It helps.
Comment from PurpleCrayon12:
I’ve had these thoughts, too. I think of it as the eclipse state. I found writing about it very helpful. Don’t keep it inside—express it. And MoBetter is right . . . you have to talk to someone. The fact that you’re posting about it is a good step. It shows you want to share the burden. And there are many loving and kind people out there who will willingly take some of the weight. Don’t think you’re alone.
Comment from M:
None of you understand.
I don’t know what I was thinking. Or, worse, I do know what I was thinking. I imagined the minute—no, the second—I posted that song, A would know I’d done it. I’d get an instant response. Because everything felt so instant when A was here.
Stop. I know I have to stop. Listen to myself. Wonder: Was it really A I loved, or was it the intensity, the feeling that our orbit had grown so tight that it could fit into an atom—and would cause an explosion if we were to separate? How can Alexander compete with that? Why am I even thinking of it as a competition?
Alexander is here. He wins.
But I’m not sure that Alexander feels like he’s winning. Or that I’m much of a prize.
It’s Saturday and we’re on our way to Will’s house for a picnic in his backyard. I should probably think of it as Will and Preston’s house, because ever since they started dating, Preston has been spending most of his time there. Alexander and I are bringing a fruit salad, which meant we had to go to the grocery store (“our first-date grocery store”) and buy about twenty-five dollars’ worth of fruit to chop up and put in a bowl.
I’m driving and Alexander is looking at his phone, scrolling down his Facebook. I don’t even notice until he says, “Hey, why’d you put this song up?” He holds out his phone so I can see the link.
“It’s just a song I like,” I tell him. “It was stuck in my head, so I decided to inflict it on other people.”
“Oh? Cool.”
He goes back to scrolling, not even checking the comments section to find the second song. And the stupid thing is that I am suddenly mad at him for not reading more into it . . . which is extra stupid because getting mad is exactly what Justin would have done. Justin would have taken it as an attack, even if he didn’t know what it meant. He would have attacked back.
Maybe we inherit bad traits from our exes, just like we inherit bad traits from our parents, because out of the blue I find myself picking a fight with Alexander, saying, “Oh, cool—what does that even mean?”
He doesn’t look up from his phone. “It means that I didn’t know you liked that song, but I’m perfectly happy that you do.”
“I didn’t put it up there for your approval.”
“I never said that you did.”
I know I’m being the unreasonable one, and Alexander’s tone makes it clear that he knows it, too.
I should say I’m sorry. A would say sorry. Justin would not say sorry. Alexander would say sorry. But I’m still angry. Not at Alexander. At the universe. Alexander just happens to be here to bear the brunt of it. Which might be my passive-aggressive way of getting him to hate the unfair universe, too. Which is pretty messed up.
“Have you heard from Steve or Stephanie?” Alexander asks. Safer ground.
“Yes. The war continues. Nobody wants to pick a side, so we didn’t invite either of them. It’s weird, but Rebecca says that’s the only way to do it, when we’re all together.”
“Makes sense,” Alexander says, even though he’s only met Steve and Stephanie once, and they spent most of the time pulling each other aside to fight.
“Couples are weird,” I say.
He smiles at that. “Yeah, they are. Single people, too.”
I can’t be mad at him for long. But I don’t think that’s enough to call it love.
Will has built a fire to make his backyard warm enough for a picnic. We sit on a blanket covered with too much food. Will says, “Peel me a grape!” to Preston, and as Will, Rebecca, Ben, and Alexander laugh, Preston does exactly that. Then he holds the sad grape skin in one hand and the gelatinous pulp in the other hand and asks which part, exactly, Will was wanting. Will says, “Really, it’s just that I’ve always wanted a boy who’d peel a grape for me. Thank you.”
“Peel me a blueberry!” Rebecca commands Ben.
“No,” he says. “That’s messy.”
Rebecca is leaning on Ben. Will plays a little with Preston’s hair. Alexander offers me more tea from the thermos, and I shake my head. I am surrounded by my best friends. I am sitting next to a boyfriend who treats me well. We are gathered around an afternoon campfire, its warmth creating a comfortable space in the wide air. I should be happy. But instead I feel like I am standing outside my own happiness. When I was with A, I was inside it. I could touch it freely, could recognize it. But now I have no idea how to get to it. I have no idea what it really is.
I don’t understand how it’s possible to know you have a good life, but still be missing out on it. I don’t understand why I won’t let myself give in to what I have. It’s good. What I have is good.
“Anything you’d like peeled?” Alexander asks me.
I shiver.
He doesn’t say, “What?” But it’s there in the way he’s looking at me. The way Rebecca, who knows me even better, is looking at me.
“It’s nothing,” I tell Alexander, tell them all. “I just thought about how freaked out I would get when my dad would say keep your eyes peeled when I was a kid—I thought that meant there was a way your eyelids could be peeled like a banana.”
“That always freaked me out, too!” Preston says. “Or—oh God—when people say bless you when you sneeze? I know it’s polite. But when I was a kid, I was like, WHAT IS SO BAD ABOUT A SNEEZE THAT YOU NEED TO BLESS ME?!? I mean, if you skin your knee and are bleeding all over, no one says bless you. If you puke up your guts, no one says bless you. So I couldn’t help but wonder how a sneeze was, like, worse. ”
The rest of them start talking about other things that freaked them out as kids. I eat strawberries and leave the tops in a circle on my plate. I don’t think any of my friends notice that I’m not really there.
Not until we’re cleaning up. Not until Rebecca holds back and waits until everyone else is inside to ask me if something’s wrong.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Everything’s fine.”
She gives me a level glance. “Any time you have to say that twice, it’s at least half-untrue. Is there something wrong with you and Alexander?”
I shake my head. “Nothing wrong. It’s just that . . . it isn’t okay if there are some days that aren’t wrong but aren’t really right, either? He hasn’t done anything wrong. I’m the one who isn’t feeling right. Do you know what I mean?”
“All too well. There are days when I look at Ben and think, Why am I even bothering—we’re only going to break up when we go to college. I think my time could be better used elsewhere. Like, learning Russian. Or watching every BBC mystery that I can find on Netflix. But then he does something stupid and endearing like texting me to see how my day went, and I’m like, Oh yeah. That’s why I do this. ” She hands me some plates to take back to the kitchen. “Look—with Justin, you were always so desperate for him to love you that you never really got to experience what it’s like when the two of you are balanced.