bits and pieces to soak in.

mystery boy.

you smelled terrible when you walked in. like dirt and B.O. but hitchhiking across america was a pretty good excuse, i thought.

everyone in the store watched you. you had your adorable dog with you. a sweet companion for your trip.

i thought you were so brave for what you were doing. you were skinny and you looked hungry. but you had a very big backpack on your back… i worried when i looked at you, but knew you had enough in there to at least take care of your warmth.

you looked like some punk-rocker, but i could tell you were more than that. i asked you questions, but it was hard. it was a busy day, and other people were needing my attention.

another person with a dog came in, and yours went crazy. in all fairness, i am pretty sure the woman’s dog barked at yours first. but it’s neither dogs fault, they just didn’t like each other. the woman scowled at you, and you apologized so sincerely. i hated that she was angry at you, because it wasn’t your fault at all. dogs are dogs. they bark at each other. big deal.

when you left she asked me, “IS THAT OTHER DOG GONE?” so obnoxiously. it made me so mad, all i did was nod. she brought her dog back in. i wished it was yours. yours was much cuter.

the way you grabbed your puppy and held him or her tight in your arms and told them to be quiet was so endearing. your face was so close to theirs, and i could see your bond. your companion. they didn’t fight you back. they listened, and stopped barking.

it was adorable.

i looked at the hat you were wearing. a dirty, faded black cap that said, “FUCK HOMOPHOBIA” on the front. i loved that. this made me question your sexuality, but i didn’t make assumptions, because no matter which way you swing, your hat says the right thing.

when you left, i expected you to say bye. we only shared maybe ten words each. about where you were going, what you were doing. i asked if you went hiking, considering that is something you can do here… but you said no, and told me you were hitchhiking across the U.S.
i asked if you were ending here or starting here.
“neither,” was your reply.

you came from michigan to end in florida. i thought of people i knew in florida. i thought it was an interesting route, and wanted to know more. but like i said, it was just too busy that day.

and when you left, i expected you to say bye. but you didn’t. you grabbed your companion’s leash, and walked out quickly. off to find the next assistant in your fantastic journey.

and i didn’t wish you luck, because i knew you didn’t need it. i just hoped for the best for you and your friend. i thought about how lucky you are, how human you are, and how real you are. i thought about how much you are going to learn, and how much you are going to appreciate living after the journey you take. unlike the rest of us who take it all for granted.

and i thought about how inspiring you are, even though i don’t even know you.

burn to shine, june 4, 2009:

You needed a ride, that’s where it all began. You came to a party full of little high school kids; babies to you, but you came for me. I barely knew you, but I didn’t care. I wanted you there. You insisted on seeing my messy room, and I allowed it barely, forgetting that the picture from prom with my ex was still up. You probably saw it, but you didn’t say anything. On the drive home, there was never a silence. I felt comfortable with you, and that doesn’t happen with just anyone. The freeway was mysterious and menacing, no lights, but I felt okay since you were with me.

Fifteen minutes later we arrive at your house. It was late, around eleven o’clock. There were no stars in the sky, no clouds, no moon. Many curved roads led to your house. Small homes placed within three feet of the next. Small white fences surrounded them, and they were all different colors. Yours was a warm pink, or tan, if I can remember correctly. Of course, this wasn’t your house, but your mother’s, you told me. The night felt blue. A serene, charming blue. The sky subtly glowed; a twilight I knew. There should have been fireflies. The streetlights scattered down the winding streets lit our path, the only light in the world. If not for them, we would have been blind.

Sitting in my car, I briefly explained the situation. The situation you heard about, the one I am sure you were wary of. At the time, I felt differently of this particular situation than I had later. Yes, I was hurt. I was not anywhere near over it, but I liked you. Something about you, and that was enough for me, I suppose. You explained some of yourself to me as well, before inviting me inside. I got nervous. I knew I was supposed to go home, my dad was just beginning to loosen the reigns somewhat, and I didn’t want to risk it. I felt as though I’d never been asked that before, though I had.

We walked in and you immediately defended the decorating, but I didn’t judge. I still don’t. Into the front door, through the living room, we ended in the cozy kitchen. A statue of Jesus was on the wall outside of the kitchen. “My mom isn’t religious, but she puts up statues of Jesus anyway.” It’s clear you disapprove, but I smile. You never turned on a light in the kitchen, because there was one already on, a dim lamp that completed the coziness of the room. You get a beer from the fridge, one you’ve been looking forward to. Behind you is a small bench below a window, against the wall with some seat pillows. I imagined kissing you on it, but stopped myself. Those were silly thoughts that I almost scorned myself for, or at least tried to avoid. Feeling childish and stupid. We talked about the only thing we had in common at the time: the place we both worked. We laughed and joked about how horrible it was, and you did an impression of someone we worked with. I had no idea what to think of you, even to this day I am not sure what to think of you. We never had anything too deep, but there was something. Something sweet and kind, a sort of compassion for each other. When I finally got the courage to tell you I had to leave, you walked me out, hugged me, and we decided we’d hang out soon. I was pleasantly surprised you hugged me, and that’s when I knew you liked me.

Most of our times were spent in that house. Your room: the coziest room. Small, painted the best blue I ever saw in a room. Not too much later from the first time I saw your house would I be sleeping over, buzzed and shy. Staying awake with you until sunrise, talking about everything, half-watching MTV 2 and making fun of the annoying band that was on the TV every commercial break. You didn’t even attempt to kiss me, and I liked it. Not too much later even after that, would you kiss me outside, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.” I’d smile and awkwardly kiss you again, stumbling while I did it, not wanting to leave.

This house, your room; a place I could get away to for a while. Not only get away, but get away with someone I felt who wanted to get away too. So we talked away the world, got under each other’s skin, told each other stories that fascinated us. I never knew such a person. It was not only your stories that fascinated me, but you. You were different, you were open-minded, and you didn’t judge anything about me. I felt new with you, as cliché as it sounds.

Naturally, we dwindled downward, but I was surprised at how quickly it happened. We were interrupted by fate. At least fate is what I might have called it at the time. A confusing series of events that ended us here. Me, even more hurt than I was when you met me. Hurt being an intense understatement, for I have been broken. You, brought up to be brought down. By me, seeming heartless and uncaring, but I cared. I always cared. Even now, I care, yet I feel as though I barely know you. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever know. I tell myself it doesn’t matter, that if we’re meant to be, it will happen. I’m not in love with you. I never was. But like I said, there is something about you that haunts me, that I can’t let go. The flashbacks of you and me, in that house, keeping our hands to ourselves and only sharing our voices, a few scattered kisses. The few moments we treated each other as our significant others stick vivid in my brain, and I can’t help but wonder. The times I kissed you without hesitation, without question or holding back. The ways we lit each other up from a distance, at work or a friend’s house. The way you say hello on the phone after a while of us not speaking, as though you are very pleased to hear my voice. What do they mean? I don’t wonder too often, or dwell on these moments, but when they rise, I contemplate. About you, and wonder if you think the same. Wonder if you think of me as often as I sometimes think of you. Wonder if you wonder.