July 16, 2002
Adventure in Adulthood
So. Yesterday.
All things are clamoring to be said, but not all can be included, both for sake of grace and for my desires of not wanting to bore you to death.
So I shall begin at the beginning, as is appropriate, and omit those bits I deem unworthy.
Mike and I had a companionable sort of day. I don't want to follow with a laundry list of the things we did, while at the same time wanting to mention them all. So. In brief. We watched A Beautiful Mind, which rocked my socks, played Tetris Attack on his Nintendo and chess with little frosted pieces, had lunch at Skyline, and later baked a pizza in the garbage kitchen. We talked for hours and sometimes he put his arms around me.
I played guitar for him, and sang, and loved the way his eyes fixed on me when I did. You know more than anything what a big deal it is that I played for someone else. It was lovely.
He asked me later, with his hands in my hair, if I'd play for him again today.
I grinned, and asked if he'd like me to play another song right then.
And right then my parents call on his phone and, in so many words, ask me what the hell I am doing and when, exactly, do I plan to cart my ass home?
I've been gone for about thirteen hours.
Oops.
I get pissed, and rightly so. They are pissed, and rightly so. Mike and I dash away, and I keep mostly tight-lipped whilst we are driving home. I want him to like my parents. He already understands, at least to some degree, how they feel and why they shelter me the way that they do. Last night he was worried that he had gotten me into trouble, and I assured him repeatedly that I was the only one at fault. I could've elected at any time to go home. I just didn't.
We arrive at my house.
"I wish I could keep you from the firing squad."
"You can start humming the Imperial Death March as I go up to the house."
A light kiss goodbye, and I make my way up the driveway.
Lots of storming about and shouting from the parents when I enter. I say little, and retire quickly to my room. They to theirs.
But I don't sleep. I lie on my back and think. I can hear the traffic on the distant route 50 and the crickets and the pool filter.
I hate being bound, both to my parents and to social code. Mom and Dad were aghast that I had spent that much time in his company, and mostly at his home. So would society be, considering the youth of our relationship and my virginity. I behave, sometimes, as though neither their approval nor the approval of the world is needed, and those are the best times that I have. But I can't live like that, not if I want to continue living in their house and enjoying the good nature of the world. Every once in a while I can have my hours away from reality, as yesterday pretty much was.
That is actually one of the allures marriage has for me. Unadulerated time together.
But I'm not talking about marriage now.
I think that there must come a time when my parents trust me and stop worrying about me. And then I know, almost immediately after, that this is never going to happen. As it is in my nature to behave exactly the way they would not have me be, it is in their nature to be always hawking, always waiting up. And I can't blame them for that. I am the baby, despite my year and a half on my brother. I am the little girl, I am the one with the dreams so fragile I must have help in holding them together.
And I can accept that.
Begrudgingly.
I pushed the envelope last night. I should've just gone home. As things are going, I would've been fine with them. They've been letting the rope out plenty for about a week now, there was no need for me to go biting the thing in half with my teeth.
And I can accept that.
Begrudgingly.
I woke up at nine this morning and entered the living room for the anticipated beratement from my mother. And it came, full force, three parts irrational and one part absolute sense. I managed my piece, however, if not quite as eloquent as it had been in my mind the evening before. Interruptions were frequent and pleaded away.
She still doesn't understand, but I can't blame her. My behavior is abnormal, I know that. I'm not a regular girl. She's worried that Mike will take advantage of me. And who knows. Maybe that is all he is thinking. It doesn't matter. So I'll get my heart broken. He'll get a good kick in the balls if he tries anything.
I realize boys think almost primarily with their dicks. I've still known a few who are worthy characters all the same, who take maybe ten minutes out of their day to ponder the cosmos. I'd like to think that Mike is one of those guys. I guess we'll see.
Mom claims that they're all the same. Which is at least partially true. Doesn't that mean, then, that I shouldn't waste time on any of them? I can't help it. I'm going to fall helplessly into adoration with someone whether or not it makes sense. It's just how I am.
He gives me enough reasons to think that he is a good person even if he is a boy. He thinks.
So I hugged Mom and apologized and she forgave me. We watched a little of The Weakest Link. The tension is sucked out of the room by the fan, and the grass outside withers under its breath.
"You know what I liked about him?" Mom says. "When he came to get you yesterday he saw me in the window and said hello. Ryan never even made eye contact."
I smile, mostly to myself.
"I know, Mom. I know."
astera at 10:25 a.m.