Sorting memories

I've let you go, but the memories remain like the smell after the rain. In every bad thing, there's something good to be found. 

I remember the first time you met my parents, when I drove that angry old Jeep out to South Dakota and we drove through the Badlands. It was so hot my rearview mirror melted right off the windshield. We didn't have any reason to look back, though, did we? 

You would sneak into my room and sleep on the floor next to me just to be close. We weren't married so we couldn't sleep together, but you couldn't help yourself. 

There are so many memories; I'm sorting them now. Some are good and some are bad, but they're all us. We made them, for better or for worse. 

How about the night I rolled up to your mom's house for the first time. It was December, but it wasn't cold. I saw you in the flesh for the first time. We talked until the wee hours of the morning. And the next day was Christmas Eve Day. I said I didn't celebrate Christmas, but you didn't care. I was part of the family now. Your niece was only three years old. Now she has boys of her own. 

There were a lot of shows all those years. We saw Fugazi, Rollins Band, Bad Religion, Social Distortion, and what seemed like a million others. Some of those bands will never be seen again. We were a part of history. When Ian MacKaye complained that cold air on a hot body was a crime, we were there. When he stopped the show, our hearts stopped too. And it was $5 for that show. Kids were smoking pot around us, and I smoked a cigar. There were so many shows, some lost to the far corners of my mind now. 

When Bad Religion played at the Blind Pig, we were there, front row. And when Bobby threw his drumsticks to the crowd, you fought over them. We didn't get the drumsticks, but we still have the memories of hanging out with the band afterward. They were watching hockey. 

As we got older, the shows got harder and harder to get to, but we still got there. If it was Tuesday night and the show was at the Magic Stick in Detroit, we were there. Sometimes you fell asleep in the car on the way home. We saw Samiam and Face to Face when I thought I'd never see them. We drove all the way to New Jersey one summer to see bands play in Philly we thought we'd never see. These were our heroes, and we followed them through time and space. Now, all we have are the memories and ticket stubs. 

We spent most of our lives together apart, ironically. My job didn't let me see you the way I wanted to, and we never knew the next time we'd see each other. I blamed my job for our problems way too much; I see now it was us that was wrong. There was so much sadness about our separation; you could cut it with a knife. We consoled ourselves in so many wrong ways. But, we always made time for each other when we could. At the end of the day, we both wanted to be there. 

We had our fair share of vacations together. We visited Hocking Hills. It rained on our hike, so we had a bbq meal and got in the hot tub afterward to warm our bones. Remember Henry by the lake? The Old Dutch Inn and their stupid broasted chicken? The spiders in the cabin? The critters in the ceiling? 

How about the last time we visited Ludington? By that time, the sadness had become unbearable. We were trying to drag a corpse of a relationship around with us. I was sick and you were bleeding. We sat in separate beds. Our walks and conversations were tinged with longing and sadness and realizations neither of us could speak. I had given up. 

There were perfect moments like the Christmas Eve when it snowed and we lived downtown so we walked all over that deserted town in the snow. It was a perfect moment neither of us wanted to end. We were both present and grateful for what we had. Moments like that still make me smile.

You cried when we got our first place together. You were sad to leave your mom; there were dead cockroaches in the cupboards. I said it wasn't perfect, but we'd make it work. I always said that, didn't I? 

I can still see us together at the dog park with Bailey and Kelli. I can see myself walking to visit you at Pisanellos and then later on at the Popular Culture Library. The first two weeks together we held hands and watched movies on the couch. We just soaked each other up. It was perfect. Neither of us wanted to be anywhere else. I didn't want it to end. 

I had so many hopes for us, hopes that you would dash. I don't know why you were the way you were. I can't believe I wasted so many years just waiting for us to get our chance. And when we did get our chance, it blew up in our faces. The pain of that still lingers. The realization that it was us all along that was wrong and not our situation, well, there just aren't words anymore that disappointment. 

There are so many little memories. That's what life seems to churn out more than anything else. Those little moments when we were happy together. 

I can't blame you for everything. I won't; don't worry. I know it was hard to live with me sometimes because I was so beaten down. It must have been brutal to see me like that year after year. So tired. You tried to help me. I admire you for that. In the end, we all fight our own battles. God did what you could never do. It's funny that all those years I thought I would kill myself. After walking away from you, I have no desire to kill myself. What a shitty thing to say. But it's true. 

There are things that are funny now. How you never cleaned the toilet. Your endless string of bad couches; you got rid of one to get another. The way you hated when I put my leg up against you when we slept. The time you cut your finger and shook it, making our kitchen look like a crime scene. Our neighbors who fucked a lot, and loudly. Our neighbors who hated us and we hated them and we always called the cops on them. Our made-up stories about our neighbors on Vale Court and all the drama we imagined for them. My endless stream of work hilarity. All the fun we had on IRC and Flickr. The strange people we met and befriended; the drinking in the backyard. Bowman's stupid stories. John Henson. The degus in the shoes. Our neighbors and their flaming grill at night. Milo's arguments with Captain Morgan. The woodchucks under the shed. Roberta. It was a whole world we built. Why did you have to tear it down? 

I didn't ask for too much. I just wanted a good girl who valued me, respected me, and who loved me. Instead, I got you, an enemy of my soul. I'm better off without you, sadly. I don't mourn so much for the loss of us as much as the loss of so many years I fought for us. 

I won't share this with you. I've shared enough. I've walked away, but the memories remain. Some are colored with sadness, and some are colored with something else. Even though we are no more, I'll still have the memories. 

I see that you're better off now, too. I'm happy for you. We don't have to carry each other's burdens anymore. I never asked you to, you know. I wish you hadn't taken that upon yourself. I belong only to God now, and so do you. It's a better place for two people so wrong for each other. You can keep your memories; I'll keep mine too.