unsent

I came up to HU yesterday, to visit some old friends. Twilight Zone. It's amazing how much this place feels totally separate to me, even though I've been in touch with more than a few friends since graduation. I guess it's because that I've been seeing them other places that coming back here feels so weird. I stayed with my friend Dana last night, sleeping on the floor (literally) of the floor (Meadows 2nd) that I used to live on my junior year. I was the RA here. I patrolled these halls at night, idly swinging my master keys on an HC (as it was back then) lanyard, breaking up makey-outey couples in darkened basement classrooms. Getting f-ing parking tickets for accidentally leaving the crappy neon parked out front overnight. Making shrimp dinners and dancing in the lounge, while we waited for birthdays.

Driving up here, I talked to a friend for a long time, and wondered why (again) it was never me. The unanswerable of unanswerables again, I know, but yet I can't stop wondering. And not just with him, but with the dinner company as well... I could really end up making a fool of myself if I'm not careful. But let me assure you all, I am beyond careful. You might even call me as silent as the grave.

One of the most beautiful, fantastic experiences of my life happened last night. I saw Brad Etter at Henrys (which should almost go without saying), and he was totally floored to see me (which should also almost go without saying). There was a hanging of the head, a dropping of the jaw, and an "oh my god" moment, and then hugging and his slow, soft voice delivering up to me the sword of truth. He told me that Over The Rhine is coming to Ft. Wayne on May 20th to play at C2G, the church that I went to there for my last six months in college. It's also a venue, which if that does not make sense, just think about why it should. And accept it gleefully. Of course, now my jaw is hanging open. This is my home turf, this will mean that I will have played the same venue as OTR. It's a really intimate setting, I know I'll be able to see them really well, and perhaps meet them again, with a real conversation or something since Brad is hosting. But then the most beautiful words come out of Brad's mouth that I've ever heard. Hey, you'd be perfect for this, he says. Why don't you drive up early that day, they will be getting here about 4 hours before the show, and kind of be their liason for the day?

Yes.

And I gasp, and splutter, and gasp, and grasp the flyer tightly in my small, sturdy fist. Brad and I talk some more, about my scarf that is still hanging on his banister, and Sunny is expecting again in July, and C2G is exploding. My answers are non-commital, and though I try to hear what he is saying, there really is very little comprehension. I am the king of the world.

Everyone at my home table was ecstatic. They're all going to come to the show, and were happy for me, clapping me on the shoulder like I'd just fathered some big, beautiful 40 year old couple with musical chops like Ella Fitzgerald on a good day. It was so good to laugh with them. And rejoice, and be glad.

Not everyone does. For reasons I probably don't get, and don't want to anymore. One time, just once, I want someone to take my side against "the boy" of the picture. But faithfulness is not for the receiver, it is for the giver. And I must say, I am glad to have shaped my character here. Doing this, over and over; like I'm crazy or something. Ha. Maybe that's been the problem all along. I keep expecting a different result, I keep expecting understanding, or patience, or some emotional output for me that is more than a halfhearted attempt at giving me what has to be given because it's what I want. It's so easy to love people, to give to them, to support them, to rejoice with them, to cry with them, to give them a shoulder to cry on when you can't anymore. This is what makes me happy. But I can't go on forever, though I'd like to. On second thought, maybe that latter statement isn't even true anymore. I'm just tired.

I went running this morning on campus, along perimeter road. Talk about flashback city- where things really all started. I listened to Ben Folds, and decided to cut the run a little short when I got over to the far side of the lake, behind the MCA. I walked over to the trees with the bark curling off, and reached in for some. I didn't make it at first, there were cobwebs stretched across the branches, and I laughed for a moment, remembering years ago when somebody else was wandering depressed around campus, digging boxes out of dumpsters. I pulled the fragile bark off, realizing that one man's trash is another man's treasure.

I went over to sit on a patch of grass, narrow between the MCA wall and the small bunch of trees at the waterline of the lake, where the first sleepover happened. Brick came over the headphones to me. I told myself that it was ok to sit there and cry a minute, after I looked around to make sure nobody was near. After all, it wouldn't be the first time I'd cried by the lake. I was alone. And so Ben sang to me, and I didn't cry at all, just sat there looking dully at the water, and at the leaves of grass all around me. A small spider crawled out from between the folds of bark I had cradled in my hand, and I threw them to the ground, at the same time laughing. I waited until it crawled off, and picked them up again, at the same time I picked myself up. Brick ended, and Song for the Dumped started up as I began walking back to Meadows. I lipsynched along, and smiled, and laughed when I realized I'd already gotten my black t-shirt back.

I ran in it this morning.