Category Archives: the boy

The Boy, Part 5: A New Chapter

Written on February 3rd, 2010 and labelled Relationships, Wordful Wednesdays, the boy
2 Comments - Thoughts?

I walk up a stairwell slowly. Exhaustion encumbers my feet. I tread against the river of students moving the other way, rushing downstairs to eat lunch.

A part of me sighs internally. I think of him, but the light has changed. Things have changed. Things are different. A new bulb in my mind switched on, knowing the truth behind the front he projects.

*

They did start going out, my friend and him. She and I talk on the bus, the hum of the engine and the drawl of children drowning out the noise of our conversation. A conversation filled with hidden knowledge and normally-unspoken, worrying confessions. My loyalties weigh heavily. I find myself flare in anger at him as she tells me things; things he says to her, things I find incomprehensible.

There is a new side to him. The lustre has faded and now I can see the real, tarnished version.

A person who I would never have feelings for. A person in which I do not associate. A person whom I do not recognize.

*

I reach the top of the stairwell and glide into the room where this all started… where the feelings were first birthed into my life. I dart around, talking and laughing to friends yet all the while looking for him, wondering where he is. Wondering why I care. Wondering why any of it matters when my feelings have been suppressed and subsided into nothingness.

There’s a sense of tension that still remains between us, me and him. He social butterflies around the place, leaving traces of himself for people to return. My friends seem to dislike him, yet all the while I can’t help feel an amicability between us. He made me feel, yet all the same I can’t help but wonder whether or not there’s anything of substance below the surface of our banal, empty transactions.

*

I glance out the window, watching a band of smokers come from the bridge where they attempt to conceal their dirty habit. I name each of the people, The Boy’s name coming to mind as I notice him walking in the death-stick crowd. They trundle between cars before disappearing from sight behind a wall and into school. The white noise of the library silently amplifies a silent truth which I soon realize.

A friend and I laugh with each other. We talk about friends and life and university. There is no expectation, no need to wear a mask — she does not know about The Boy. About the emotional rollercoaster. I am open and I am closed.

She leaves for a while and I’m left with the hum of the ventilation acting as a backdrop to my thoughts; they swirl around haphazardly, waiting for a conclusion to burst from underneath. There is no conclusion or dramatic ending. No bang and no eureka.

*

Some friends and I are sitting and watching as he speaks with a teacher semi-privately. He glances over and makes a facial gesture. His girlfriend, A, quietly screeches with excitement. A part of me can’t help feel a split in the relationship, his behaviour sporadically forceful, hers reactive to his mood. A part of my mind sirens. There is something gently anxiety-inducing about their relationship.

I sit back and watch the world for moments. Each one passes, and I can’t help but feel like this new year has entered a new chapter in my life. There is a difference. The deep fracture in their relationship only seems to highlight the new ones in my own psyche.

A darkness still exists deep inside yet the sun of hope has dawned on my life once again.

I am no longer bound by a fatal obligation.

I am not in love with this boy.

Tags: , , ,

The Boy: Part Four, Black Sunday

Written on December 24th, 2009 and labelled Emotions, Endings, Lessons Learned, the boy
7 Comments - Thoughts?

Like the previous post, the events took place on the 19th of December. I wrote this post the next day after attempting to use sleep to help sort out my emotions. However, because of how much I was hurting, I felt like I couldn’t release this until I had — at least partially — come to terms with my emotions.

Likewise, I’m sorry that this post seems a little bit short and unexplained. As I say below, I can’t repeat our actual messages because, for the most part, they’re about his private life.

—

The good news is that we talked.

The bad news is that he crushed me.

Of course, without realising.

Here’s what happened.

At about 5PM yesterday my intuition shouted up at me that I should send a message to ask him if he was okay. In truth, he’d only just broken up with his girlfriend a week or so ago. And so, with my kindness hat on, I sent him a big-ass message on facebook. I didn’t mention my feelings or anything like that. I put my emotions down to the side, however filled with anxiety they were, and focused on him and nothing else. It was the right thing to do.

We messaged each other about 6 or 7 times, I with long, agony-aunt-type therapeutic emails which, according to him, helped. But in the process of helping him, he inadvertently told me things which broke me. I can’t go into much detail because of privacy issues, but by the end of everything, it was as if everything in my entire body had stopped. Waiting for me to scream. Or explode. Or die.

What I can say is that he’s starting to like another girl. And even though he is still extremely distraught about his break-up, he can’t help but be attracted to this other girl. Which sucks to be me, because I rapidly wised-up to the fact that he doesn’t like guys. At all. And that all of those hugs and smiles were just as empty as I feel right now. And that my feelings that I feel… or felt… or whatever, aren’t going to go anywhere. Or make any positive change. Are inventions of my own desire.

The worst part is, the bit that tastes more bitter than I thought would, is that this girl he likes is a close friend of mine. I can understand why he’s attracted to her. And it’s stupid, because I should’ve noticed this. If I had bothered to look past my silly, facetious emotions, I would’ve noticed it. How he always gave her a hug before me. The looks he gave her. The laughs they shared. How she was always there when I was. What cuts the most is that when he asked me if he should persue her, because he knows we’re close friends, I did the ‘right’ thing and told him the truth. I told him to keep going. That she could do with someone like him. Someone so amazing. I felt like I had just stabbed myself in the back, yet I couldn’t feel it yet.

My head had started to throb. I wasn’t hit with the emotion to start with. It came later. When I had stopped disassociating it and let it in. It crashed on me. It felt like I was drowning. And in a horrible, chilling way, it felt like something broke in me. And then I sobbed and sobbed in bed. A deep, heavy, cutting sob. The type of sob that produces tears which are concentrated with emotion. The type of sob which radiates outwards from your core.

And with the emotional pain began physical pain. The bones in my arms started to ache. As did my kneecaps. And my neck. And my hips. And my chest.

I woke up this morning and it feels worse. There’s an emptiness. A loss. A murky, liquid confusion sitting in my mind. I want last night to be a dream. A nightmare. Not real.

But it is. And I have to deal with it, one way or another.

Tags: , , , , ,

The Boy: Part Three, Signs of Obsession

Written on December 23rd, 2009 and labelled Emotions, Relationships, the boy
3 Comments - Thoughts?

This post was originally written on the 19th of December, but with what happened later on that day, I’ve found it difficult to come back to this post. More will be explained tomorrow, in part four.

–

Each morning I wake up to dulled light and muffled, hazy sounds from downstairs. My first thoughts are of him. I think of his face. The image is difficult to summon up. I focus and focus until, finally, his face comes into mental view. My face changes from furrowed brow to elation. I look at him through my mind. I feel spirited.

I stay in bed and think of him. Moments I wish I want us to have together. So many things resting on hope. I worry over my emotions. Will they last forever? Are they weaker than before? Are they stronger than before? I quote to myself, to a god, to anyone in hidden desparation: “It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved before”.

I think about him in bed, just like me. I imagine being beside him and nook him in with my arm. Ideas swirl around in my head. I start to fall asleep again. I think about how much I would give to see him just once more. I feel a deep sense of vacancy and emptiness. I wonder what he feels. I long for one of his hugs. I begin to dream.

I wake up later. I check the time and see it being just before 9. I wonder if he’s in bed still. I think of him. I wonder what he’s going to do today. I wonder if it’s snowed today. My mind begins to meander through thoughts of him still in bed. Pyjamas or underwear? I feel just a little bit creepy, yet a part of me knows it’s only natural.

My parents argue downstairs. I cover my ears with my hands, humming along, ignoring them. I wonder what his parents are like. If they’re divorced or still together. I think about what it would be like if we were dating. “This is why we stay at your house ,” I imagine myself saying. I wish it was a premonition. I wish it were real. I hope.

I reach over and grab my laptop from next to my bed. I turn it on and load up facebook. I punch in his name and pull up his profile. I look at his picture. Without even realising it, my mouth curves up and my eyes squint in a smile. I think of where he lives. I imagine his house. I think of him in bed. I notice the time of his last update. I want to know why it’s so so late at night. I want to know everything there is to know about him.

I click on facebook chat in the absent hope that he’s online. Just to be near. Just to be in is presence. He isn’t. I get out of bed and open my curtains. Snow has fallen overnight. It isn’t thick enough to make a snowman, but yet I still want to call someone over, just to try. Tinily, quietly, I curse living in a backwater village. I stand at my window and look out.

Without any effort, I quietly sing “I’m in love with a wonderful guy”. Each word rolls over the other easily. I whisper it as if in prayer. Some candle of hope is fed within me and shines brighter as the song progresses. I cling to my hope, no matter what. I ask myself if this is some act of desperation fed by a fear of loneliness. I laugh at myself and reply back to myself, “I don’t know anything but what I feel. That’s the only answer I can give you.” I think about God and if there is some deeper meaning in all of this. I believe there is. I think about V for Vendetta and V’s monologue on their being no coincidences. I agree.

I go about my day, littered with absent-minded pauses thinking of him. Things I would like us to do together. If I should tell him how I feel. If I should wait. If he’ll even care. If he’ll ever reciprocate. Underneath my consciousness. In the land between awareness and unawareness, I can sense a fear emerging. A fear I don’t want to face. A reality I don’t want to exist. I wonder how far I will go to stop myself from facing it.

I lie on my bed with my laptop out, skimming through web pages. My emotions bounce around. I miss him and miss him. I see him on facebook chat. I sit and stare at his picture. He vanishes again. For the first time in my entire school life, I wish that this holiday would end already. I do things to distract myself. They all fail terribly. I put together a menagerie of pictures of him into Gimp. I print them off and cut it out of the paper. I make designs with sly, subtle riddles in the thought of sending them to him anonymously. I realise I sound crazy. I turn gimp off.

I miss him. But the missing has become a stretched one where time slows and life drags.

If I don’t see him soon, I’m going to go crazy.

Tags: , , , , ,

The Boy: Part Two, Return

Written on December 18th, 2009 and labelled Authentic, Relationships, the boy
6 Comments - Thoughts?

A couple of friends and I arrive at school. We’re early. Very early. Only one other person sits in the wide room where we greet each other every morning. We make idle chatter. Another person enters. I want to know where he is. I wonder if today, the last day of school, will be the day that he doesn’t come in. We all chat, though I think about him more than the words leaving my mouth. His face. His beauty. His smile. I sit in between two friends on a large rectangle of joined tables.

I miss him so, so much. Where is he? Is he going to come in? Why did I come in? I’m not going to see him today, I just knew it. But my intuition said I should come into school. There’s more happening than what I see in front of me. I’ve gotta be patient.

The main doors click open. My body quickly leans forward and my eyes flick towards the two people walking through. D walks at the front and he walks at the back. They both laugh at a joke. I look at him and smile. For no reason. And every reason.

Shit. Do I look okay? Does he like my clothes? Do I look fat? Did I put enough deoderant on? He’s so wonderful. Matt. BREATHE.

I scan down his body as he walks across to our group. He has no idea, too busy in chatter. I try to commit his entire being to memory. He comes over. A hug to a friend. Then he walks in front of me and lurches, hugging me tightly. I want the moment to last forever. The world melts away.

His body feels so nice! I love this coat on him. He always looks so amazing. How long can I make this last? Take it in, Matt, take it all in.

The hug lasts for a time, though my mind is too drunk on emotion to sense anything but the texture on my skin and the warmth pressing into me. A flicker of hope burns in my heart, while tears begin to gently surface into my eyes. I secretly blink them away, hiding my emotions as more and more people filter into the room. My heart feels heavy in my chest. Desire. Hope. Need. Longing.

How come I never saw him before? Why did I never notice this beautiful, happy, engaging person? How?

We release from our embrace. I before him, so as to make it seem that it was only a long, friendly hug. The truth hides in my tear ducts, waiting to reveal itself. I smile a happy smile and look him in the eye for just a little too long. I look away. He moves to the side and tells me about the perfect cigar he smoked last night. I lose all of my words, then I tell him I can’t condone his actions. A friend chimes in jokingly, telling me what I should have said. I say it. We laugh. I remark her as my shoulder devil. I fail at making the situation more palatable.

Oh no! I hope he doesn’t hate me because I dislike smoking. That will never change. I really like him so much! But he smokes. But I like him. But he smokes. Though it seems social. I’ve got to dissuade him from it. But would that be rude? I have to accept him fully, as he is.

He meanders into a conversation with others. I stare at him, scanning the back of his body and down the contours of his jeans. I wonder about what he looks like underneath his clothes. I see his shirt hanging silently out the back of his coat. I commit the fabric and pattern to memory. A slither of information. A piece of him. I joke to a friend if we can stay where we are for a few minutes and say the roads were icy. She agrees. I don’t tell her my reason, yet it’s already cut deeply into my heart. I just want to watch him. To see how he lights up. To have just a few more minutes of joy being in the same room as him. He goes to lesson.

Oh no. What if I don’t see him again all day? Or for the rest of the year! I miss him so much. He’s gone. I can’t believe it. I hope I see him at break. But what if I don’t? What if that’s it? Maybe I can catch a glimpse of him on our way to Spanish?

My friend and I leave the room and head to Spanish. I stare quickly down the corridor which I thought he walked down. I see someone like him. It’s someone else. I release a sigh without any conscious thought. We get to Spanish. We begin watching Pan’s Labyrinth. My thoughts bounce between the film and him, though my heart never forgets his face. His laugh. His everything.

Can we hurry up? When does this finish? Should I go to the bathroom just to have the chance to see him? But what if he’s in lesson too? But what if he’s not? I miss him! No, it’s okay. I’m sure I’ll see him. But what if I don’t?

The lesson finishes. The same friend and I decide to avoid the weekly assembly by going back to the room before. The room this morning. The room yesterday. We amble upstairs. People are collecting for assembly, though we had no idea it would be in there. We vacantly enter as more continue to enter behind us. A friend pulls me aside for help in History. There are only a few seats left far to the other side, so I sit on the floor in front of D., hidden behind students sitting on tables and standing. I listen. I look beneath all the tables and chairs to see his shoes. To know where he is. I can’t find them.

I feel weird. My name is going to get called out. Oh no. I can feel it. I can feel it. It’s going to happen. I know it. But who? Oh no. Please don’t say my name.

“Matt Dixon!” I briefly squeeze my eyelids shut. “Is Matt Dixon here?” I reluctantly stand up. I start moving to the front. I’ve won a prize. All I can think of is him. His eyes on me. The whole world seemingly watching me. I’m so embarrassed. I knew they’d call my name out. My vision blurs around the edges. I wonder what he’s thinking.

Is he watching? Is he seeing this? I feel so stupid. Do I look fat? Oh god, I bet my clothes make me look fat. I’m sure I look fat. Oh god, he’s going to hate me! Pull everything in Matt. Make yourself look presentable. Keep it together, Matt, keep it together.

I shake the hand of the prize giver. I smile at him. My vision becomes tunnelled. I turn around rapidly and clutch the gift to my chest. A part of me fills with adrenalin. Another part of me is filled with angst. I return to my position. I sit down. I smile. I clap absently whilst other names are called out. Assembly finishes and most filter out. I sit on my usual table, back against the wall. I open the gift. A book which I talked to my college leader weeks ago. I know I’m listened to.

I wonder what he thinks. I wonder if he cares. Oh my god, he’s coming over. He’s near. Look at him! Look at how beautiful he is! No Matt, don’t stare. Keep cool. Keep cool.

He squeezes my legs as I sit on the table. I make some stupid, sexual remark in a joke. He doesn’t really laugh. I attempt to save the situation. He seems more amused. We pass joking winks and gestures. He seems a tiny bit uncomfortable. I worry. He moves on. I go downstairs to leave a note on my college leader’s desk in thanks. “You’re a one in a million teacher,” I write, “You’ve made my year.”

Why am I down here doing this? I don’t have time to be nice to others. I’ve got to be near him. No Matt. It’s important to do this. You have to show thanks. This means a lot to you, and you have to show how much you appreciate it. Write quickly. Oh shit! What if he thought my legs were fat!

My body, filled with so much emotion, makes writing difficult. I forget words and have to push them into sentences on the post-it. All I can think about is him. I speed back upstairs and return to my table. I watch him. A friend talks to me and doesn’t stop, though I don’t blame her. All I want to do is look at him. Talk with him. Involve myself with his conversation with my friends. I’m a little brusque with her, though make sure to retain my politeness. I ask to try a friend’s hat on.

Why am I doing this? I bet I look so stupid. But it’s okay. It’s fun. It’s cool, Matt. Be cool. Just have fun. Let go. Show him that you actually have sillyness down there. Impress him.

I take the current one off and ask to wear his hat. He doesn’t hear. I shout it. He turns around as he walks and speaks to me, “Don’t worry, I’ll be back. You can try it on then.” I watch him walk out, my eyes following him until a wall stops my gaze. I wait. And I wait. I talk with friends. I explain spooning to one. I feel restless with emotion. We talk about Pan’s Labyrinth. Every time I hear a door click, or feet shuffle or see movement in the corner of my eye, my head turns sharply. But it’s not him. Or him. Or them. I find out that he and D. have gone to pry a cigarette out of someone.

He doesn’t come back before I go home. I don’t see him walking back to school, or on the main road towards school. I don’t see him anywhere. My heart twangs with pain and Duffy plays on the radio. Tears well at my eyes. I miss him so, so much.

Tags: , , , ,

The Boy: Part One, A Crush

Written on December 17th, 2009 and labelled Emotions, Happiness, Relationships, the boy
6 Comments - Thoughts?

This post is as factual as far as my memory can recall. I deliberately left out murky bits because, well, they aren’t important. This all happened today. And yes, it’s part one, because I see more happening soon; good or bad, though, I cannot yet see.

——-

I pause from my idle chatter to friends. My body, resting with my back to the wall, seated on a table. I see him on the other side of the room. Talking. Playful. Being. He looks at me. He smiles his broad smile.

Is my hair okay? I hate these clothes, why did I wear them? They’re so ugly. Do I look fat? Oh god, does he think I’m weird? No, Matt. Smile. Smile Matt!

I smile back. A boyish grin. He looks away and falls back into his conversation. I stare at him, longing for him to know how I feel. I watch his face. His cute nose accentuating the beauty of his personality. I look away before anyone notices my hungry staring. I gaze into absent air. I return to conversation.

If only he knew. If only I could tell him. If only he felt the same way. But maybe he does feel the same way? But what if he doesn’t? I want him to feel the same way. But I don’t want to force him. If I truly care about him, I have to be prepared to let him go.

My heart twinges ever so slightly behind my caring, soft, laughing eyes. I continue to blurt out conversation with friends. Laughing and joking. The ambient hubbub filling the air. Making silly remarks and running to the window to stare at the beautiful snow flitting from the sky onto the school grounds. We look at the children walking through the entrance downstairs. I joke about dropping eggs. A friend adds that they’d be apt Christmas presents. I laugh. Forcefully nonchalantly, secretly, I look around to see him. I panic. And then my eyes find him.

What’s he doing? What’s that in his hand? I love his hat so much. Wait, is this weird? What’s wrong with me? Why am I so obsessed with him? Is this wrong? No. It’s natural. I’m a human. Relationships are fundamental to existence. Don’t forget, Matt.

I notice a ‘Where’s Wally’ card in his hands. I race over, using Where’s Wally as an excuse to be near him. To smell his sweet skin. To feel his warmth near mine. I lean over, next to him. My face millimetres from his. I blather about how amazing Where’s Wally is. I inhale deeply, savouring his smell. Everything becomes a blur. The façade holds. We race to find him.

Why aren’t there any other guys like this in the world? Why do I always crush on guys before Christmas? Oh god, Christmas! I won’t be able to see him for 2 weeks! Maybe even more! I can’t believe it!

The sweet, soft feeling grows in my heart. I notice a very delicate smell of cigarettes come out of him. A part of me is repulsed. A part of me doesn’t care. A part of me trusts that I can help him overcome his addiction. I wonder what’s wrong with me; when boys suddenly overruled ethics. But this isn’t just ‘a boy’. I watch as he continues to look for Wally, as my eyes frantically search around the white and red Christmas card. A tiny flare of competitiveness stokes in me. I smile.

How long can I stay near him? I wish I could be close forever. How silly am I? He’s just a boy Matt. But he’s not. He’s more. Things feel different. Things feel special. I’ve never felt this way, Matt, and you know it. You just don’t want to admit that there’s a lot of chaotic emotion underneath all of those layers.

He finds Wally. A part of me is let down. A part of me is happy that he’s happy. I create a post-it in my head to use him beating me as a conversation starter. Things happen. He goes to do something. I go back to my friends and continue to tumble in and out of silly conversations and silly thoughts and silly self. I go back to the window and see my friends Amy and Charlotte outside in the gushing snow. I stifle an excited scream. I drag everyone outside. We dance in it.

Is he watching? I wish he was. I wish he could see me being silly in the snow. I wish he would feel a spark inside himself for me. Maybe he is watching me? Maybe he feels the same? No, he probably doesn’t. But I can hope. I will hope. I will have faith in him. I will have faith in myself. I can’t let this go. Not yet. Not now.

The snow stops as fast as it came. We all go inside. I race Amy up the stairs. I win. Then she wins. Then we both laugh ourselves silly. I sit down. I search for him and see him. I smile a subtle smile. No one else sees. I watch him and note his friends. I feel slightly more hopeful. I know, albeit in a tiny way, his friends. A part of me is reassured. I start talking to my friends about school. Homework we haven’t done. Homework we don’t intend to do. I feel a tiny bit guilty. I look at him again. He’s moved. I stare at him for too long, though no one notices. He smiles at me. I smile back. I look for too long. I look away. I feel stupid.

What am I doing? Oh crap, does he think I’m weird? What have I done? Am I fucked now? I better not be. I can’t have lost everything over a look. No. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. Just get back to everything normal. Act cool. Act normal. Be calm.

The bell goes. I go into the back to get my bag out of the office. I take too long. A friend distracts me. I hope to see him before he leaves completely. To see his beautiful hair. To look at his face just one more time. I come out of the office. He’s gone. As are most people. I already miss him. I think about getting his timetable from the school system. I sound like a stalker to myself. I hold myself back. I go to English. I miss him.

And he has no idea. Maybe.

Tags: , , ,