The Mild Version
I met a boy not too long ago who made me chocolate chip cookies today, and called me from Blockbuster to read me the list of their new releases. The boy I met did this today right after he made me tea and fed me DayQuil and tucked me into a down comforter on his bed because I have the flu, I think, or at least a mild version of it.
This boy - he was sick like I am - but poured me soup into a bowl and handed it to me with a silver spoon and a napkin. When I looked at him the other day, all pale and pasty and red-eyed he was, I said to him, "You look like shit," and he looked down at me and said to me - I, who was all pale and pasty and red-eyed, I was - he said to me, "You're so beautiful."
He likes to kiss me, this boy, and touch my face and every once in a while makes me laugh so hard I cry.
This is what they call love, I think, or at least a mild version of it.
Because six weeks ago I probably would have gagged had you told me a boy made you cookies and tucked you into bed, or I would have thrown up on your shoes when you told me something cheesy like he says you're beautiful when you feel like hell on earth.
Cynicism, maybe, was the symptom... mixed with occasional pangs of apathy and a general sense of hopelessness.
"Do you remember what you were doing when you were eighteen?" this boy asked me today, his nose touching mine, his hand holding mine underneath the down comforter, post-DayQuil.
"Yes..." I whispered. "Kind of."
"Because," he whispered back, "You're a different person now, you know what I mean? That person doesn't really exist anymore... you know what I'm saying?"
And yes, I did know what he was saying, from the biological point of view with skin cells shedding off and hair growing out and being shaved and cut and altered and such... and I knew who I was and what I was six years ago is not who I am and what I am now, at least for the most part. I'm like I was, I supposed, just a mild version of it.
"I like to think of it," he said, "as a clean slate. Starting over..."
"But what if I was better then?" I couldn't help but ask.
"But what if you're better now?" he said right back.
And sometimes these days even though I feel sick and flu-ey and 'tis the season for all that and then some, I think what if I am better now... better now than I was six years ago, better now than I was six weeks ago, what with the cookies and DayQuil and biological philosophies and all. I'm great, I say, or at least a mild version of it.
This boy - he was sick like I am - but poured me soup into a bowl and handed it to me with a silver spoon and a napkin. When I looked at him the other day, all pale and pasty and red-eyed he was, I said to him, "You look like shit," and he looked down at me and said to me - I, who was all pale and pasty and red-eyed, I was - he said to me, "You're so beautiful."
He likes to kiss me, this boy, and touch my face and every once in a while makes me laugh so hard I cry.
This is what they call love, I think, or at least a mild version of it.
Because six weeks ago I probably would have gagged had you told me a boy made you cookies and tucked you into bed, or I would have thrown up on your shoes when you told me something cheesy like he says you're beautiful when you feel like hell on earth.
Cynicism, maybe, was the symptom... mixed with occasional pangs of apathy and a general sense of hopelessness.
"Do you remember what you were doing when you were eighteen?" this boy asked me today, his nose touching mine, his hand holding mine underneath the down comforter, post-DayQuil.
"Yes..." I whispered. "Kind of."
"Because," he whispered back, "You're a different person now, you know what I mean? That person doesn't really exist anymore... you know what I'm saying?"
And yes, I did know what he was saying, from the biological point of view with skin cells shedding off and hair growing out and being shaved and cut and altered and such... and I knew who I was and what I was six years ago is not who I am and what I am now, at least for the most part. I'm like I was, I supposed, just a mild version of it.
"I like to think of it," he said, "as a clean slate. Starting over..."
"But what if I was better then?" I couldn't help but ask.
"But what if you're better now?" he said right back.
And sometimes these days even though I feel sick and flu-ey and 'tis the season for all that and then some, I think what if I am better now... better now than I was six years ago, better now than I was six weeks ago, what with the cookies and DayQuil and biological philosophies and all. I'm great, I say, or at least a mild version of it.
posted by AllDeTime at 11:10 PM
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