At a bar here in Shanghai, I see Stevie. I have such vague memories of our short but rocky history. He was the first guy I ever had feelings for. My first roommate in college. The first person I ever slept naked with. And he was just standing there 10 feet away from me, with a little messenger bag.
I'm not that shocked anymore when I run into people here. At first, it was a somewhat amazed look, which quickly transitioned into something more subtle. All of my past has been coming back to me lately...
Artsy as always, and with his awkward general presence we catch up. Stevie and I haven't talked to each other since he had his infamous revenge orgy in our room. That was about seven years ago. We were such children.
And I only have small fragments of memories of my time with him. I was anxious. I was counting down the days until he would sleep with someone else. I remember a giant hanging lamp we bought from Urban Outfitters. And our yellow room. And our first kiss we had while we painted our room yellow.
We lived in Wilde House, one of the co-ops at Berkeley. And he was sitting on a chair taking a rest. I looked at him and it had occurred to me that we had seen each other naked but hadn't had anything resembling romance. So I dared to infuse it into our relationship. I walked up to him, moved one leg over his and then the other and sat on his lap, and without too much thinking I kissed him.
That was my first real kiss. I remember how thin his lips felt compared to mine. I can think of it and still pan back and see the rest of the room... fresh wet paint on the walls, furniture piled into the middle with tarps loosely draped over, a 3 p.m. sunlight trickling in, and me, a incoming freshman thinking the next four years would be so amazing.
The story of my time at Berkeley, was amazing actually, but not the way I would have imagined.
I've been trying to piece my narrative together. I see loops and I think conclusions. I just turned 26 this month and I feel so lost. My sentences are said and written in fragments, and my thoughts don't seem very cohesive tonight. I don't get it. I feel like I've been given the pieces to three different puzzles. And I can't work.
So maybe I'm thinking... maybe this doesn't have to make sense. Maybe this time the pieces don't fit. Maybe I don't have to become a better person out of this. I asked Arthur to tell me he would never love me, and he did. So I believe him and I'm free, and messy and dysfunctional.
I am in a recovery state and I'm never leaving it... so no more waiting.
