Reflections, Pt. 2
It was late summer, 2019. I'd begun visiting my aunt's grief counselor, who rented space on the second floor of a holistic spa a few nights a week. She proved helpful, recommending ways to bring me in a positive mood, such as changing my Spotify morning music playlists to upbeat and energetic music. No more relaxing music with melancholic chord structures, no matter how pretty they were. That's just one example, of course.
But I needed something more and I found it in the most unlikely way. I joined the kink community at this time, and I drove an hour south to my first ever "munch" a month later. Long story short, seeing I didn't know where I wanted to go, the host tugged me by my black hoodie and sat me at a table with a stutterer, a freak that liked to sleep with midgets, and her. Sitting across from me, she wore glasses, red, shoulder-length hair, and a leather jacket. On top of that, she appeared to have a cool personality.
Upon arriving home, I discovered she was old enough to be my mother, but that meant nothing to me. I didn't think she'd be interested in me for other reasons, so I forgot about it. That's why it surprised me when she reached out two weeks later to ask if I wanted to meet for dinner. The conversation was so much fun, and I made her laugh to the point of drooling! I can't make that up!
Within a month and a half of seeing each other, I discovered that her personality was more similar to mine than I ever would've imagined. She was a total goofball! In the months before her unfortunate development of Rheumatoid Arthritis, she was quick-witted, hilarious, adventurous, and more energetic than most people my age (I was 35 at the time) or even younger. Her personality was infectious, the same with her smile. But more so than that, she was nurturing. All of these things, especially the last quality, were things I desperately needed.
Two very cartoon-like scenes play in my head every day. The first is one in which a boy is sitting at the edge of a bed in a dark room, his head down. Not only is he alone, but he's also lonely. The door suddenly opens and there's a woman with glasses and a big smile, her eyes wide with excitement. The lights in the room suddenly go on as she jumps onto the bed. He joins her on top of the bed and they both jump up and down in celebration. They have found each other! The woman is my girlfriend. The boy is me. We were two big kids who just happened to find one another, and everything felt right for once.
In the second scene, we're both driving in a car. We're smiling away, our heads bobbing side to side in a very computer-like fashion as we drive down a seemingly endless road. A cartoon sun is behind us and we're passing by so many different places and things, some of which are real, some of which we made up as inside jokes. Throughout these two scenes happy, child-like music is playing in the background. It somewhat sounds like Bananas in Pajamas (no, I never actually watched it!) but sweeter. It's playing in my head as I write this.
That was us in the months before everything changed. The weekends, whether I drove to her, or she drove to me, felt like a true escape from reality. I was entering a world where all we had was each other and everything around us was whatever we wanted it to be. Leaving her house on a Sunday night so I could prepare to go to work, especially in the months before the pandemic, was painful. I never wanted to leave.
More in Part 3...
But I needed something more and I found it in the most unlikely way. I joined the kink community at this time, and I drove an hour south to my first ever "munch" a month later. Long story short, seeing I didn't know where I wanted to go, the host tugged me by my black hoodie and sat me at a table with a stutterer, a freak that liked to sleep with midgets, and her. Sitting across from me, she wore glasses, red, shoulder-length hair, and a leather jacket. On top of that, she appeared to have a cool personality.
Upon arriving home, I discovered she was old enough to be my mother, but that meant nothing to me. I didn't think she'd be interested in me for other reasons, so I forgot about it. That's why it surprised me when she reached out two weeks later to ask if I wanted to meet for dinner. The conversation was so much fun, and I made her laugh to the point of drooling! I can't make that up!
Within a month and a half of seeing each other, I discovered that her personality was more similar to mine than I ever would've imagined. She was a total goofball! In the months before her unfortunate development of Rheumatoid Arthritis, she was quick-witted, hilarious, adventurous, and more energetic than most people my age (I was 35 at the time) or even younger. Her personality was infectious, the same with her smile. But more so than that, she was nurturing. All of these things, especially the last quality, were things I desperately needed.
Two very cartoon-like scenes play in my head every day. The first is one in which a boy is sitting at the edge of a bed in a dark room, his head down. Not only is he alone, but he's also lonely. The door suddenly opens and there's a woman with glasses and a big smile, her eyes wide with excitement. The lights in the room suddenly go on as she jumps onto the bed. He joins her on top of the bed and they both jump up and down in celebration. They have found each other! The woman is my girlfriend. The boy is me. We were two big kids who just happened to find one another, and everything felt right for once.
In the second scene, we're both driving in a car. We're smiling away, our heads bobbing side to side in a very computer-like fashion as we drive down a seemingly endless road. A cartoon sun is behind us and we're passing by so many different places and things, some of which are real, some of which we made up as inside jokes. Throughout these two scenes happy, child-like music is playing in the background. It somewhat sounds like Bananas in Pajamas (no, I never actually watched it!) but sweeter. It's playing in my head as I write this.
That was us in the months before everything changed. The weekends, whether I drove to her, or she drove to me, felt like a true escape from reality. I was entering a world where all we had was each other and everything around us was whatever we wanted it to be. Leaving her house on a Sunday night so I could prepare to go to work, especially in the months before the pandemic, was painful. I never wanted to leave.
More in Part 3...
41-45, M