the length of waves

Day eleven rolled in and it was bound to be a good one; I was going to see one of my favorite bands play. Though I thought my most prominent emotion would be excitement, I was full of exhaustion. Between my work schedule, workout class five days a week, doing the things I wanted to do, writing about the things I did that I wanted to do, and this pain in my jaw that keeps me up (still) every night, I’ve not had much rest as of late. After class I came home and napped; I skipped the opening band. I contemplated if I could even get out of bed to see the headliner, again, one of my favorite bands of all time. I slid out of my sheets unshowered, no makeup, threw on a tshirt, a headband that I knew was going to make me look like a mushroom later, and walked out the door. It didn’t really matter, I was going to the show alone, arriving right when the headliner went on, and would be standing in the dark. Phantom of the Fonda, that was me.

Lately, I’ve not spent much time indulging in my usual habits of social media satisfactions, at least in the realm of seeking out others moments of glorification. This is, perhaps, one of my favorite side effects of this experience. I have been so focused on self-exploration, finding my happiness, living my own life, that I’ve abandoned anything that wasn’t my own personal present. But for some reason, in the middle of the night hours on Saturday, when my body couldn’t rest, on this high of new discovery, I opened my world to other people’s currents. And he was engaged. And I was grounded. I tried to stay grateful. But I felt it all.

This is important because I am an emotional person. Not emotional in the sense that I show them frequently, but in the sense that I feel them deeply. As I stood at this show, of a band that connected us, my mind wandered. He lives in a different state now, but it doesn’t change how close to home some things hit. That announcement debuted on the world wide web during this sober time for me, which is perfectly punctual, as my obsession with alcohol was really a key component in the destruction of whatever it is that he and I had. He cared about me in ways I didn’t understand, in ways bigger than I could imagine, in ways I wasn’t ready for. I was lost in my own life, my own insecurities, and couldn’t drag out of him the one thing I needed. None of this matters now. Obviously. I captured a video of a song that reminded me of him and even in my sober mind, texting it to him with a congratulatory message felt like a really good idea. I stood on the corner, in the cold, while I drafted up the perfect message. Like a pocket sized hero my phone battery died and robbed me of my made for movie moment. Or so I thought.

painting of a panic attack.

Cool job phone, you. are. a. hero. But, how am I getting home? Since I couldn’t even consider the thought of trying to find parking after my somersault out of slumber, I had ubered over; now I was standing here sans car beckoning system. My hero became the villain. I decided to walk back to the venue to see if maybe I could get a little boost of battery to call a car. And then it happened. Cue the movie.

There he was. Underneath the marquee. Not in his new home state. Let me also fill you in that the last time we had talked (and by we I mean I talked at him) was not the most pleasant. I felt pretty irritated about recent behavior and ended it all with a “you’re right, closure’s overrated anyway.” But there he was. I said congratulations to him, she came to meet his side, and I congratulated her, too. And it wasn’t just one of those congratulations people say through their teeth because it feels like the adult thing to do, I really meant it. I don’t know her very well, but I know him. I knew him. And he deserves anything and everything good; I’m happy for them. We make small talk and she points out that I bought a poster (which ever so appropriately says “painting of a panic attack” on it) and I tell them about my phone. Part of me thinks that maybe they can and will help me, but really I just err on the side of otherwise. I made my quick and awkward escape and slid in to a taxi of relief. Or so I thought. Turns out homie didn’t take cards (which I now know is illegal), so I then had to make my mildly mortified exit right back out of the car. I started walking home. The Fonda is 1.4 miles away from my apartment, which means it falls in to my category of casual walkable distances (anything under two miles). It’s not the safest of walks, and certainly not without a phone, but my brain feels like it’s going to explode so I do it anyway.

 

you’re acting all holy, me I’m just full of holes.

Like most unsettling things that happen to me, I am glad that it did. Not only was I faced with the regret I’ve felt for a couple of years, but it’s a regret caused by something that has triggered this current beautiful time frame in my life. I am grateful. It is important to see the people I’ve hurt, the people that have seen me at my worst, the people that saw a part of me I’m devastated even exists. The hardest part of seeing him is he is my drinking problem personified, one of my biggest lessons of what you can lose. It is valuable for me to see people find their happily ever afters, while I still try to figure out if my life is a fairy tale or a mad lib where I’m just randomly piecing things together.

But mostly, it is important for me to stop romanticizing things. The person I saw underneath the marquee is not the person I knew before. Not the person I loved. Not the person I thought I had a forever friendship with. And I am not the same person either. Not the same I was two years ago, not the same I was two weeks ago. We are constantly growing and changing and becoming. And I need to remember that. This night was by no means closure. There are still little frays that I refuse to pull at because I can’t bear for any holes to get any bigger. But I needed this. This was good.

My phone turned on after about a half mile of walking and offered me one percent of battery which was just enough to get in to the back of a stranger’s car, who then provided me with enough charge to check my instagram to find that black light sublime poster dude got engaged tonight. And shit, I guess there’s someone out there for all of us.