Now, I never know a lot of people, so it's not like my birthdays are ever exactly... memorable. Last year, Toph stuck 24 candles in a giant cupcake and accidentally bought me a "stupid sea compass" instead of a fancy hiking compass. He was going to engrave it and everything, but it ended up being HUGE and made for mounting on a boat. I've never laughed so hard. For my 22nd, Andy and I (exes for approximately 2 weeks) got dinner in Richmond and drank some Loire Valley wine in the Sunken Gardens. At 21, I went to the 20th birthday party of another girl. After spilling a mostly full rum and coke on Andy (dating for approximately 2 weeks), his roommate found out it was actually my birthday, stood up on a chair, and made everyone sing me Happy Birthday. Turning 17 involved a sparkly pink crown and the sense that, "This is what my Sweet Sixteen should have been". Excluding a Hokey Pokey debacle when I was around four, I don't remember any others.
Unmemorable though they may be, however, I always do something. I always celebrate. A solitary birthday would be sad, even for me.
So like I said, I was starting to worry.
Well, after two consecutive weekends of forcing myself to go out with acquaintances and having a thoroughly miserable time, I decided that I wasn't about to spoil my birthday by doing the same. I wasn't going to invite people I didn't know or didn't like to hang out with me just so I wouldn't feel alone. In those two weekends, I had engaged in only one conversation that I actually enjoyed. It was about zombies. And it was with Luke. On January 20th.
Okay then, I was going to invite Luke to hang with me on my birthday. I was going to wait until the Sunday before: early enough that he might not be booked up for the week, late enough that we could still have plenty of time to mend our broken relationship. I gave him a week off from texting and contact before calling (yes, calling, you can't ignore a phone call like a text) because this was a pretty big request and I didn't want to him to be worn down by little ones first. And if he turned me down? "Luke, we need to talk."
Well, folks, he beat me to it. When he didn't answer the phone on Sunday, I began to wonder how long I would have to wait before calling back and demanding a meeting. On Monday night, I got a text: "Can we talk around 10?"
I go rigid. I will not let this get to me. I will not feel anything. I am a rock. I am an island. Why doesn't my ipod plug into my car anymore? Why does We Found Love keep playing on the radio? Twice in a row? Don't bullshit me. This conversation can't end well. I call EVERYONE. No one answers. How do I make sure I stay in control of this conversation? This won't be like when he barged into my house and told me it was over. I will say my piece. I will say when the conversation is over. I will leave first. I will be in control. I will say my piece. I will ask my questions. I will get my answers. He will know and care about how I feel. I will say my piece. I run through every scenario. I think of all my answers. I remember everything I've been shouting and crying in my car for the last month. I organize it. I want to write it down... but note cards would look ridiculous. I think of all the important points, I run them through my mind. I will not let them get away from me this time. I will say my piece. I won't show any emotion. I won't feel any emotion. I am a rock.
Around 11, I get home from rehearsal. I brush my teeth because you can't be your best unless you feel your best (and I don't feel my best with unbrushed teeth). I look at the mirror and am glad I managed to wear a nice sweater and a cute bow today (feeling your best = being your best). I grab my coat, prepared to stand outside and have this conversation on the stoop (he is not coming in my house again; that makes him the only one with the power to leave, the power to end the conversation).
I knock on the door and he ushers me in. Why would he do that? He is very handsome in a grey V-neck. Was he always this skinny? He asks me to sit down. Should I? Shouldn't I assert dominance and insist on standing? Don't be so much of a rock, Melissa, that you aren't open to this conversation. I sit in the chair.
And he lays it down for me. "Let me give you some context..." I am a rock. Well, maybe more of a brain coral. I look like a rock, but I'm actually soaking up a lot. I lay it down for him. "I respect what you are going through, but this is how I'm feeling... " He is a rock. Though I hope more like a brain coral. We are both impressively dead pan. Dead dead eyes. Eventually it gets to the point where I can tell he's ready for me to go, but I haven't said everything. I haven't asked everything. The questions seem insensitive and selfish now. It takes a long time to remind myself that we both have needs, and we both deserve to have them met. If I'm going to walk out this door, giving him the space he needs, maybe never talking to him again, then I'm going to get my answers. I'm going to get closure. I deserve that.
And I don't leave until I'm ready. And I say my piece. And I ask my questions. No matter how dumb they sound. And I can't resist trying to lighten the mood by pointing out that it's a bummer that I won't be able to give him and his roomies a Valentine. And it is a bummer because Valentine's are great and full of love and happiness and warmth and I have metallic spray paint this year.
I part with a hug and with answers. And that all I could have asked for.
~ <3 ~
"I think that if I ever have kids, and they are upset, I won't tell them that people are starving in China or anything like that because it wouldn't change the fact that they were upset. And even if somebody else has it much worse, that doesn't change the fact that you have what you have." ~The Perks of Being a Wallflower
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