts place. I was a cashier trying to make some money the year before college, and he was the custom framing guy. The first time I saw him, my heart jumped so hard in my chest that I felt a very palpable pang of pain. That was my first night at work in February of 2001. I had run out of register tape at station four, and he'd squeezed into the tiny booth to fix it. I remember wanting to lean into his shoulder, wanting to breathe him in, maybe even kiss the back of his neck. Then I realized he was a perfect stranger. Also, I had a very long line of plump housewives to take care of.
Mike started to stay after to watch me clean the paint aisle at close. We'd talk, and most of all, I'd do my best not to sound like a teenaged idiot, which I'm sure I did a time or two. We started taking short breaks together, but he was twenty going on twenty-one. I wasn't about to fool myself, and besides, I'd be going off to college, anyway.
One day, a very awful day that found me sitting in the yarn aisle with awful cramps overwhelmed by various stresses, he asked me to accompany him to dinner. I of course had a very pressing paper to write, and could not. I was terrified that it would sound like a blow-off. But we exchanged numbers, and we had four hour conversations. I thought he was strange, but I couldn't ignore my intuition. I got the worst grade on that paper that I've ever gotten on a paper, a B---- in my teacher's gnarled handwriting. I didn't even care.
We started seeing each other, and when my mother found out about the age difference, she practically flipped her lid. But after the first time I leaned in to kiss Mike, it was a done deal. It was chilly that night, right at the beginning of April. It was our third date, and I'd thus far only offered up thank yous and hugs. It was the sweetest first kiss, something straight out of a movie. Very soft, very natural.
In a matter of weeks, I knew I was in love. I don't jump the gun. In my opinion, you either are in love with someone, or you're not. I was. I knew it, and it wasn't infatuation. Every time we shared a drink or brushed hands, or made silly faces at one another, I knew it. I'd just come out of a one year relationship where I was confused about what being in love felt like. I wasn't confused anymore, because if you're in love, it hits you like lightning and then settles to a warm constant certainty. I was practically giddy. I would space out in class, and then Liz would poke me, telling me that I was smiling to myself. Never had I thought I'd have it so good. Of course, I didn't know that love isn't as good as it could be until it was tested. And god damn, it was tested.
Still, I kept my peace about the L word. About three months in, I fell asleep in the car as Mike was driving me home for a date. As we approached my house, I woke up and groggily said "I love you," as I stepped out of the car. It didn't dawn on me until I'd keyed into my door what I'd said. I was hot with embarrassment. The next day, a mutual friend confirmed that I'd slipped up, but that it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It just goes to show you that your subconscious does not lie.
It took me another month to say it again. I said it, asking him not to say anything back that night. To think it over. Little did I know, over a month later, I'd want to eat my words. Mike had huge women issues, and I knew it. Let's just say that if I had a blunt instrument handy if I ever came in contact with a select few of his exes, I'd happily take batting practice. But long story short, he was fucked in the head about the L word, and about being vulnerable in relationships in general. Honestly, looking back, I think I was vulnerable enough for the both of us.
It took him over a month to say it back. Every time we had a date, every time he dropped me off and he'd kiss me goodnight, I'd wait to hear him return those words. The unspoken question would hang in the air, and after a moment, I'd go. I'd crumple behind my door. I'd cry until I couldn't breathe. For me, if you love someone, you say it. When I love someone, I can't hide it, and I can't bottle it up, and it's written across my face and my body and my lips. I felt like a stupid lovesick teenager. I hated the situation. I felt not good enough.
Meanwhile, things were heating up sexually, and 'everything but,' was driving me insane. It was just another facet of my 'what is wrong with me?' paranoia. Coming so close made me emotionally desperate. If I couldn't have a verbal declaration, I at least wanted an unspoken bond, and to me, that was sex, that was sharing bodies. I knew I was ready, I was in love.
One night, when we were quite close, the tension came to a point. I felt toyed with, like Michael was dangling what he knew I wanted most right in front of me, and not even realizing how badly it hurt me. To be so close... but lack that reassurance that my absolute agony over the issue was not in vain. I was naked and exposed. I got angry, I dressed myself in silence with my makeup running down my face, I spoke bitterly, and I felt empty, hollowed out. We drove home in silence. It was pretty much one of the worst feelings I've ever felt, and I hated that I'd let myself become so vulnerable. Unrequited might not have been the reality of the situation, but there is something terrifying about laying yourself bare for someone else, wearing it all on your sleeve, and hearing silence at the end of the line when all you desperately want is to hear three words.
I was ready to give up. I was starting to feel like a fool, and I was tired of making myself such an open wound. I almost did give up, but talk with a close friend gave the relationship a tiny stay of execution. Mike went to Florida for a week in August, a few days before I left for college. I hadn't heard from him in days, and I started to panic. I actually called his mother. But on day five, a package arived. It was David Gray's Lost Songs album, with instructions to turn to track 5. "If Your Love Is Real." And according to the song, it was. But still, when he came back, he didn't say it. It wasn't until I basically broke down that he did. I knew he was telling the truth, but I couldn't understand why he wouldn't say it sooner. I respect someone's right to internalize, to mull it over, to deal with old demons before moving on. A month was starting to scare me. I just needed verbal reassurance, and I finally had it. I was sitting on my kitchen floor when he first said it. I had my knees to my chin. I slept well that night, because I needed to.
One month later, I was in college. My birthday was very nearly our 6-month anniversary. I was desperately in love. If I didn't talk to Michael before I slept, I didn't sleep. Sometimes, I'm still like that. I will stare at my ceiling until the phone rings. I would count the days until the weekend, but maybe that's just part of the initial adjustment. For my birthday, we went to Macaroni Grill, which is one of my favorite Italian restaurants. On the way home, he gave me my gift.
He'd created a special CD. Each song corresponded to something major that had happened in our first six months: first date, first kiss, my senior prom, my declaration... In addition, he'd drawn a little booklet. I cannot draw beyond stick figures, so in homage to that, each little stick figure scenario corresponded to a song on the cd. For instance, my senior prom corresponded to a stick figure in a tux under a disco ball to the tune of Phil Collins' "I Can't Dance." And the song that represented my words of love was Fisher's "I Will Love You."
'Til my body is dust
'til my soul is no more
I will love you, love you
'Til the sun starts to cry
and the moon turns to rust
I will love you, love you
But I need to know - will you stay for all
time...forever and a day
Then I'll give my heart 'til the end of all
time...forever and a day
'Til the storms fill my eyes
and we touch the last time
I will love you, love you...
Listening to that song for the first time in the car coming back from dinner, I wept quietly. The song touched something very deep within me, from the haunting rolling chords of the piano to the plaintive tone in the singer's voice that I'd recognized so often in my own. To this day, every time I hear it, a lump forms in my throat and I have to blink back tears.
We made love for the first time that night, and then the morning after. I've never sinced worried if Michael loves me. I know it. And we say it. Often.
I first heard Fisher's "I Will Love You" three nights after my eighteenth birthday. Listening to it put me back where I was at the start of my relationship with Mike, and all the terrible confusuion and heartache that entailed. A lot of you didn't know me then. Allow me to reminisce.
Mike and I met at AC Moore, an arts & crafts place. I was a cashier trying to make some money the year before college, and he was the custom framing guy. The first time I saw him, my heart jumped so hard in my chest that I felt a very palpable pang of pain. That was my first night at work in February of 2001. I had run out of register tape at station four, and he'd squeezed into the tiny booth to fix it. I remember wanting to lean into his shoulder, wanting to breathe him in, maybe even kiss the back of his neck. Then I realized he was a perfect stranger. Also, I had a very long line of plump housewives to take care of.
Mike started to stay after to watch me clean the paint aisle at close. We'd talk, and most of all, I'd do my best not to sound like a teenaged idiot, which I'm sure I did a time or two. We started taking short breaks together, but he was twenty going on twenty-one. I wasn't about to fool myself, and besides, I'd be going off to college, anyway.
One day, a very awful day that found me sitting in the yarn aisle with awful cramps overwhelmed by various stresses, he asked me to accompany him to dinner. I of course had a very pressing paper to write, and could not. I was terrified that it would sound like a blow-off. But we exchanged numbers, and we had four hour conversations. I thought he was strange, but I couldn't ignore my intuition. I got the worst grade on that paper that I've ever gotten on a paper, a B---- in my teacher's gnarled handwriting. I didn't even care.
We started seeing each other, and when my mother found out about the age difference, she practically flipped her lid. But after the first time I leaned in to kiss Mike, it was a done deal. It was chilly that night, right at the beginning of April. It was our third date, and I'd thus far only offered up thank yous and hugs. It was the sweetest first kiss, something straight out of a movie. Very soft, very natural.
In a matter of weeks, I knew I was in love. I don't jump the gun. In my opinion, you either are in love with someone, or you're not. I was. I knew it, and it wasn't infatuation. Every time we shared a drink or brushed hands, or made silly faces at one another, I knew it. I'd just come out of a one year relationship where I was confused about what being in love felt like. I wasn't confused anymore, because if you're in love, it hits you like lightning and then settles to a warm constant certainty. I was practically giddy. I would space out in class, and then Liz would poke me, telling me that I was smiling to myself. Never had I thought I'd have it so good. Of course, I didn't know that love isn't as good as it could be until it was tested. And god damn, it was tested.
Still, I kept my peace about the L word. About three months in, I fell asleep in the car as Mike was driving me home for a date. As we approached my house, I woke up and groggily said "I love you," as I stepped out of the car. It didn't dawn on me until I'd keyed into my door what I'd said. I was hot with embarrassment. The next day, a mutual friend confirmed that I'd slipped up, but that it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It just goes to show you that your subconscious does not lie.
It took me another month to say it again. I said it, asking him not to say anything back that night. To think it over. Little did I know, over a month later, I'd want to eat my words. Mike had huge women issues, and I knew it. Let's just say that if I had a blunt instrument handy if I ever came in contact with a select few of his exes, I'd happily take batting practice. But long story short, he was fucked in the head about the L word, and about being vulnerable in relationships in general. Honestly, looking back, I think I was vulnerable enough for the both of us.
It took him over a month to say it back. Every time we had a date, every time he dropped me off and he'd kiss me goodnight, I'd wait to hear him return those words. The unspoken question would hang in the air, and after a moment, I'd go. I'd crumple behind my door. I'd cry until I couldn't breathe. For me, if you love someone, you say it. When I love someone, I can't hide it, and I can't bottle it up, and it's written across my face and my body and my lips. I felt like a stupid lovesick teenager. I hated the situation. I felt not good enough.
Meanwhile, things were heating up sexually, and 'everything but,' was driving me insane. It was just another facet of my 'what is wrong with me?' paranoia. Coming so close made me emotionally desperate. If I couldn't have a verbal declaration, I at least wanted an unspoken bond, and to me, that was sex, that was sharing bodies. I knew I was ready, I was in love.
One night, when we were quite close, the tension came to a point. I felt toyed with, like Michael was dangling what he knew I wanted most right in front of me, and not even realizing how badly it hurt me. To be so close... but lack that reassurance that my absolute agony over the issue was not in vain. I was naked and exposed. I got angry, I dressed myself in silence with my makeup running down my face, I spoke bitterly, and I felt empty, hollowed out. We drove home in silence. It was pretty much one of the worst feelings I've ever felt, and I hated that I'd let myself become so vulnerable. Unrequited might not have been the reality of the situation, but there is something terrifying about laying yourself bare for someone else, wearing it all on your sleeve, and hearing silence at the end of the line when all you desperately want is to hear three words.
I was ready to give up. I was starting to feel like a fool, and I was tired of making myself such an open wound. I almost did give up, but talk with a close friend gave the relationship a tiny stay of execution. Mike went to Florida for a week in August, a few days before I left for college. I hadn't heard from him in days, and I started to panic. I actually called his mother. But on day five, a package arived. It was David Gray's Lost Songs album, with instructions to turn to track 5. "If Your Love Is Real." And according to the song, it was. But still, when he came back, he didn't say it. It wasn't until I basically broke down that he did. I knew he was telling the truth, but I couldn't understand why he wouldn't say it sooner. I respect someone's right to internalize, to mull it over, to deal with old demons before moving on. A month was starting to scare me. I just needed verbal reassurance, and I finally had it. I was sitting on my kitchen floor when he first said it. I had my knees to my chin. I slept well that night, because I needed to.
One month later, I was in college. My birthday was very nearly our 6-month anniversary. I was desperately in love. If I didn't talk to Michael before I slept, I didn't sleep. Sometimes, I'm still like that. I will stare at my ceiling until the phone rings. I would count the days until the weekend, but maybe that's just part of the initial adjustment. For my birthday, we went to Macaroni Grill, which is one of my favorite Italian restaurants. On the way home, he gave me my gift.
He'd created a special CD. Each song corresponded to something major that had happened in our first six months: first date, first kiss, my senior prom, my declaration... In addition, he'd drawn a little booklet. I cannot draw beyond stick figures, so in homage to that, each little stick figure scenario corresponded to a song on the cd. For instance, my senior prom corresponded to a stick figure in a tux under a disco ball to the tune of Phil Collins' "I Can't Dance." And the song that represented my words of love was Fisher's "I Will Love You."
'Til my body is dust
'til my soul is no more
I will love you, love you
'Til the sun starts to cry
and the moon turns to rust
I will love you, love you
But I need to know - will you stay for all
time...forever and a day
Then I'll give my heart 'til the end of all
time...forever and a day
'Til the storms fill my eyes
and we touch the last time
I will love you, love you...
Listening to that song for the first time in the car coming back from dinner, I wept quietly. The song touched something very deep within me, from the haunting rolling chords of the piano to the plaintive tone in the singer's voice that I'd recognized so often in my own. To this day, every time I hear it, a lump forms in my throat and I have to blink back tears.
We made love for the first time that night, and then the morning after. I've never sinced worried if Michael loves me. I know it. And we say it. Often.