laughing through tears. . .

One time my mom was sick and in the hospital, and I was in New York and with David who couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to go to a birthday party with him. He was angry and frustrated at my tears, and he said, “Do you know what I did when my dad died? I went for a run.”

I didn’t even know what that meant. My mom wasn’t dying, but I cried harder. And a run is not a birthday party for a friend he’s never even mentioned before.

I met Ted on Friday after work. The week was long: a fight with Fin, a project that just would not come out right, a million things left on the to-do list. We’d deserved the gimmlets we had before we left that afternoon. As I was getting in the elevator, my mom called to tell me some bad news. Her voice broke; she sounded so sad.

I felt like I’d forgotten something while I was walking, and I wished it would stop raining because I was getting sort of wet. Fifteen blocks later, I realized I’d forgotten my umbrella. I might have been a little drunk when I got to Ted’s.

And we split some pita chips and a six-pack (proportionally according to weight and alcohol tolerance, meaning I had 2 and he had 4) while we watched a movie. I could blame it all on being a little drunk.

Because even I was surprised when my breathing caught in my chest and fat tears showed up on my cheeks. I’m sobbing. And I’m honest-- when we say nothing’s wrong, we don’t mean it. I made a list-- a long, liberating list of worries.

And he’s beautiful. He’s just rational enough to be believable. He takes me seriously while he squelches my irrational fears. This boy says all the right things.

And it’s the strangest feeling. The tears are still flowing like mad, and I’m pretty sure I deserve every one after this week. But I’m laughing. Because I’m unbelievably happy. It’s unbelievable in the truest sense of the word. It feels like shedding a skin or like a seed must feel when it sprouts.

So maybe I’m drunk. Or maybe I’m crazy or maybe I’m just caught up in this whole love business. But I could get used to being myself. For someone who seems to get it.


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MissBuckle said...

Oh, how I enjoy reading your little life-bytes...

choofy said...

you are amazing and deserve the best people in your life--the very least decent boyfriends.

i hope your mom is okay and recovers like she did last time.

i love your writing and thoughts. keep it up :>

Proud Maisie said...

Someone who "gets it", someone around whom you naturally fall into being yourself (for we all wear our various masks, day to day), is hard to find.

Logan Lo said...

David sounds like a jerk. You're much better off now.

Of course, you know this...


Luray va accommodations said...

I really enjoy your article!

I think David is a sense less guy!

And how is your mom now did she recovers?