January 8, 2002
Missing Him
dis'con-cert' vt. to upset; embarass; confuse
The list of words I am misusing is growing with each passing day. I'm not growing any stupider, I just don't think I was initially very smart.
So at about a quarter to seven I am laying on the couch, clad in the delicious nine dollar fleece lined track pants, reading The Fellowship. It's a good book, don't get me wrong, but I can only read so much before I start to get sort of sleepy. So I vow to just lie down for a little nap in my bed, just a few minutes, maybe until Mom and Dad come home with dinner. I crawl under the covers.
A few minutes later my brother comes in my room and hands me the phone. I'm startled. I look at the clock, and it's a quarter after eight.
Shit.
But Ryan is on the phone and though I am half coherent I am still delighted to hear his voice.
He seems sad.
He was telling me about how rude his teacher is, and how he can't believe he still has four months of school left. I tried to say it really wasn't that long, but gave up. I told him I missed him. He laughed and said I just miss his sexy body.
Well, that too.
It was strange. For the first time I felt as though he did not want to hang up with me, that for a moment he needed to have the space between us shortened by telephone wires. He rambled a few more minutes past when he initially started to say goodbye.
"Well, go entertain yourself for another hour and then go to bed. I love you, Ryan."
"I love you, too. I miss you."
The soft, quick way he said it. The way his mouth seemed to curl around the word 'miss.' Things with Ryan are neither flowery nor exaggerated. He says what he means and generally only that. He slips in sentiments quietly, in between, usually when I least expect them and yet need to hear them the most.
He said he misses me because he does.
Because tonight it seemed he wanted to be here with me, and though he has said it before, I never believed him until tonight.
And now he is too far away to do anything about it.
I see us in the future. I see these wounds healing at the touch of his lips and the sound of his voice, close, his breath at my ear. I find all of the things in his eyes that his words never manage quite to convey.
I can't even find a poem to describe him tonight.
astera at 10:13 p.m.