Part 29: Too Dumb to Know the Difference.

Watch me rise up and leave all the ashes you made out of me,
When you said that we were wrong, life goes on, you blew me away.

I sink like a stone, I've lost my control.
I sink like a stone, I've lost all control.

-Embrace

---

"Let me pay for dinner," I said to Stacy as she reached for the check.

"Why?" She looked at me blankly.

"Because you dyed my hair for me today."

"But you bought the dye."

"I know, but you need to save money so that you can move," I contested.

"Um... but you need to save money, too."

"Yeah, well, I can always ask my parents for money. They'll always give it to me."

"And you'll owe them your life as a result," She mused.

"Oh, I've owed them that for a long time. Now they're after my soul. Especially since they paid for the wedding and now I'm getting a divorce." I grabbed the bill from the edge of the table, replaced her card with mine and handed it to our waiter as he passed.

"So. You've made up your mind, then?"

"I feel like I've had my mind made up for a long time," I sighed. "I just don't see the point... it's torturous to go through this any longer. I know it's not 'right' in the eyes of everyone around us, but... I don't care anymore. I have to get out, lest I take my shoelaces and fasten a noose for my neck." I said dryly.

"Well, that wouldn't be good."

"No."

Our waiter brought back our receipt and I signed it quickly and passed it back to him.

"Does this have anything to do with Noah?" She asked hesitantly.

Innocent question. But no, it didn't. It had been a few months since I had even thought about him. My life with Adam had just been too awful and all-consuming; just too miserable to bear. And maybe it was all my own invention, but quite frankly, I couldn't take it anymore. Life is only worth wasting on those who would waste theirs on you, right? I had felt completely and utterly neglected by Adam for the past year and a half, and that's aside from the fact that I just didn't love him. He was now just an annoying roommate. I was an idiot for marrying him, I'll admit, and I decided it was time I embraced my mistake and move on.

"How are your parents taking the news?"

"Well, my mom isn't taking it well at all. My dad is taking it a lot better than I thought he would. I mean, of course he's disappointed, but I'm his little girl, and he'd do anything for me, even if it meant letting me divorce though he didn't agree with it."

"Yeah. Your dad is pretty cute."

"I know. But ugh, my mom. She's really upset. She's been ignoring me for the past 2 days. She asked me what it would take for me to change my mind, and I told her I'd need a lobotomy. And you know what she said?" And in my best impression of my mom, which includes the full-blown Chinese accent, I mimicked, "Is that covered under your insurance?"

Stacy and I both started laughing hysterically, "My mom is hilarious, even when she's mad."

"Especially when she's mad." Stacy said, still laughing.

"I think the accent helps."

"Well, you know I'll still be here for you, no matter what. And so will Evans. We love you."

"I know."

Part 28: Flooding Back

I tried to remember the last time that I felt really, completely happy; the last time I felt fulfilled. The only instance I can come up with is when I was in college, which is perhaps why I want to go back so badly. I've never before in my life felt so inspired and alive, except when I was surrounded by other intelligent, artistic, and like-minded people. It wasn't like it is now; we weren't "looking out for number one" or trying to compete for affections from our bosses. No, we worked together, helped each other grow, pirated CDs for one another. It was the best.

And at no other time in my life have I ever been OK with pulling an all-nighter to finish a project, because all-nighters at school meant that all of us art majors held a "party" in the art studio, complete with take-out food and blaring music. We helped each other stay awake. We critiqued each other's projects. I took it in; breathed it deep into my lungs and held it there for so long.

But now it's gone.

...

A friend of mine needed me to help him hang posters around town to promote his band's show, and I suggested we hang some at the university, since that's a cesspool of "too-cool" college kids ready and willing to drunkenly dance to anything that even remotely resembles music.

That was my first mistake.

As I stepped onto the college campus for the first time in 3 years, the scent of fragrant eucalyptus and night-blooming jasmine rushed onto my face with a coming breeze from the cool night. It hit like a brick; all the feelings, all the longing came pouring into my heart in an instant. Longing for school, and for companionship.

Part 27: I Will Break Your Heart

A good friend of mine recently got engaged, which has caused an uproar throughout my circle of friends - although I'm not sure why, since we're at the age now where everyone seems to be getting engaged.

Anyhow, despite the fact that everyone is getting engaged, I'm still the only person in our circle who is actually married and has been for a while. My girlfriends, as naive and romantic as they are, have a certain and untrue perception about how marriage will be, and refuse to listen to anything I have to say about it (even though, as a married person, I consider myself an expert).

"When I get married," they say, "I'm going to wear lingerie every night."

I laughed out loud when I heard that.

"I will! I can hardly wait to do it now!"

"No... you won't. Even if you manage to wear lingerie every night for the first several months, one day - ONE DAY - you'll get sick, or you'll be fat and pregnant, and I guarantee you won't want to put it on. So don't make that promise."

Uncomfortable silence.

"Besides," I said, breaking the tension, "lingerie isn't comfortable. Sweats, however, are."

I don't even mean to be so cynical... it just comes out sometimes. I truly do hope and pray that when my friends get married, they will feel loved and be in love and want sex every night. I hope that their lives do turn out to be heart-warming fairy tales and happily ever afters. I do.

I just know that for me, and from what I've heard from several people, it doesn't happen that way. And it frustrates me that there are still these myths floating around and that my own cynical, skeptical friends believe them; that women love lingerie and will prance around for their husbands for the rest of their lives, never feel fat or ugly, never get stretch marks, and their husbands are the perfect Ken dolls for their Barbie houses and cars.

Well, let me set the record straight. Allow me to dispel the myths.

Husbands are people, and people will let you down.

And it's damn hard to put on a lacy teddy when your heart isn't in it.

Part 26: A Balance Place

Oh God, hold me now
Oh Lord, hold me now
There's no other man who could raise the dead
So do what you can to anoint my head

Oh God, where are You now?
Oh Lord, say somehow
The devil is hard on my face again
The world is a hundred to one again

- Sufjan Stevens

...

Life is difficult. It's common knowledge; there is no profound truth or revelation I have beyond that. But when life gets hard, you need a pillar, a support system, a friend you can rely on and who can help pull you up out of it.

Well, my life just got hard.

"I've lasted this long, but I'm not sure how much longer I can do it. I'm exhausted. I'm apathetic. I just want to sleep." I had spent an hour crying at work, alone in my cubicle, for no real reason other than the overwhelming depression that I felt. Evans agreed to meet me at our favorite cafe once again.

"Oh, pretty girl," Evans teased, as he pushed my hair out of my eyes, "don't be so worried. Your talents will support you and your being you will make your own support. You'll be alright."

"Thank you. I'm not worried for me, though."

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"I can't stand disappointing and hurting other people. I know I'd survive, probably with ease."

"Your situation presents a bit of a problem. I mean, you don't really care about the marriage, and that's a difficult place to be. You care about what it means," he stated. "You don't relate it to anything personal, instead, you're functioning in a legally binding version of what I typically have with relationships; you appreciate what it means, but aren't sure that the person whom you've bound yourself to is the one you should have."

I sat there, without a response.

Evans had come over to hang out with me the night before. We had sat in my living room, chatting online with my friends, playing video games on my Nintendo Wii, and attempting to solve wooden mind puzzles that I had received from Adam's uncle.

"It was interesting watching you do those puzzles last night," Evans finally told me.

I looked at him with a puzzled look on my face. "Why?"

"Because."

"Because I'm awful at them?" I mused.

He laughed, "No. Not at all. But in your attempts to help your friends, and not being able to sleep over their problems... You made some comment that really stuck out to me. The things you do for others and the things you will subject yourself to for the sake of others — your heart — you deny for yourself."

"Because I have a guilty conscience. I feel like I would be acting selfish," I answered. "It might not be true, but it's still how I feel. It's as if my responsibility takes precedence over myself and the state that I'm in."

"Sure, I understand." He paused. "It was also interesting to watch you play Warioware on the Wii, and how that contrasts with you and Adam and your real-life interaction.

"He finds the easiest way to win the game, while you take so much time to play the game, to put the controller on your head, to get into it. You take your time to do so much for other people — you bought my dinner, you love to get games that get people involved and not play solo — that is an amazing quality. But you have to have the balance, or like that quote says, it will eat you alive.

"Nic, you have an amazing heart. But a heart that gives out all the blood to the body around it still needs to get that blood back in order to pump it back out again. The heart isn't selfish; it's just a necessary cycle."

I looked away as I slumped into my seat. "Can't I just disappear? Run away? Die? I'd even take death."

He sighed, amused, "Everything but death is a valid option."

We sat in silence for a moment as we watched the people around us walk by and make small talk with each other.

"I always think that if I was apathetic enough to die," he said, finally. "it's at that point that I would then be the most free to really pursue all the goals and desires in my heart, because at that point, what else do I have to lose? Death, however, leaves no option and therefore is not an option."

I continued to avoid his eyes, but mostly because I knew he was right.

"Nic, I believe that people can change their lives if they want to."

Part 25: Life's an Adventure

I'm sure many parents do this, but my father calls me once a week for no other reason than to hear my voice, and the conversation is always the same;

"Hi! What's new?"

"Nothing."

"Oh? Nothing is new?"

"Nope. I woke up, went to work, where I sat in a cubicle all day clicking a mouse with my pointer finger, came home, watched a little tv, and now I'm talking to you."

"Well, there has to be something exciting going on; you are an exciting person, and life is an adventure."

Every week, the conversation happens in just this way, and every week he acts completely and totally surprised that I don't have some sort of action-packed story to fill him in on.

And the conversation was the same as we rode up the rickety old elevator to our hotel room in San Diego, as we visited my brother for his birthday.

When Adam and I finally arrived home that Sunday night, we noticed that the door to the apartment below ours was wide open, which wouldn't necessarily be odd, except that that apartment has been vacant for months. I parked our car and walked toward the open door, when I noticed that the wooden door frame was shattered in pieces on the floor. The lights were on, and I heard water running, so I started to walk in.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" I heard Adam yell at me from the car.

"I'm going in to check it out!" I said back, and without hesitating, continued in.

No furniture (obviously). A few silver nuts and bolts were laying on the floor, and the carpet still had impressions in it from the furniture of the last tenant. I walked over to the kitchen sink, which was running full blast, and turned it off. There was still the noise of water running, so I ventured through the house, turning off all the sinks and faucets that had been turned on. Nothing else was unusual at all.

Adam came running in, and out of breath, he said, "What were you thinking?! What if the people who broke in were still here? What would you have done? Are you crazy?"

I looked at him, bewildered. "No... they would have got a stiletto heel to the temple, that's what would have happened. No one is here, so don't freak out."

We left a message on our landlord's phone about the break-in and continued to bring our luggage up to our apartment.

...

The next few nights, I stayed in while Adam left for a business trip. I was tired in every sense of the word, and even called in sick to work one day, just because it felt good to be alone. Adam got home the next evening and wanted to get dinner. We climbed down the steps of our apartment, and as I looked across the parking lot, noticed that my car was missing.

"Uh... Where is my car?" I stopped, as I stared at my empty parking space.

"Huh?"

"My car. It's gone."

"Did you park it somewhere else?"

"Adam, I haven't left the apartment in 2 days. My car is gone."

There wasn't any broken glass on the ground, or anything else that would suggest my car had been stolen, so we assumed it had been towed. We called the night manager to ask, and he got uncomfortably nervous the more he talked to us.

Apparently, he had an older map of the parking lot assignments, and didn't realize that my car was allowed to be there. He met us in the lot and waited with us for the tow truck to bring back my vehicle.

Thirty minutes later, a tall, scraggly, unshaven man wearing tight jeans and a baggy t-shirt came rolling up in his tow truck, with my car trailing behind. He got out of his truck and laughed, "This is your car, I would guess?! Yeah, I got a call over my radio sayin' uh, Dave, we're gonna need you to bring that car back, and I was like, oh shit! I stole somebody's car!" He had a big gap between his crooked teeth that blared as he talked and laughed. I liked him.

And as I watched him unhitch my car, I thought about it, and my dad might be right. There are exciting things happening all the time, I just have to open my eyes to them. I mean, these little things might not ever be a hit screenplay or a published book, but they're still definitely a jog from the mundane.

Needless to say, I had plenty to talk about when my dad called me that week.

Part 24: Love Knows No Distance

As I may have mentioned before, my dad grew up in a strict Baptist family in the South, but that didn't stop him from being a rather rebellious young boy, which also might explain where I get those tendencies from. When he was younger, he would sneak away from the dinner table while his mother's back was turned and scrape whatever casserole she had made that night into the toilet. After the toilet backed up and overflowed two inches of water throughout the house, his only defense would be, "Well, the toilet didn't like it either!"

In college, he thought that perhaps the fountain in front of the girls' dormitory would look nice if it had a small flame floating on the surface of the water. So, after much encouragement from his friends, he poured a tank of oil into the fountain, lit a match and threw it in. Nothing happened. Apparently, the oil's density was greater than the density of the water, which caused it to sink to the bottom. The match was then, obviously, extinguished by the layer of water over the oil.

My father, being an intelligent collegiate, grabbed a tank of gas from the back of his truck and proceeded to pour that into the fountain, as well. He lit a match, threw it in, and boom.

Much, much more than a small fire on the surface of the water.

He got away with it, too - even after being called in by the dean, who had eye-witnesses - except for a few singed arm-hairs and burned eyebrows.

...

My dad attended college for seven years without obtaining any sort of degree, mostly due to the fact that he changed his major every year. His parents were fed up with paying for his incessant indecisiveness, and after several threats, he quit school and moved to Hawaii. He worked for a small dime store called Ben Franklin's doing cash-register repair and saved enough money to buy a house. He spent most of his days body surfing at the beach in front of his house in Kihei and picking fresh pineapple and passion fruit straight from their plants.

My father fell into a coma some years later after he had been given a shot with a needle that was infected with spinal meningitis. (Back then, not all hospitals used disposable needles, and this one had not been properly sterilized.) He had originally become sick after eating worm-infested sashimi, which caused the worms to also eat holes through his intestines. The pain in his abdomen was excruciating. So, my dad was rushed to the hospital (which was more like a dirty little house with hospital beds in it) to have the perforated sections of his intestine removed. The surgery went fine, except for the fact that he slipped into a coma.

My father awoke from his vegetative state 23 days later, with his worried grandmother by his side (who had been praying unceasingly that he would awake). It was at that point, after his near-death experience, that he decided to do something more meaningful with his life.

He sold his house in Hawaii and joined the Navy.

...

My mother is a Vietnam-born Chinese, and grew up in Vietnam during the war in a small apartment with her family. They had mosquito nets around their beds and the noise of the bugs flying around and landing on the nets was enough to keep her awake at night. Geckos and lizards crawled on the walls and ceilings, sometimes dropping like bombs unexpectedly onto their food or in their hair.

During the Vietnam war, my mother said she recalls that the sky was never dark, but always glowing red. They had a curfew of 9:00, and if they weren't in the city gates by then, they could be locked out. They were required to walk on sidewalks and paved areas because of land-mines, and often heard horror stories about their classmates and friends being killed because they weren't following the safety precautions.

Luckily for my mom's family, my grandfather worked for the American Embassy in Vietnam, and as a result, his family had priority to leave to American refugee camps for safety. My mother's family, minus my grandfather who had to stay behind, was boarded onto a helicopter with other Vietnamese families and flown to Florida. When my grandfather was finally able to join them two months later, they left Florida and were put in a refugee camp in Stockton, California, less than an hour away from San Francisco. They lived at the refugee camp for two years.

My grandpa finally found a job in San Francisco and moved everyone there, close to China Town. They were in a foreign land, and except for my grandfather, didn't speak any English. My mom was only 17 at the time, and hadn't even graduated high school.

...

My father, a new Navy-man, was stationed in San Diego, where he hoped to meet a beautiful, tall, blonde and tan wife (with big "bazoombas," as he says). His ship, the U.S.S. Cooke, often made trips to Treasure Island in San Francisco for repair and re-stocking. One particular time, they were told that their ship would be docked for a period of 6 months. The sailors were encouraged to attend City College for a semester, since the Navy paid for their education, anyway. My dad was studying to be an electronic engineer on the ship, so he thought it would be a good idea to enroll for classes at night, after his daily shift.

My mother had also started taking some night classes at City College to help her learn English, and also to earn her general Associates Degree to help her get along with her new life in America.

They met by chance at the campus cafeteria, which both frequented around dinner time in-between classes. At least for my dad, it was love at first sight; she was a vision, although not tall, blonde, nor tan. My dad asked her out, and my mom, not knowing how to say 'no' in English, agreed. He proposed two months later and they've been in love ever since.

Part 23: Was I in Your Dreams?

Noah and I were sitting on my bed. Adam had gone, but I'm not sure to where - all I remember for sure was that he was going to be gone for a long while. And somehow, Noah found me. We sat on my bed together and talked. We caught up on each other's lives, laughed, stared in silence, smiled, let ourselves trail off... And when the silence grew too much, we looked at each other again and without any notice, we hugged. We held each other for a long time, too, until I felt him tilt his head in toward my neck, and lay a gentle kiss underneath my jaw bone. I breathed in deeply, and did the hardest thing I've ever had to do; I pulled away.

"I'm married." I said quietly.

"I know. I'm sorry. I just... I got caught up. I missed you. I felt like I did when we were in school."

I knew exatly what he meant; I didn't want him to stop. Damnit, it was so hard. I smiled at him and we hugged again. This time, though, I kissed him on his neck. On purpose. I know - save your judgements for later, please. He kissed my neck again in return, and slowly made his way to my lips.

Now, understand, we've never kissed each other on the lips, always on the cheek, forehead, hands, and neck. I've never felt his lips upon mine, not until that moment. I've also never experienced butterflies for anyone quite like I did for him, at that moment. I could almost hear heavenly angels' voices break into a hallelujah chorus as the clouds parted in the sky, complete with beaming rays of sunlight and all.

Oh, his lips felt so good. They always looked soft, and damnit, they were. He was the best kisser I've ever experienced! Or, maybe it was just that it was so anticipated, and so very, very forbidden.

My two little dogs ran into the room and wanted to play, so we entertained them as we smiled and laughed, embarrassed. The dogs finally fell asleep, as did Noah and I, in each other's arms. As I dosed off, I remember thinking that it felt nothing like being with Adam. At all. In fact, I never knew it could be so good or that I could want it so bad.

...

I woke up on my stomach, facing away from the other side of the bed. I excitedly rolled over, just to see Noah next to me.

But it was Adam.

One of the biggest let-downs I have ever known. It was all a dream, every blissful second of it. But it was so real! I could feel Noah's lips against mine!

I dream about him from time to time. It's not a surprise, I guess, since I think about him so much. It has just never been so vivid before. I've never remembered every detail so clearly before.

I've also never felt myself sink so much deeper before, either.

Part 22: Hero-Worship

If wanting ever taught you anything, it's wanting more (and more and more and more...)

What to do?
Sweetheart, you'll find mediocre people do exceptional things all the time.
Oh, the ruin will do in your talented mind...

-Ok Go

...

I'm in a constant state of flux.

And in the lowest of times, I often think, Why am I here? What am I contributing to this life? Which makes me then wonder why I was even born in the first place. I'm not sure if my soul existed before my physical body did, but if it did, I don't remember asking for this, to be born. Who asked me if I wanted to be here? I don't mean that to be as morbid as it might seem, but really - it's an interesting thought; I didn't ask to come into this life, yet I am expected to be something and to do something meaningful with it. And I can either choose to see that as a blessing and actually try do something grand, or sit here, as I often do, and question my own life's importance. Am I just a waste of space and other valuable resources?

I'm also constantly scrutinizing and comparing myself to others. I don't try to, I don't even want to, but it happens all the time.

I tend to compare myself to my brother the most. I think, Man, if I just had his talent, I'd be happy. If I had his musical ability, maybe I could actually do something meaningful. These are very self-destructive thoughts to have.

...

My brother came into town last week to see me for Christmas. He met me for lunch downtown at a old-world style deli, where we ordered the best spicy turkey sandwiches in town. There are only a few small, round wooden tables at the front of the store, and as it was lunch hour, all of them were taken. But, as I do reside in sunny California, it was warm and sunny outside, even in the middle of December, so we made our way down to the mission and sat on the steps in the bright sunlight.

As we scarfed down our delicious turkey and avocado combos, we caught up on each other's lives, talking with our mouths full, smacking in-between chews (as customary for Chinese people (it's totally polite, I swear)). I let him do most of the talking, because it's a challenge to get him to open up, as it is.

"Sometimes..." he said, with food in his cheek, "Sometimes I don't know what I'm doing here. I mean, I'm 23. I feel like if I were going to do something big, something important, I'd have done it by now. I'm getting old! I mean, not OLD old, but..." He gazed over my shoulder, "Ok, I feel like I'm in the exact same spot, doing the exact same things I did when I was 16. Except when I was 16, it was much more impressive. I was considered a prodigy. But now that I'm 23, I'm on equal playing fields as everyone else. I'm ordinary. I'm not special anymore, and I'll never be a 16-year-old prodigy again. I'm only getting older and, with age, less special. You know?" He swallowed his food and brought his gaze back to me.

I was amazed. He had just expressed exactly what I felt, except that he was, even in his "ordinarity," still a thousand times more talented than me. And maybe that's it; maybe it doesn't matter how much talent you possess because there can always be a craving for more. Maybe ambition knows no satisfaction. I don't want to drown out my desires, but I'd like to, at least in a small way, feed that hunger. So, how can I be happy with what I've got, and how can I make do with what's been given to me?

And can the same be said for love?

Part 21: The Divided Self

It depends on my mood, really. Sometimes I think, You know, this isn't so bad. I can do this. And other times, I catch myself feeling more and more desperate to get out with every passing second, dripping with sweat and panicked. And thus, I find myself completely divided. Is it easy to stay with Adam? Of course it is. It's probably the easiest thing I can do, even if I am miserable at times. Even when we fight, even when I can't do anything but cry myself to sleep, it's easier to stay. And sometimes it's good. Sometimes we joke and laugh and act like children. It usually doesn't last long, but I can't deny that it happens. Most of the time, though, we're just there. We exist, we are.

Can I do this for the rest of my life? I'm really not sure, but making that decision now scares me. I won't ever know what the future holds until it gets here, and that's really frightening for me. I like having control over things. I don't like the idea of leaving things to chance.

I feel like I've got the proverbial angel-and-devil-shoulder-dwellers, constantly arguing over what I should do. But really, I can't even say that one is evil and the other not, because the idea of "good" is so skewed in my eyes. Besides, that would make my decision far too easy. Maybe they're both angels, but with differing opinions. Or both devils. Or both just confused people like myself.

One of them believes that I should stay; that joy comes to those who work at it, to those who pray. It's my duty to stay - that's what I agreed to do when I stood at the alter and recited those vows. It's the commitment that I chose for myself long ago and a commitment that I must keep; a covenant that mustn't be broken.

It's also the Christian thing to do. The Bible clearly states that God hates divorce, after all, and it's been my constant life-long goal to do what's right in the eyes of God. Shouldn't that be my clear answer?

But then, the other speaks up. He is constantly telling me a different story, that we all make mistakes and that's what we're allowed. It can't be expected that we live perfect lives. Even if we could, that would completely nullify the idea of grace, which is a basic Christian fundamental. If we were perfect, we wouldn't so earnestly need God, nor his forgiveness.

And what's worse? A marriage that is in no way edifying to the body of Christ, or a divorce that may be a wake-up call that allows both parties to grow stronger as Christians?

Thus, my two friendly shoulder-dwellers make conversation in my ear. And either way, they both agree that I need to make a choice. I wish there was a better way of knowing which one to make.

I think my biggest struggle now is that, even though I appear to be trying and appear to want it to work, I'm secretly hoping it will fail. And maybe all these ideas being whispered into my ears is just my way of trying to find a loophole, and I really do know what the right answer is. Am I staying because I feel guilted into it?

How do I know what is merely religion, rather than absolute Truth, and how can I differentiate between what God wants for me from what people say God wants for me?

Part 20: Twin Flames and Soul-Mates

It's funny, I really don't believe in "soul-mates" in the traditional sense, but I do believe that soul-mates exist on some kind of level. I believe that there are people in this world with whom we have an automatic connection, a spark; people who require minimum effort and, no matter how short or long we have known the person, make us feel like we've got something that can last our whole lives long. It's a deeper connection that I can't quite express with words and I think, as long as we are observant and conscious of it, we all have these experiences with someone at one point in our lives or another.

My soul-mate-friend is named Keith.

Keith was a 5th-year senior Art major during my junior year at the university. We met 3 days before graduation in my sculpture class, which both of us ditched almost on a daily basis, except for the few days on which we had a project due or a test, like the day of our final exam, which just so happens to be the day we met. Keith was easily the best sculptor in the class and always made such interesting and oddly beautiful works. As our other classmates were frantically trying to touch up their sculptures before we were required to turn them in, I walked over to Keith's station and just stood there next to him, looking at his sculpture.

"Um.. hi," he said.

I have a knack for making things really awkward. "Hi." I said back, avoiding eye-contact.

There was a long, uncomfortable pause before I decided to stop being so weird and just talk to him. "I really enjoy your sculptures. You're very talented."

"Thank you."

We ended up making small talk for the five minutes before class officially started, and I found out he was graduating in 3 days and then going to go to Art Center in Pasadena to get a second bachelor's degree in illustration. I found myself rather disappointed that he was leaving. I don't know what it was about him, but whatever it was made me want to know him.

After our projects were all turned in, we were required to take a short written final (as required more by the University than the professor herself). The written test was a combination of essay questions and a slide identification quiz, which meant that everyone could pretty much finish at the same time. When the test was done, the class crowded around the professor in a cloud of waving arms and test papers. Over the noise from the massive herd that swarmed and rampaged the front of the art studio, I heard my name being called. I turned in the direction of the voice, and saw a folded piece of paper being held in my direction. I grabbed it cautiously and looked up to see who had given it to me, and I saw Keith walking out of the door.

I unfolded the sheet of lined paper and stared at what was there; a realistic drawing done in black ink and colored pencils. It was of me, sitting at my station with my back turned, and to the side of the drawing, a scribbled note in hand-written cursive read "Jehoadan turned her back. From: Keith." It was a beautiful drawing, and not just because it was of me.

...

The last day of school came quickly, and I was walking to my car from the Art Department building when I heard my name being called (once again).

I spun around to see Keith jogging toward me.

"Hey. I just wanted to say goodbye," he stated casually, without any loss of breath from his short jog.

"Oh, yes, you're leaving this poor little town and moving on to the bigger and better. I'm truly jealous. I've always wanted to go to Art Center."

"Well, you are always welcome to come and visit. The campus is awesome. I can show you around, if you're ever in the area."

"Thank you." I smiled. And for some reason or another, we hugged. It wasn't at all romantic; we just had a connection that was hard to explain.

I find it very interesting that we keep that; that we still see how each other is in a very esoteric way - a way that is very Proustian to me... something endearing.

Part 19: When Summer Ends and School Begins

Why does your shape attract my eye?
Is it the chemistry of our young bodies prodding us in such hot pursuit of a lie?
We chase a quickly fading phantom treasure, baby!
If that is so, then one day it shall go,
disappearing as a layer of week-old melting snow.
This human heart is never clear;
It's half filled up with wonder, and the other half with fear.

-Discover America

...

Noah had made such a good impression on the record label he worked for in Portland that they invited him back the following summer. Although I was excited for him, it was another 4 months that I would have to spend away from him.

But this summer, as I was about to find out, was different.

I was at my parents' house every other Sunday during the summer to sing at their church with the worship team, but I spent the rest of the summer at my apartment where I lived. As I approached their house one Monday night, my cell phone rang. I answered without checking the blinking screen to see who was calling, figuring that it was probably my parents wondering how far away I was.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Hey. How are you?" It was Noah.

"Hey! Good! What are you doing? Where are you?"

"Actually, I was just about to ask you the same thing. Are you at your parents' house?"

"I'm headed there as we speak. Why?"

"Because I'm flying in from Portland tomorrow to see my parents, and I was wondering, since our parents live so close to one another, if I could see you. Can I take you to a movie tomorrow night?"

My cheeks were cramping because I was smiling so hard and wide. "Hmm," I teased, "I'll have to pencil you in..."

We agreed to meet at a movie theatre in a city that was exactly half-way between each of our own.

...

Tuesday night came quickly and my excitement was boiling hot inside me. I made sure to look nice; I wore slim-legged khaki pants, white leather stilettos, and a brown chiffon blouse with white polka dots. My heart raced as I made the twenty-minute drive to the theatre, and every once in a while couldn't help but let out a small, nervous laugh. I parked my car in the lot behind the train station and began walking to the town's square. It was a warm night, and had just started to get dark. The lights in all the shops were lit, along with strings of tiny lights along the trees. As I approached the movie theatre, I saw Noah sitting on the brick planter box bench, and he stood up to greet me. We walked around the quaint shopping center together and made small talk before our movie started.

When nine o'clock finally approached, we slowly made our way back to the theatre. Noah had bought our tickets beforehand without my knowing. He pulled open the building door for me and politely gestured for me to enter.

"Would you like any snacks?" He asked. "Coffee?"

"Oh, no, I ate dinner just before I got here. Thank you, though."

He bought himself a cup of coffee in a small styrofoam cup and we made our way to the back row of the theatre.

For some reason, I can't remember anything about the movie. I don't even remember the lights dimming. When I look back, all I can remember about being in that room is feeling as light as a feather and a strange golden hue all around us. Noah and I lightly touched our hands, tracing the lines in each other's palms with our fingers. He played with my hair and touched his hand to the side of my face as I leaned on his shoulder. I remember how he closed his eyes and breathed deeply as I nuzzled my nose in the curve of his neck. I can see these images clearly in my mind, as sharp as the day it happened. I relive this moment every time I close my eyes.

When the movie finished, we were the last ones to leave. We held hands and slowly scuffled along the brick walkway to the parking lot. We stood outside the door of my car, and it was obvious that neither of us wanted to leave. But it was late, and it eventually happened. We hugged, smiling and laughing softly as we talked. I got into my car and started the engine, allowing it to warm up a little before I started to drive. Noah pulled his car in front of mine and beckoned me to follow him to the freeway.

He called my cell phone as we drove in opposite directions and we talked the entire way home.

...

I threw down my purse on the bed in my room, which my parents had kept in tact since I had left for college (which includes the pink heart-adorned wallpaper that I picked out when I was five). My dad's computer was sitting on my desk asleep, and I decided to wake it to check my email. I was still too excited to sleep, anyway.

"Vous avez le courrier," his computer spoke to me after I had signed in.

As I navigated to my inbox to see what sort of weight-loss pills and diet plans were being offered, I noticed that one of the emails came from someone in my address book; it was from Noah, himself.

Jehoadan, it read, I had an amazing time with you tonight. You are one of the most incredible people I have ever known. Thank you. Noah.

My heart felt bright and warm.

Even after Noah returned to Portland for his internship, we continued to email one another daily during the whole duration of the summer. The majority of the emails were gushy flirtations of the "You're amazing," "No, you're amazing" nature. I thought, This is it. He's the one. I felt unbreakable.

Little did I know, it would all be over by the time summer ended and school began.

Part 18: Now it's Legitimate

Feeling alone
with you by my side
Further and further away
Funny how long a moment can seem
when you're trying to hold on

Feels like I'm falling out of love

-Aqualung

...

My family means more to me than anything this world can offer, although I'm not sure if it's because we have a very small family or if it's just the values we've been brought up with. We've never been rich, and at times we've been barely able to make ends meet, but we've always had eachother. And I honestly cannot tell you when the last time my brother and I fought, because I'm not even sure it has ever happened; we're just that close. As my dad always tells us, "I may not have much, but I have a wealth of love for you."

Ever since Adam and I have been married (just over a year), we have been switching off holidays between our families, as most couples do. This year, Thanksgiving was spent with my family and Christmas will be with his. Being that family is so important to me, I'm having an extremely difficult time being okay with not seeing them for Christmas - easily our favorite holiday. In fact, my mom started crying over our Thanksgiving dinner because I wasn't going to be around this year.

I warned Adam afterward that I may seem like I'm fine, but really, it's tearing me apart inside, and I would really need his support. I don't think it got through to him.

I convinced my parents to come to our house this past weekend to celebrate Christmas early, so that I would be able to see them and give them their gifts. They, of course, thought it was a great idea and drove down Friday night. We met them at the restaurant at their hotel for dinner.

Now, Adam and I were doing fine up until this point - I can't say that I was sincerely happy, but I was starting to feel more at peace and more capable of handling my life as a wife. But all throughout dinner, Adam ignored my parents, ignored me, and spent the entire time text-messaging his friends from his cell phone.

The next morning, my parents took us to breakfast, and Adam did the same all during breakfast, then left for the beach and didn't come back for another 5 hours. I was glad to be able to spend some time alone with my family, but at the same time, this was my Christmas with them, even if it wasn't Christmas day, and he should have been around.

The same thing happened during dinner Saturday night, and breakfast Sunday morning. I really have no idea what was so important about those text messages that he need his fingers glued to the keys of his phone. I was so fed up at breakfast that I covered the face of his phone with my hand and asked, "Adam, do you really need to do this now? What is this about?"

He scoffed in annoyance and like a haughty teenager, angrily said, "The guys want to go skateboarding with me later, and we have to work out the details!"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing! He had neglected my family and me the entire weekend, for what? Skateboarding? Not okay. At all.

Adam disappeared to go skateboarding as soon as my parents left Sunday afternoon, without letting the door even have a chance to close behind them.

I tried talking to him when he returned, but it was as if he couldn't hear what I was saying. I poured out my heart to him, he didn't respond. He then put on a Hall & Oates CD and started singing along to it, as if nothing was wrong, as if I hadn't said anything at all. I've never felt so neglected and unloved in my entire life.

I know that something deeper is going on here, but I have no idea what. But I can say now that I'm too tired to do it anymore. I feel like I've lost who I am and that my soul is rapidly corroding away. If I stay in this marriage and nothing changes, I'm going to be a shell of a person in a few short years.

I need a savior.

Part 17: Hardest on Holidays

I could rip,
I could tear
our memories' seams
I could fold,
Show my hands
as naked as thieves,
But I stare at this bridge,
the cracks underneath.

Don't let your love grow away from me
Don't let your love grow away from me
Shocked to find
all my words
won't save me this time.
No, I won't quiet down.
And you'd think by now
I'd bow out gracefully...

-Cold War Kids

...

There's something about the holidays that makes missing Noah unbearable. He's an infection for which there is no cure, even now, years later, even when I'm so "happily" married and have so much "closure."

Fuck closure.

Every happy family, every smiling face, every sad song that plays on the radio only points to him. The smell of pine and cinnamon, the tiny white lights everywhere, the cold, brisk air; they are only causing my lonliness and desperation to grow. They make me shudder all the more when Adam tries to touch my hand or rub my back.

I can't take it! What am I supposed to do? I lost Noah. He's gone. He feels nothing for me, and I'm dying inside. And I have only myself to blame! It's all my fault.

...

I can tell you countless stories of the mistakes I've made with him, and every night I beg God to give me one more chance. Every night I beg Him to let me re-do it all, hit the rewind button. Lord, please.

One night in the dorms, a friend from Florida, whom I hadn't spoken to in quite a while, gave me a call. Noah came over while I was on the phone and I didn't hang up. I ignored him. I sat at my desk while he sat on my bed. An hour later - yes, an entire hour - he got up and walked out my door.

I dropped the phone and chased after him, as if I... I don't know... As if I could change his mind. I grabbed his arm as he headed out of the door and tried to apologize... I gave him a hug and went in for a kiss (YES, a KISS; I AM AN IDIOT) and he turned his head, pulled away, and then disappeared down the hall. I AM SUCH AN ASS.

The worst part is that I justified it to myself; afterall, I hadn't spoken to my friend from Florida in a "long time."

I wish that this was the only situation of its kind, but it's not. I didn't deserve Noah, and I've lost him. I should have done more; I should have treated him better.

Now he's breaking my heart every day. I want him here so bad! I want redemption; I want a second chance.

How does it feel, Noah Preston, to be on my mind all of the time?

Part 16: Fate and the Inevitable Questions She Raised

I was feeling particularly adventurous during the summer after my sophomore year, and decided to buy an airplane ticket to Chicago, Illinois. Three hours south of Chicago is a little city called Bushnell, where an annual music festival takes place in 2 acres of corn fields over a period of 5 days. My decision to go was hasty and impulsive, and the only thing I did to confirm that I was going was buy a $400 plane ticket and an $80 entrance fee. No hotels, no taxi services... I didn't even know how I was going to get to Bushnell from Chicago, let alone where I was going to stay once I got there, and to top it off, I would be traveling alone.

At the time, I had started a website that really just featured my artwork, but also allowed me to branch off into a pin-making business for bands and other such things, and had built up quite a fan base. One of these "fans" was a 14-year-old girl named Breanne who lived near Bushnell, and she practically stalked me on the internet by constantly sending instant messages and emails. A few days before the trip, I asked her if she knew anyone that could possibly pick me up in Chicago and take me to Bushnell. She was ecstatic. She blurted out, "My brother! He's 18! But... you have to promise you won't fall in love with him." I assured her I wouldn't, and began chatting with him over Instant Messenger, as well.

I got to the airport around 8:30 at night, and I didn't even know who to look for. I started to feel extremely anxious, and a little foolish for even attempting to pull this off. If my parents had any clue what I was doing...

Finally, I saw a skinny dark haired boy with glasses followed by a young blonde girl who looked very similar to the boy, and figured they must be my ride.

"Are you Jehoadan?" the boy asked me.

"Uh, yes... You're Chris, I take it. And you must be Breanne," I smiled and turned to the girl.

After some hand-shakes and awkward hellos, Chris clapped, "Sweet, let's go."

We picked up my luggage from the baggage claim, piled into his forest-green Thunderbird and started upon the 3 hour journey back to Bushnell.

The car ride was really a lot of fun. I teased Chris for the music he had playing in his car, which only made him turn it up louder, and then he and I teamed up against Breanne by telling her we were going to sneak away during the night to make-out by the hay bails at the camp grounds. We slowed down at the toll booth just enough to throw change out of the window, into the collection funnel and sped off without losing any time.

Chris and Breanne were surprisingly hospitable and took me grocery shopping before the festival, lent me a spare tent and sleeping bag, and even made me eggs in the morning before we left.

...

When we finally set up camp at the grounds, I grabbed a line-up schedule and started exploring the area on my own. As I walked around the merchandise booths, I heard a voice say my full name quite clearly.

I thought to myself in confusion, "I don't know anyone in Illinois..." I rapidly traced my mind for any clues. The voice sounded very, very familiar... "Wha...? No way..." But it was.

I smiled and turned toward the direction of the voice. "Noah Preston," I said in a voice loud enough to carry over the crowds of people. He perked up and met my eyes with his, and a grin came over his face.

"Jehoadan Nicole," he said back.

He started to climb out from behind the booth, and I heard his fellow booth-attendee say, "Noah! She's way cute! Why don't you date her??" which caused us both to blush.

I couldn't stop grinning. He jogged over to me and reached for a hug. "What are you doing here?" I questioned.

"I'm working for this record label for the summer, and part of my job is to go to all the music festivals around the country and man the booths," he answered.

"Wow, that's a sweet job."

"I know. I'm pretty blessed." He laughed, "This is so weird! Of all the places, I run into you here!"

"I know!"

"Hey, I get off in an hour... Will you meet me here and hang out with me? Maybe we can get some food."

"Of course I will!" I smiled. My heart was racing. Are these the things we call fate?

...

It's really quite bizzare how everything works out. I mean, how did this all happen? I left California without a plan or even an idea of how things were going to go once I got to the festival, and yet I managed to find rides to everywhere I needed, food, friends, and even Noah.

Noah and I hung out nearly every day we were there, met really cool people, watched bands from backstage, and had a total blast.

The final night, he asked me to join him for Pedro the Lion, one of his favorite musicians at the time. We walked arm in arm down the dirt hill to the main stage and sat on top of the grass toward the back. The air was sticky hot, and we were both disgustingly sweaty, un-showered, and covered in dust. But despite this, he put his arm around me and drew me in close to his side. We laughed at how his hand got stuck to my shoulder because of our sweat, and I was in Heaven.

Part 15: The Meaning of Self-Destruction

Summerlove left this town
It was too cold to bathe and the leaves turned brown
The sun went down
And with it the love we found
That's the way things are sometimes
Most of the time

-Jose Gonzalez

...


"So, there's no hope?" Evan agreed to meet me at a local cafe to talk. He was always my go-to for advice, even if I didn't agree, and he always had such interesting things to say. Plus, I just didn't know what to do about Adam.

Evan was also aware that I still had feelings for Noah.

"Well, I don't know," I said. "You can't make someone love you. And I just don't see it happening."

"Stranger things have happened, you know. Like the inventing of Velcro."

I laughed. "Maybe, but I'm still married."

"But a marriage is a complementary partnership. If you're unhappy, Nic, it's not fair to you or your husband."

"I know this, but don't you think it's my duty to try? To try to make it work and to try to be happy with how things are?"

"Happiness isn't something that should be strived toward. We either have it, or we don't. It's like relaxing; if we tell someone to 'try to relax,' it's oxymoronic and counterproductive. The very act of relaxing is to be in a state where we don't exert ourselves. You need to be happy with yourself, and I dont think you are."

"Of course I'm not. I wanted to go to grad school, get out of this town, and feel like I am doing something with my life. Instead, I'm stuck in the same damn town with a job I hate and no real plan for the future."

Pause

"Honestly, Nic, I think you married too early."

Duh.

He continued, "This is neither the medieval times, nor were you in an arranged marriage, so you shouldn't have to learn to love someone."

"It's too late," I shrugged. "I'm already married. The damage is done and I've got the scar."

"What scar?"

"The one that's blaring across my forehead! The one that would say DIVORCED in huge red letters if I decided to leave. It screams 'I CAN'T MAKE IT WORK.'"

That really got him going. "This isn't The-freakin-Scarlet Letter! No, it shows that you're human and that you live and learn!"

I let out a long sigh, as if to say "I guess."

"As human beings we are all prone - no, preordained - to screw up. We can either throw in the proverbial towel and give up, or use that damn towel to wipe the dirt off our elbows and knees, and then the sweat off our brows, pick ourselves up and go forth." He went on, "If the fact you were previously married is a reason someone uses for not being with you 100 percent, then they can fuck off. Honestly. But who you are - who you are - should be more than enough for someone to thank the Heavens they have opposable thumbs."

I smiled as I fidgeted with my coffee stirrer.

"Unless you're into the non-opposable thumb sorts. If so," he raised his cup, "to each their own..."

"No, no - I am a huge fan of opposable thumbs," I laughed.

He smirked, "Whew. Oh, good."

Part 14: Late Night Car Rides

I was home alone one night, and really starting to miss Noah. It was around Christmas time and raining outside, and even though I love my 1960s-era metal wall heater, cozying up to it instead of a real human body just wasn't doing the trick. I decided to call him to see if he wanted to come over for dinner.

He knocked at my door and let himself in just as I had finished cooking (I made crispy baked chicken and sauteed vegetables in teriyaki sauce to top long-grain rice). The tops of his shoulders and shoes were wet, and water was dripping from his hair. He smelled so good.

He walked over to where I stood in the kitchen and wrapped his arms around me in big bear hug as I said "Hi" with subtle excitement, and he told me how delicious it smelled.

"Hey. I really hate to do this to you," he said, "but I've pretty much gotta eat and run. Some of my friends are having a Christmas party and I promised them I'd make an appearance. But it's not for another hour or so, so we can hang out for a while before I need to leave."

"Oh, ok. No problem," I answered, managing to smile while trying to hide my disappointment (and secret hope that he would invite me along (which didn't happen)). I changed the subject as I put the food on plates. "Um, so, I didn't make anything fancy. Just chicken and rice."

We sat at the kitchen counter next to each other and laughed as we ate. Noah helped himself to seconds, which is always a good sign, and I pushed my plate away as I leaned on my elbow and listened to him talk. It was so easy to be with him, and he made me want to cook for him every night. Hell, he made me want to do his laundry and clean his house and bear his children. It was like a dream and I felt like I was glowing. We were glowing.

Afterward, he helped me do the dishes as we laughed and talked some more. But of course, as all good things end, it was his time to leave. I didn't want to seem desperate or let down, so I hugged him and thanked him for helping me wash up, and he thanked me for dinner. It was another really good hug, and then he was gone.

After I had finished putting the clean dishes away, Stacy called me and asked if I wanted to watch a movie at her house, and wanting to be rescued from the onset of depression due to my disappointment that Noah had gone, I agreed. She picked me up from my place a few minutes later and I told her what had just happened as we drove to her apartment.

...

We turned off all the lights and almost as soon as we had started the movie, my phone rang. It was Noah.

"Hey, Noah," I smiled to Stacy.

"Nic, what are you doing right now?"

"I'm at Stacy's house and we're about to watch a movie. Why?"

"Um, would she mind if I came over?"

"What about your party?"

"Well, I stopped by and said hello, but then realized that I miss you. So I left."

I was so happy to hear those words through the phone's speaker. "Come on over. Do you know where she lives?"

"Yeah. Ok, I'll be over in a few."

Wow. Maybe it was my cooking? I couldn't be sure, but I was joyous nonetheless. A few short minutes later, Noah appeared in the doorway and sat next to me on the couch.

...

When the movie was over, Stacy asked if I wanted a ride home, until Noah spoke up and offered to take me, since he was already going to be out. We said goodbye to Stacy and climbed into Noah's tan-colored Honda. As we drove across town to my apartment, we joked about love and relationships.

"Yeah, I'm thinking about becoming a Monk or a Priest," he told me.

"What?? Why?"

"Because girls don't like me, so I might as well take a vow of celibacy."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Excuse me, Noah Preston, but I'm pretty sure that every girl at the University knows who you are, and any girl that knows who you are can't help but fall in love with you. It's a part of your charm."

"Jehoadan Nicole, you never cease to flatter," he laughed. We were in the habit of using each other's full name when we flirted.

He then proceeded to explain his band's newest song, which was a first-hand experience he had with a particular, unnamed girl. He put in the CD and I listened to his voice sing these words:

I'm the object of her novelty.
A million lights lined up for her to see.
Hold out my arm, reach for it with her heart,
What a novel way, What a novel way to start.

I'm the subject of her frailty.
A million cards sent quite possibly
with a return in mind, an investment from the heart.
What a novel way, what a novel way to start.

Ten years is a long, long time to wait, ten years,
and who can debate that ten years is a long, long time to wait?
Am I worth the wait? Am I worth the wait?
Survey says no, I'm not worth the wait. I'm not worth the wait.

She said, I got what it takes, a heart a decade won't break,
but I think it's only fair to tell you that 2 months is 2 too long
to prove me wrong.

(Her novelty)
She'll grab ahold of you,
(Her novelty)
and leave before you count to two.

(Her novelty)
She'll grab ahold of you!

My heart sank. I couldn't help but feel like he was talking about me, even if he wasn't. I would have definitely waited 10 years for him, but I too needed an answer.

If he would have only asked me to wait, I would've.

Part 13: Disposable Parts

You won't be around forever, girl,
You've gotta grab life with both hands.

-Snow Patrol

...

Sometimes love dies.

Or does it fade out? Either way, if it can so easily go away, was it ever love in the first place?

And it all circles back to my eternal, infernal question: how does one know what true love is?

Should I stay with Adam because it's easy and it makes him happy, or should I risk losing it all to pursue something that may or may not make me happy, and may break many hearts along the way?

Maybe it's my idea of Noah that I love. Maybe if I was with him, I'd be feeling the same way and wishing I were with Adam, instead. Why is the grass always greener on the other side? Can I never be satisfied?

Or maybe it's just that I suffer from an artist's "tormented soul" and won't allow myself to be happy.

I guess the reason it bothers me so much is that I want to be in love. However much I claim that butterflies are not indicative of love, I want them! I want colorful winged insects fluttering in my stomach; I want to feel giddy and happy and nervous. I want to experience passion and fire and deep-gutted lust. But I can't muster it up. I can't force it, I can't make it happen. Am I asking too much? Is there no hope?

Who needs a drink?

Part 12: Alive, With Pleasure

Several weeks after I had heard the (tragic) news that Noah and Allison had begun to date, Noah showed up at my doorstep bearing in hand a mixtape he had made especially for me. He didn't stay long, but didn't leave without one of his infamous hugs that lasted, at the very least, 2 whole minutes and somehow managed to make the entire world disappear. I missed those hugs. As he held me close, I heard him mutter under his breath that I give the best hugs, and I held on just a little longer.

I needed to talk to Allison.

...

She met me at my house the following night after class. I was a nervous wreck, who was about to wreck the relationship of a friend. Well, potentially. The truth is, I wasn't even sure yet what I was going to say. What could I say? For all I knew, it was all in my head. But I was, even then, sure that Noah still felt something for me, and Allison deserved to know. She deserved to know that he still came to my house, still gave me gifts from the heart, still hugged me with more passion than I've ever known in a hug.

I really didn't know how to begin. I made awkward small-talk before abruptly diving right into it, and it all came pouring out without a thought.

"Allison, I'm not sure how much Noah has told you about our relationship, but I feel like you have a right to know. I can't define what we are... were... but it's been going on for a long time, and..."

"Nic -"

"...I like him. A lot. And no one knows. We flirt and cuddle and hold hands and... it's important to me that you know. I mean, I don't think anything would happen as long as you are dating, but this had been going on right up until you two started, and I really have no idea what's going on."

"Nic. It's fine. Noah and I went on a few dates and then decided that we would make better friends." My stomach did a sommersault and I almost choked. "I guess I realized I don't like him as much as I thought I did, after spending some real time with him, and I'm sure he feels the same. We're just too different."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My heart was dancing.

We hung out for the rest of the afternoon, which was easy once my worries had been put at ease. Why didn't I do this earlier? It felt so good to get it off my chest - finally - and to know that maybe I still had a chance. Maybe I was back in the game.

Part 11: The Ties That Bind

My grandfather and I have never been close; he was always of the opinion that children were women's business, and therefore, had nothing to do with him. He would sit in the living room watching the evening news while my grandma took care of my brother and I. He was always a solemn man with very little to say and even less to smile about. I remember watching him from an adjacent room in their large, country home, and often wondered what he was thinking about or how his life had been when he was younger.

I don't know much about my grandfather's life when he was my age, but I do know that he had served in the army and was stationed in Hawaii during the war. He saw less fighting than most, but did see breathtaking Hawaiian landscapes and volumptuous, dark women. After months of being there, he fell in love with one of those women and wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with her.

Keep in mind that my grandfather was born and raised in a strong Baptist family from the South. When he brought news home that he had fallen in love, his family scorned him for falling in love with someone who was not only of a different race, but also of a different religious denomination, and an entirely different social class. He was forbidden to ever see her again, and, being an obedient young man, he respected his parents' wishes and walked away from that love. His parents set him up with my grandmother - an upper class white woman who attended the same Baptist church - and they were married in the fall of 1947.

My grandparents have been married for 59 years and still going strong, but I've often wondered if they've ever truly been in love with each other. They've had 3 children, but have separate bedrooms; I've never seen them kiss or touch or even say "I love you" to one another, yet their marriage has lasted far beyond most and has been really quite successful.

Perhaps this is what sparked my curiosity about whether or not love is a choice as opposed to chemical reactions and nauseating stomach churns. Well, it's been a grueling mental battle ever since.

Is self-sacrifice the basis of true love, or is true love the basis of self-sacrifice?

Part 10: Give it Some Time

...I've waited here my whole damn life and I've forgotten what I wanted.
Maybe I can do it if I put my back into it - I can leave you if I wanted, but there's nowhere else that I can go.
Maybe I won't suffer if I find a way to love here - I'd be lying to myself, but there's no way out that I can see.

-Snow Patrol

...

They always say that the first year of marriage is the hardest. Whoever "they" are, well, they weren't kidding. It's been over a year, and it's still hard - not that I assumed that we would reach the 1 year benchmark and automatically enter into wedded bliss.

Please, don't get me wrong - my marriage is not bad. It's not good, but it's not bad. I've often thought about leaving Adam, but always had an excuse - aside from the fact that I had no real reason to leave him, except that I'm not happy. Neither of us have cheated, I'm not beaten, and quite honestly, I'm treated rather well. I can tell that he loves me and makes genuine effort to make my life easier. I just don't know if that's enough.

For the most part, we have all the usual marital problems; he hates it when I sneak my cold feet under his legs while we're watching TV on the couch, I hate that he leaves his clothes all over the livingroom floor. He doesn't like that I leave my water glass on the coffee table, I can't stand that he forgets to pay bills. But these are things that even roommates go through - nothing to ruin a marriage over, right?

But...

Roommates also don't have to live with each other forever.