Text: Moonlight

The writing of this post is being done under the influence of the song: Shelter by Ray LaMontagne.

This week was eventful. Everything worked out. I don't know why or how but it just did. Sometimes that is okay in my book.

On Sunday I was working my regular bar shift. I got a few texts from Rachel. One of the last ones asked, "Are you angry with me? You seem rather short with me lately." and I responded, "I am not angry Rachel. I think I give you more attention than you want right now. I can feel that you feel differently about me and I can't say for certain what that means." I also told her that I am just concentrating on surrounding myself with the things that make me happy - hobbies like writing, reading, whatever. I understand that when I am content with who I am, the people who will admire and love me will then surround me. I am told this daily by the people who care for me. I understand it, I really do. It is sometimes lost in the mindblast of a giant crush on someone, but I still understand it.

Rachel came to her defense with a long speech on how she wanted to start over, get to know each other, be friends again without any attachment. I agreed. I thought that would be helpful to, if anything, save our friendship and grow. Somewhere in this hour long conversation I said a few things that made her cry. It made her realize that I am not the threat she originally perceived. I don't know what specifically drove her over the edge, but I told her that she couldn't blame me if I still got butterflies in my stomach whenever I saw her. The conversation ended with a "Thank you for understanding. It means so much to me, you don't even know." from her. I smiled.

That night I started working out with a girl from work. I got a call from a few people, including Devin, and some co-workers, looking to share my company. The one call I missed on accident was Rachel's. It was coincidence, I swear it. I called her back, but didn't say anything of missing her call, she told me she was going to PCL, which was the usual plan on Sunday for Pappadeaux. I said, "Cool. I might be there, I might not." My first reaction was to certainly not go there. I just had a conversation where we took a giant leap backwards and at that point, I was starting to look elsewhere--mostly inward. I asked Amanda if she wanted to go get a drink and some food at Old Chicago. Shawn Cordova calls, says I have to go to PCL. I tell her, "I don't have to do shit, what are you talking about." I am still debating at this point. I tell Amanda, fuck it, let's go together.

Amanda ends up ditching out, but I go home, change into a nice shirt, jeans, shoes, head out. I run into Eric, our manager, and his wife who goes out, according to her, "once a year." I notice how terrible that is and comment on how she could've done better than PCL for some entertainment. A few people comment on how nice I look and I thank them. Pool goes well. Karaoke goes well. Somehow a burden feels lifted and my confidence is present. I no longer carry the packaged insecurity I had pursuing Rachel the last week or two. Sometimes you just get a slap in the face and time passes, things settle internally, and you move on. It was short lived. Rachel and I danced eyes around each other all night, to see what had held from our conversation during the day. We told stories, but mainly I was making everyone laugh about the stupidity of the week at work or with myself. I'm good at that.

Last call hits. Everyone splits but Rachel and I. Right before we paid for our drinks she had been sitting near me and put her hand on my leg. I thought this was unusual behavior for two people who had just decided to take a friendship more seriously. Who, almost five hours ago, decided that getting to know one another over dinner and wine later in the week seemed like the best option to salvage what we had. I made the small smile I normally do with her, almost a smirk of happiness, if that's even possible. One where you sigh inside, and after that breath settles, there is no feeling, a calmness that encompasses you, the way I imagine Zen to feel. Everything is alright inside and I know it will be, the feeling is generated from her hand on my leg. Nothing more.

We go to the parking lot. We start talking. I let her do a majority of it, I feel it is not only the least I could do, but actually what I want her to do. We stay locked in each other's gaze. She tells me, "I've been really stupid. I couldn't imagine losing you. You might be the greatest thing that's ever happened to me. I don't want to lose that." I tell her, "Thank you." I let her go on. It's her turn. I've given myself to her day after day, been as sweet as I know how, and I've waited a while to hear any sort of true emotional response from her heart. She doesn't want anyone but me. She wants me, I want her. "Come home with me tonight. I've wanted you for the last six hours since we talked this afternoon. Tomorrow I'm going to make you breakfast."

I must be dreaming.