Four Years #1

The Friend

I met you in 2015—nearly a decade ago, now—when I first moved into my old home. At first you weren't quite on my radar, primarily due to your rather bombastic friend, Destiny, who made it her mission to insert herself into every social engagement of the youth in our small community. Admittedly, I was taken with her. I believe you saw that, but I always wondered what else it was that you saw in me: was it a kindred soul?; a warm light in the dark?; or was it perhaps the eyes that captivated you, just as they would later in our story?

To be honest, I believe I sort of disregarded you at first—as well as your attempts to coax me from my shell—in part because very few people were ever legitimately that nice to me. Looking back on it now, it's aggravating that I had put you by the wayside in favour of engaging with someone who discarded me so easily not but a few short months later. I believed at the time that you had taken a side when Destiny began to spread rumours about me, but later I realised that it really was just me. I retreated so as to avoid conflict, to avoid uncomfortable emotions, and to protect my already shattered sense of self-worth...but who am I kidding? In writing this piece, to be supplicated to the aether, I have given up control of this narrative.

I choose simply to allow this to reach you, and hope that you see me.

There were a few times where you and I had moments to ourselves during the before times. I had always seen these moments as simple candour—truths lost in the darkness that followed—but over time those discussions, those moments of honesty and open-heartedness...they took on a nearly mythical quality in my life. For example, we had a moment after our group had finished playing soccer with my new ball, and our group had made it a mission to kick the ball into the swamp near the woods. Quick to my aide, you hatched a new plan: some of our group were going to climb the goalposts, and others were going to try to topple the goal. Being a bunch of prepubescent children, we all of course rallied at this moment of newfound entertainment.

You and I would be first to climb. As I struggled, you managed to climb to the top of the structure as if without effort, and you looked back and offered me a hand. You pulled me up, and as I situated myself, the other children found themselves distracted by the neighbourhood dog. Surprise, surprise! You and I both stayed at the top of the goal, though, as we started a very brief conversation about the weather and the beauty of storms. I remember this short chat because of something you said to me near the end: "storms always clear the way for something new."

This stuck with me.

We shared a moment of emotion, eyes locked ever so briefly in a tug at the inane works of metal and grass that surrounded us. At that moment, I grew to appreciate you more than any of my peers, and I have always hated myself for not telling you that.

The Rumours

In the same year, you would approach me a number of times. I believed at the time that you were simply looking to confront me or push me into some new fight, no part of which did I have any interest in—but later I would recognise how wrong I was. I should have known from our conversations that your intentions were pure, and yet I let my pain cloud my judgment. I was vulnerable, and I did not want to be hurt again in new ways.

Eventually, I believe you simply gave up. After all, why chase the soul too hurt to show their self? I really never was certain of why, but I decided to move my bed so that I faced your home on the corner of our street. My strongest theory was that I had hoped to gather the strength to reach out to that which was right in front of me, but as you know, I never did. I languished in this liminal space, for five years.

In that time I learned some things. I learned that Destiny was not this mastermind that I pictured her as, rather we simply had faced a misunderstanding, and in my state of emotion, I had banished myself from people who had no clue why I was gone—people that, I had presumed, were irreconcilably angry with me. I learned that you moved away. This actually came as a shock to me, as part of me had always assumed you would just perpetually be there. I had watched from afar for years as you went about your days, hoping for the day to come where I would have the courage to reach out to you and regain something I felt I had lost, but this was not to be.

The Academy

I had began attending the River Valley Academy about a year before you. I had effectively dropped out of school, although the powers that be would not let me fully commit to that monumentally cataclysmic choice, and so they put me where I would be out of sight and out of mind: the River Valley Academy. It was at the Academy that I found myself again, first in small ways, then in larger ones. Firstly, I began to work on myself. I had gone most of my high school career up until this point looking like a homeless person, and now I was about to be Homeless Person version two-point-oh, and nobody was going to stop me!

I gave myself a small makeover. I began wearing my older attire once more. Gone were the tattered rags and the same jacket, and in had come my old Fedora hat, a new sweatshirt, and blue jeans—which I had been hesitant to wear for even a moment since I had turned sixteen. I was ready to conquer. I was ready to move forward.

And move forward I did! I began to see writing as a career option! I found that I could monetise my writing in some ways that I had not seen before, and I was going to try my hand at this newfound space. Of course, with hindsight, this did not work out the way that I wanted it to, and I would eventually need to find a new way to contribute my work to the world, but for a time I was happy with the arrangement: I would write a piece, submit for review, and await publication. The monotonous rhythm was rather perfect for me at the time, as I had long lacked the stability of any long term project or other consistent form of work.

One day, at the Academy, I recall you telling me that my writing was so good, that I should open my own blog—as an aside, I do believe I have you to thank for this very blog and the courage it took me to put it together—and I remember laughing, saying that my work was nowhere near good enough for people to actually read it. I suppose I should have seen the irony: I mean, I was putting out one to two articles a week for a faceless publication on Medium.com, and getting paid something like the short end of a 40/60 split off advertising and subscription revenue, and yet I did not see my work as worth viewing as art. Regardless, encouragement from you pushed me forward in my work, and eventually this blog would come of it, even through my constant state of depression and anxiety that manifests in some rather unhealthy ways.

On a cold night in early 2020, we found ourselves on a phone call. You were asking all of the right questions and saying all the right things, making me comfortable and making me feel good about myself—and then, you dropped a bomb: you asked, "Mal, do you like me?" and I was positively gubfubbled. I could not fathom at the time what might make you ask this question. Had I given away too much? Had I shared some emotion that I should have kept secret? It was all too much for my brain, but I was determined not to waste the next words that would need to come out of my mouth: "Yes, I do...is that okay?" to which you responded, "yes", with a soft giggle through lips curled into a slight smile. What I would have given to kiss you then… and I’ll forever be kicking myself for not saying as much.

I never forgot that conversation, nor what came after, because your impact was simply too great. You had affected my life now over three separate time periods, and I wanted a chance to show you the effect that you'd had on me over the years. I wanted you to know that I cared. I was determined to return the respect and admiration that you had long afforded me, over even the simplest of things.

There came yet one more day—some time prior to being let out of school on account of the Great Pandemic of the 2020s—where you and I were sitting at a table in a classroom, sliding my phone back and forth across the table in plain view of the teacher and other students. We were leaving notes in my phone that I would keep until the end of time...these things were more valuable than anything, to me, and I would not let your words slip away from me again. It was during this sequence, on this day, that the single most impactful moment throughout our entire journey had occurred: you looked up at me. For a moment, I was nervous. I had just passed my phone back to you with a fresh note for you within it, and I was scared that perhaps I had said something wrong—but no.

You looked at me, and you kept looking. Eventually I looked up to meet your gaze, and there you were. Our eyes were locked, unable to look away from each other, and you made a comment about how beautiful my eyes were. This, I would never forget.

The Present

Fast forward four years, and I have spent many days reliving those old moments, feeling like an idiot for letting you slip away so easily from my life. And in pops a chance: I have found you on social media, and I suddenly have a chance to speak with you again. In that elation, however, is a trepidation: I fear that you do not wish to hear from me. After all, I had unceremoniously exited your life twice now, and I had basically spit in your face by never once even trying to reach out to explain myself. You would not be to blame if you felt some anger at me for these actions; and I never blamed you, but rather myself, because you would still be in my life if only I had the strength to simply reach out. This would be something to force myself into, as fear would never permit me to simply say 'hello!' and hope for the best—NO—fear would keep me safe.

Ultimately, from the beginning to the end, I have felt an uncanny connection with you that manifests in ways that I find terrifying. I fear that with my tender and sometimes timid approach to our interactions, that you may feel I am in some way disingenuous and that you may discard me. I fear that, what with my general abrasiveness and blunt attitude that I would upset you in some way, shape, or form, should I open my mouth to speak.

I fear that you feel I abandoned you, because over the course of time that we have known each other, I have disappeared from your life several times. First after Destiny and I split, then after the pandemic, and repeatedly in the years that followed did I pop in and out—unsure of myself—unsure of whether you even wanted to hear from me.

I fear rejection from you, because I have such strong feelings that I know cannot be reciprocated. You and I are not the same person, and so cannot truly know each other's mind, thusly my emotions are alien to you. I have so many things I wish to say to you that I cannot find the strength to place here, and it is within those words that I find this emotional well—seemingly bottomless—and I do not know what I can do with it other than to share parts of it.

I fear that you will read this—(me pouring my heart out into the void)—and think to yourself, "gross," and never want to speak with me again. I know that these things are simply out of my control but I would be remiss if I said here that I did not fear what I believe, at some level, is the inevitable outcome: rejection and loss.

I want to be in your life, as I said, but perhaps not in the same way that I may have implied over the years. I do not know how to explain it, but I want you to see me for who I really am.

These days, we have our complicated, separate lives and although I am trying to be a part of yours, we remain apart. I wish this was not so. I keep trying to insert myself into your life where I can, in part because I believe that we did have a connection at one point, but also because I believe you may be the one person who can understand me on a meaningful level. Even if we did not have what I thought we had, I want to build something with you. Every fibre of my being wants to be next to you, to take your hand in my own and pull you into my world—in all its dull moments and stolen dreams. I wish for one day to show you a dream of mine, but for now, this short story of our crossed paths will need to suffice.

From the very beginning was I drawn to you, like a moth to flame, and one day, I hope you will read this and see these emotions—my singular act of courage—and I can only hope that you will understand me. I'm truly sorry I have never mustered the courage to say any of this to you directly, but maybe we can build something from the ashes of conquered fear, one day? I hope that this reaches you in a way that makes sense. I can only imagine the feeling of, "where the fuck did this loser get all this from?" but I want to believe that maybe you will read this and understand the mad ravings of my mind, but I really do not expect that. The only thing I want is to remain in your life, and if you don't see things as I do, that's okay. I wish for you to tell me. Heartbreaking as it might be—a broken dream is better than a lie. For whatever it is worth now, I think you are the most amazing person! You are a beautiful woman, with a beautiful heart and mind, and I wish to know more of it.

And so I give you this with great love and appreciation.
~Mal.