Unrealistic Expectations * * * You would have been hard pressed to find anybody to tell you that it was anything short of insane for me to think that there was even a glimmer of something of consequence that summer. In fact, I would have gladly led the brigade (or at least contributed generously to the fund). Any yet (there's always an 'and yet' isn't there?) I always went back because...Because there was always just enough to string me along. I'd laugh along heartily with the others at the absurdity of it all but in the back of my mind I'd still remember the touch on the arm, the hug that came from nowhere, or the kiss that was just because. In a strange way it was just as meaningless to me as it was to her, perhaps even more so. She's flash me a devastating smile and slap me on the shoulder in mock fiddle-dee-dee fashion and I'd try and restrain as much awkwardness as I could from a laugh that betrayed to much anyway. All the while though I knew that in the part of myself that exists beyond the moment, beyond the thing that is gone five minutes later, I didn't give a shit. It was like a moment of childhood fantasy, just twisted. It was scarcely different than if we had been giggling in my big sister's room while making Ken and Barbie "make out" except that when it was over I knew what bars to go to for cheap beer and people that made me look like a God-damned paragon of mental stability. This should be the part where I at least hint at some sort of catharsis, or at least a definite end. Unfortunately there isn't one. Winter came and we both moved on but not enough of me was left behind. Sometimes I see it in the reflection of the subway glass highlighted against the darkness. Sometimes I see it in the pattern that looks like it's about to repeat itself before I'm saved in the nick of time by remembering one of the few truly helpful things I ever learned.
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