May 23, 2003
Open House
There is something about driving that makes you a part of the land you live in. It's become a plague upon me, that each exit on the highway holds memories for what lies beyond it. I mark more than progress by them.
Yesterday I went to see the house that Mike is planning on buying. He loves it, I can see it written all over his face, but I can see his caution, too. He hasn't made an offer yet, but he will.
I tried to stifle images of myself getting too comfortable within it. When speaking to the neighbors, Fred and Mike introduced themselves and the kindly neighbor gestured to the group of us: "You're all going to be living here?"
Mike is too quick.
"No, no, just us two." A beat. "You'll probably see her alot, though."
Does it matter that he said it with jest, that he reached for my hand a moment after and smiled? Sure, he'll want me there. On a temporary basis that revolves entirely around his needs.
I don't know where this bitterness comes from, directed away from my mouth and into my fingertips, I suppose, seeing as I am at work and cannot exactly curse the Forest Park public for asking me reference questions. It is my job, after all, to answer them.
I am obviously thrilled that Mike has found such a wonderful house, in such a wonderful neighborhood, at a very agreeable distance from both my school and home and work. Still, I was jealous inside. I ache for a place of my own, I ache for the slightest of desires within him to share his place with me. I should be grateful that he is practical. If he were anything at all like me, in any small way irrational or illogical, we probably wouldn't be together anymore.
Still. I do not like being the silly girlfriend. I am not silly, and I suppose I am painting Mike as entirely not so, which is also not the case. But he follows always the best and most profitable course of action. His motivation for our not living together is likely one of preserving our relationship.
But he doesn't want to. Doesn't want me to. And that hurts.
The rooms are so beautiful and cozy and full of light. I can see candles and tapestries.
I'm sure he only see white walls and sparse furniture.
astera at 11:25 a.m.