If You Love It, Let It Go

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Quentin Goodwin
5 years ago
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1 If You Love It, Let It Go By Phillip Wenturine What would you be suffering? my friend asked. Time. That was my answer. Time is the only thing that really causes suffering. Reversely, time is the only thing that really causes happiness. And time, such a construct is a complex one. For if you could always have these moments, such moments would lose their touch; they would end up being taken for granted. The same goes with people. We re only ever truly happy in the moment when we re taking time to enjoy life with someone that makes us smile. While it may be nice to take time and smile just to smile, don t we always hope our beam catches someone s eye? And the only reason we continue to smile is the memory of said time with said person. Without memory, there is no time, and without time, there are no memories. And what is the purpose of memory if you have no one to share it with? And I have over a year s worth of memories, memories of happiness. And with memories of happiness comes memories of unhappiness, of sadness and anger and resentment, confusion, regret. For only can the connotation of one emotion, exist in the presence of another. I always assumed I was happy, until I met Neil. Until I met him, I never really knew what happiness was. And I m afraid that the happiness will just be what was. I was broken: a glass jar half opened with visible cracks; scars time has left me with, scars for being who I was in a society that hated who I was. Love after love after love, and all I wanted was love, yet it was as if my love never quite lasted because it wasn t good enough. And

2 who wants to purchase a glass half opened with cracks along the exterior? But I was more. A teacher. A traveler. A graduate student. Someone well read, well spoken. Someone with a warm heart ready to share his baguette while holding hands in Paris at sunset. All of this just hidden beneath the surface. He was a law student. Sophisticated. Small town boy meets big city. Someone who wore a suit and tie but wanted to put on basketball shorts and race to the dog park with Ginger after work. Someone with a lot to give, but new to town and little friends. I was with friends, distracted. He came without warning to the empty barstool to my right. He offered to buy my beer. I said no, but he insisted. I said no anyways. So we talked, and I bought my own beer, and my friends left, and we talked some more. We talked about our favorite movies, his being action Spiderman over Batman with mine being the more intricate, artistic films Zero Dark Thirty, Pan s Labyrinth; our favorite colors, mine orange and his red; my love of beer and his distaste for anything but gin and tonic. I couldn t actually tell if he was gay, if he liked me. But that made me like him. I remember flirting with the bartender just to gauge his reaction. Later I d come to find out that Spiderman only trumped Batman because of Andrew Garfield, so he was obviously gay, but at the time I speculated, and we continued to drink and talk and drink some more. And then we left. He insisted I come back over and watch a movie, and so I did. And on the way he stopped and bought me more beer. Someone potentially chasing me? This was a first. We sat on the couch together, and like a magnet pulling each other to and fro, we struggled with our movements, we d touch and then untouch. We d talk and then let the silence boil. He

3 wanted me to stay, but he didn t say so until a text message after I left. And at that moment, I smiled. I smiled for the first time in a long time, and I knew I never wanted to stop. We discovered each other while simultaneously discovering ourselves. We had no one to confide in but each other, not many others knowing our secret, and we were okay with having no one, until we had each other. I learned to accept him just as he learned to accept himself. Our hearts were intertwined constantly helping the other s continue to beat. And as we accepted one another, our hearts became one, as did our mind, our body, our soul, right down to our fingertips that interlocked together more precisely than a missing puzzle piece. He was the reason for all my prior unhappiness. To put life into perspective. To end my endless search for myself. So many memories, so many smiles over time. Coming home to song lyrics posted on my door, Home is not a bed but where you lay your head, because he heard them and he couldn t pass by without sharing them. Carving pumpkins and cooking the seeds, and him grinning even though they weren t as crisp as they should be. Late night tummy touches just because he remembered it made me feel loved. Starbursts under my pillow, just because. Thanksgivings and Christmases apart, both being sad times because of exactly that we were apart. His gift to me of his favorite book, Catcher in the Rye, so I could read over the same pages he did. Camping on the beach in 20-degree weather, fighting to start a fire while keeping the fire lit within each other. Cruises to the Caribbean, playing with stray dogs and exploring an abandoned island. Adventuring with our new GoPro, and recording our memories together. Kisses on the beach past sunset, our toes touching the foamy water as it crashed over us. I finally got to have a valentine having gone 23 years without one. I bought him this stuffed monkey that he named Hermington. He was the clichéd monkey with I love you sewn onto a

4 heart on his tummy, but he told me he was perfect. We d fight over which side of the bed he got to sleep on each night. And a trip to Portugal, all summer long. A single ticket, just for me, for my grad school classes. The happiness of our relationship challenged overseas. European temptations all around me, and all I wanted was to be glued to a little screen. Staying up until three in the morning, just to see the words Miss you! shine through. I told him this made me know the only thing I want in life is you. I ran off that plane and then into the car. I linked my arms around his and nestled my chin on his shoulder. Words didn t need to express that I had never been happier. The warmth of my cheek on his arm as he drove us back home, back to our abode, a place we created together, expressed it all. Our abode. A choice made to commit to each other; a decision that made us family. And then, like the surge of a storm, the skies suddenly changed; we changed. It was as if we kept getting stuck in a bed of splinters. At first we used tweezers to pick out the thorns. But eventually, over time but without being conscious of time, the hooks dug deeper, scars formed, then the splinters got sharper, and who wants to sleep on a bed of needles? I would complain about my long days at work, how I was becoming so unhappy teaching, and I didn t know what to do. I d vent and rant and vent some more, pouring negativity into our lounge of love. He d stop listening, tune out, fixated more on his phone than on me. And who was on the other end of that phone? He d ask me to take a breath, and I d snap, I d unleash anger instead of love, for how could he care about me but not care about me?

5 I wouldn t be able to focus at work, so I d snap at my students and hide in my closet during planning, spilling tears on the floorboards. I d check my phone constantly to only see the time. When I was so used to daily smiles and How are yous, this hit me the hardest. He d constantly leave to go to the library to prep for the bar exam. He needed to study, but I took this as him giving me space, and I didn t want space, for love shouldn t want anything but to eliminate such a thing. He d complain just like me, about stress and not having enough time to study, but I wouldn t listen and would only snap back, tit for tat, our words hitting each other like a bat. You don t make me happy anymore, he said. I haven t been happy in months! You re full of shit. I was the best thing that ever happened to you. You need to keep thoughts like that in your head, to yourself. I ll bring home another boy and fuck him, right here, in front of you! See if that makes you feel unhappy. But I loved him. Those words weren t mine. They were foreign on my tongue, yet they kept spilling. We went from one bed to two, from sensual moments to always being tired, Don t touch me, leave me alone, you re such a asshole, fuck you, to silence. I couldn t do silence. I never wanted silence, my anger a mere scream for help. I was losing the only good that ever happened, the glue to my cracks, and I didn t even understand why. I d talk in circles, apologize for my words, my actions. Actions will speak louder than words, I said, just give me a chance, and he d give me silence again before saying, Maybe we re just different, it s not just your fault, we just need some space, and I didn t know how to give space; I hovered, I

6 smothered. I m sorry, so sorry, so sorry; if a house has a broken light bulb, you fix the light bulb, you don t get a new house; all we need in this world is someone to fight for us, and I m fighting for us. Sometimes you don t know what you ve got until it begins to fade away. He just gave me silence. He was checked out. Too little, too late. A lifetime, a future full of regret, piling up on my pillow as I buried my face nightly in tears. Don t you see what you have right in front of you? Who the hell else will be so passionate for you? I dare you! Go find someone who will love you better than me. If you close that door, I can t promise it ll open again. Won t you say anything? Fuck you. Fuck you for splitting my heart into a trillion tiny pieces and then dangling me on a string. And I slammed the door. I cried over Hermington, wondering if I d get another Valentine s Day. I wake up reading Catcher in the Rye, in which the inside cover inscribes, I hope you love this book as much as I did. I want you to think of me as you read these words, the same words that I did, that I love. Just like I love you. Merry Christmas. I eat dinner on the dining room table, with which a picture of us rests with a sunset backdrop from our adventure to the Bahamas. I snack on Sour Patch Kids left on the coffee table, with a note on top, We can go from sour to sweet, that I got him because they were his favorite. I reread our countless texts that we ve both saved from the beginning. He told me, I remember when I used to listen to the Macklemore song and think I wish I had a love who kept me warm at night, that made me care if people knew I liked guys, and I would wish it so bad it hurt. And now I have exactly what I was wishing for and I am so happy it hurts.

7 And now I m so unhappy it hurts, wishing I had someone here with me to keep me warm. Yearning for someone to share this bowl of popcorn with, as I watch our favorite movie, but not listening, as I m too fixated on the foyer light that will stay off, because he s not coming home. Our love is like a butterfly. Beautiful, but delicate. And it doesn t touch this Earth often but rather hovers, reminding that the beauty is possible. But not to take it for granted. Like I did. It s like the saying goes: If you love something, let it go. If it doesn t come back, it wasn t meant to be. And for the first time in over a year, I lay here, in a house that no longer feels like home, suffering from time. For the first time in over 400 days, I go to sleep without an I love you or a Goodnight. I close my eyes, without them really being closed, waiting for the illumination of the phone amidst the darkness, any kind of sign that time is working in my favor. I reread the first note I ever wrote him. The end of it being, It s almost impossible to stumble upon someone so special, and even though I m skinny (and you think you re stronger) there s no way I m letting go. I remember one time he told me never to let someone make me feel anything less than special, because that s what I was. I no longer feel special, but I don t think I ll ever let go. She holds me, my best friend, the only pin left holding together my frame. And that, too, will eventually tumble. Time, I told her. If I don t hear back, time is what I shall suffer.

Jacob listens to his inner wisdom

Jacob listens to his inner wisdom 1 7 Male Actors: Jacob Shane Best friend Wally FIGHT OR FLIGHT Voice Mr. Campbell Little Kid Voice Inner Wisdom Voice 2 Female Actors: Big Sister Courtney Little Sister Beth 2 or more Narrators: Guys or