Sunday, March 18, 2007

Safe 'til St. Patrick's Day

I didn't cry last night, but I wanted to.

It was the culmination of little things - so many stupid little things - and my insecurities and the alcohol. And a song.

One of my favorite John Mayer songs. "St. Patrick's Day." Hitting just a little too close.

Here comes the cold
Break out the winter clothes
And find a love to call your own
You - enter you
Your cheeks a shade of pink
And the rest of you in powder blue


Colin would meet me and My Girls at our favorite dive bar. But for Lucy, Colin hasn't met any of The Girls. I was nervous.

The Girls don't know much about Colin, other than that he exists in my life. I don't like talking about him with them. It feels too private. I'm strange like that.

Who knows what will be
But I'll make you this guarantee


He came. It was midnight. I was glad to see him.

I always am.

No way November will see our goodbye
When it comes to December it's obvious why
No one wants to be alone at Christmas time


Colin brought friends with him. His party consisted of seven or eight other people - all of whom were very drunk - and a designated driver. It was crowded; they sat at another table.

His entourage included his high school girlfriend, who also happens to be a former soccer teammate of mine. I was quietly horrified.

In the dark, on the phone
You tell me the names of your brothers
And your favorite colors
I'm learning you
And when it snows again
We'll take a walk outside
And search the sky
Like children do
I'll say to you


He bounced between the two tables. I did a few shots with him. Colin was drunk, but not trashed. I wasn't. I had done my fair share of drinking earlier in the evening, but had slowed down long ago. I had no desire to get drunk. I never do.

No way November will see our goodbye
When it comes to December it's obvious why
No one wants to be alone at Christmas time
And come January we're frozen inside
Making new resolutions a hundred times
February, won't you be my valentine?


Colleen, one of My Girls, asked why the girls in Colin's group kept giving me nasty looks. I hadn't noticed.

And we'll both be safe 'til St. Patrick's Day

Colleen is observant and blunt. She gets bitchy when she drinks. When I went to the parking lot go retrieve my coat from Lucy's car, she took the opportunity to corner Colin.

I don't know what, exactly, Colleen said to Colin. I know the gist of it: don't fuck with my friend.

Colleen relayed a few things Colin said, too. I immediately read into it. I interpreted his words as saying that the relationship is one-sided: that everything from the emotion and the desire to the planning and the phone calls comes from me. That he couldn't care less.

I didn't hear the conversation. I didn't even ask Colleen to clarify. I put up my walls.

It's hard for me to put myself out there. I fear rejection. And the only reason that I can be as assertive and as fearless as I am in my interactions with Colin is because I was sure - absolutely positive - that he wanted it, too.

I felt foolish.

We should take a ride tonight around the town
and look around at all the beautiful houses
something in the way that blue lights on a black night
can make you feel more
everybody, it seems to me, just wants to be
just like you and me


I blew Colin off when he suggested that I join his friends at his house after the bar closed. I kept my eyes trained on my friends. I pretended to be engaged in the conversation. I would let him do his thing. I wouldn't be that overzealous, head-first-in-puppy-love idiot.

I had made myself vulnerable enough. There wasn't a better time than the present to protect myself by closing myself off. If he didn't care, then I wouldn't care.

No one wants to be alone at Christmas time
Come January we're frozen inside
Making new resolutions a hundred times
February, won't you be my valentine?


I left before Colin and his group did. I delivered a generic "nice to see you, have a great night" goodbye to everyone at his table. I turned and left.

If you think of me as just another girl, I will treat you as just another guy.

And if our always is all that we gave
And we someday take that away
I'll be alright if it was just 'til St. Patrick's Day


The sadness caught on after I got home.

I scolded myself for being so naïve.

We were over. We were so definitely over. He hadn't ever wanted us. He let me dress up our relationship as though it was a doll, never noticing that he hadn't so much as offered to buckle its shoes.

"She'll grow out of it eventually," I imagined him thinking to himself. "She'll bore of it soon enough."

I fooled myself through St. Patrick's Day.

I hated myself until I went to bed. I slept fitfully, always awaking with my stupidity at the forefront of my consciousness. I hated myself this morning. I promised that I would not be the one to call. I would no longer be the one to initiate. I would wordlessly give Colin the reigns. And he would drop them. And we would be over.

I kept my promise: I didn't call him today.

But it seems that he took the reigns. He called me twice.

Now I'm unsure.

As well as being one of the following:
1. The insecure child who overreacts to a meaningless snippet of conversation.
2. The stubborn ass who clings onto trivial slivers of hope.

And so I continue barking at my shadow and chasing my tail.

7 comments:

M said...

There is a high-percentage chance that anything that is said or heard after several shots of alcohol has the chance to be misconstrued. So I would find out from him what is up.

But you can use this as the catalyst to figure out exactly what he wants and if he is ever going to wise up and treat you right. If not, you have much better things to do with your time.

beingmccrary said...

This pains me. I've been there and I hate to feel stupid even though I'm 99% positive that you didn't, and he didn't think those things that you wrote. We are just harder on our selves. What will never make you feel stupid though....just asking him wtf is going on. Because at this point, it's starts to be less fun. I might be a little annoyed with the girl who cornered him. Would she want someone doing that to her guy? That's just my opinion.

Amy said...

Talk to Colin. Alone. On neutral ground and get it all out in the open. Worst case scenario? The truth of last night is confirmed. Best case scenario, all that you hoped might be realized. There is nothing to lose and clarity to gain.

Talk to him.

P.S. "He let me dress up our relationship as though it was a doll, never noticing that he hadn't so much as offered to buckle its shoes." is a beautiful piece of writing.

Elle said...

OMG you are an AMAAAAAZING writer. Unbelievable actually!!!

This post made me sad. I wish I could wisk you away and introduce you to your perfect prince charming. One who is 180 to Colin.

One who reciprocates and makes you feel safe and secure.

One who truly loves you back.

A said...

Everyone: thank you. So, so much. Especially the compliments on my writing. It took me forever to blog about Saturday night. And I'm glad that I could portray what went on and how it felt. That's why I love this blog. Because, not only do I get to share my writing (and myself) with so many other people, but because it will be here to reread one day.

I totally hope I can look back at this St. Patrick's Day and laugh at myself. Preferably until my sides hurt.

A said...

Amy and M: yes, talking to Colin is a must. To be honest, though, I don't want to do it. I'm afraid of being the needy, insecure girl.

It's so stupid. Because not talking to him just makes me even more needy and insecure.

See? I am chasing my tail. Arg.

A said...

Elle: I want that, too. And, at the same time, I'm not ready to accept that that prince charming isn't Colin. When I do finally give up on him, PLEASE don't let me think, even for a second, that I didn't give him enough chances.

beingmccrary: thanks for pointing out that Colleen did play a part in this. Initially, I overlooked that, and she is not a friend that I've had long enough to just accept her judgment (and maybe not even the way she retold the story) as the absolute.

 
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