Reconciliation

I cried, and in my tears, he was there. In a red sweatshirt, and jeans. He wasn't smiling, not quite. It was a smirk. His warm brown eyes dancing with amusement. He sat back in his chair, his arms stretched and resting behind his head.

"You thought you said you loved him" he observed. I grimaced.

"I know."

His smile broke from his suppression. There was a hint of regret. Sadness.

"Did he feel like me?"

"Not in the least," I answered with an arched eyebrow. I sighed and mirrored his pose. Looking at him, his intelligent warm eyes, his chestnut hair that curled out from underneath this dirty, well-worn, used to be white hat, his cheekbones that were barely chiseled, his seemingly delicate mouth that was bold enough to say anything, all of him. The carelessness and ease that was Warren sat in front of me, content simply to be. I ignored the familiar stirring within my chest. No, if anyone felt like him, I knew to run.

"I suppose our sitting here means you aren't over me" he began. I laughed, interrupting him.

"Oh, I would never come back to you"

"You never left" he pointed out calmly.

"I left. Oh, Warren, I did leave. And I will never go back."

"What are you looking for, may I ask? What in the world were you using this boy for? You couldn't have been in love with him, since you're still in love with me."

"I'm not!" I protested. I scowled like a child at him. His smile was gone again, his face impassive. We sat like that, watching each other, until I sighed and gave in. "I loved the relationship. The closeness. The imitation of what I could not have with you."

"Ah" he said, nodding with understanding. "But?"

"But what? Why do you always have to know more? You pry too much in places you should never have been in the first place."

"You were the one who fell for their TA."

"Don't remind me please" I rolled my eyes in contempt. "The whole thing was a mistake."

"Yes," he agreed, "but was it unnecessary?"

"No" I admitted with another sigh. "No, I knew he wasn't you. I knew I wouldn't feel exactly the same way. He's not exactly Mr. Dreamy. But I suppose it is something of the same. I wasn't in love with him, but I was in love with something. It was so easy to forget you, when there was something else. Not someone, but something. I did feel this then though too. The need to not stay still. When you left, it hurt because I loved you so. And it hurts now. But the pain, it is not unfamiliar, and it is not unbearable. It is heartache to change. I only hope I can take it better than I did the last time."

"And not find yourself another boy to use you?" he supplied with a smirk.

"I used him just as much" I shot back. We glared again before I let it go and sighed. Silence fell between us, just as it had before. Unbearable silence that we both suffered through, stubbornly.

"Is this goodbye?" he asked the silence, looking away from me. He never could look me in the eye when he wanted me to leave.

"Is it ever?" I asked as I stood, shaking the hair from my face, an act of familiarity for him and for me. He chuckled and watched as I left, letting the door close behind me. I hoped I would not be back.

After a long absence

I may take a moment to explain a few things. Just as Calvin may have crashed a golf cart into a tree last night.

"I'M TIRED AND I'M MAD THAT I HAVE TO DEAL WITH YOUR INAPPROPRIATE CHOICES EVEN NOW WHEN YOU ARE AN ADULT. IF YOU DON'T LIKE BEING LDS DONT CLAIM TO BE ONE BUT IF YOU DO, START BEING NICER, CONSIDERATE OF THE FAMILY AND RESPONSIBLE. I APPRECIATE YOU SERVING MIRIAM BUT YOU DO IT GRUDGINGLY SO IT'S NOT TO YOUR CREDIT, WHEN YOU FACE JESUS HE WILL ASK YOU WHY YOU DIDN'T DO BETTER AND I WILL BE THERE SAYING I TRIED TO RAISE HER BUT SHE MADE HER OWN CHOICES."

I may have copied and pasted this from an email my mother may have sent me last week. I may have cried because of it. I may have printed the whole thing out and may have handed it over to Dan Muhlestein in the hallway of the JFSB the next morning. I may have been angry and yelled and screamed. I may have vented to my brand new roommate on her second night.

I may have made Camille mad. I may have been rude. I may care less for her than I may about the roll of unprimed canvas leaning against my bed. I may know that it may make her cry, and I may feel that crying is good for a person. She may have caused me more tears than I may have her.

I may have taken an alcoholic to a grocery store to buy food where he may have bought beer. I may have gone to a coffee shop with him and may have let him smoke a cigarette while discussing religion, faith, agency, and reactivation efforts. I may have listened when he told me about going to counseling with a group of porn addicts. I may have invited him to church with me.

I may have texted Calvin the other day while I may have been sitting in a basement to give me an excuse to leave after I didn't leave when I may have had the opportunity. When I did leave, my friend may have been mad that I felt I may have had to make up an excuse. I may have not wanted to tell him it was because I might have known I shouldn't have been there.

Calvin may have told me something like "You gotta do this on your own" and he may have really meant it. I may have known he wouldn't bail me out, and I might have known all along why. I may have known I would do it myself even before I may have asked him.

I may have actively decided to fail Whalquist's class because it may have been a waste of time. It may be the most worthless class offered, and BYU may owe me tuition money back for it. I may be morally opposed to busy work, and I may not really have cared to go to class. I may have felt I had no other option but to go. I may have struggled to get out of bed every single morning, I may have pretended to care. I may have given each and every one of my teachers a fraction of an effort. I may have read a newspaper in the back of Tuttle's class. I may have learned absolutely nothing. Cronin may have told me that that was not an option for me anymore. She may have demanded that I retake her class in the Spring, and I may have taken that as an answer to prayer. I may have asked specifically where to start in my efforts of putting things right. I may have felt the Spirit.
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I may have gone to see my bishop. I may have gotten a blessing. I may have scheduled my life as an attempt to fix it. I may have said I was sorry. I may have bruised my knees kneeling on tile when I prayed. I may have called on God to take care of my problems so that I didn't have to deal with them anymore, and I might have gotten a no. I may have gotten a trust me and you may get through them.

I may have spent my day working and reading and gaining my intelligence back. I may have written all over my copy of All The Pretty Horses as I read it, which Dr. Cronin may have told me to read instead of The Road. I may have spent the last couple hours at the library atoning for my lack of concern all of last semester.

I may have said I'm sorry, and I may know that for the most part it falls on deaf ears. I may be writing to a specific person knowing that I may have made them angry. I may be perfectly willing to face God for this post, and I may know that I might be better off if I leave it alone and let it be buried by silence. I may know this post unearths years of secrets that may all have been buried by silence.

I may just have needed to tell someone, and no one at the same time, because I may feel like I am betraying the trust of multiple people by yelling to the world "I HAVE A PROBLEM." I may be going in for counseling on Monday.

Or I may not.