The Shadow of Angels
Hmmm…where to begin..? They say context possesses the greatest illuminative property, and who am I to disagree with orthodoxy?
And no, that wasn’t sarcasm for a welcome change.
I remember the first day we met, which by now I’m sure you know is something quite special as my memory may not be the mightiest of my gifts. I walked into the first day of class late, because I believe in setting the tone early for the semester. I was half asleep, head hanging and feet shuffling. I saw an open seat by you and I figured why not?
Our professor had us fill out name plates. Seniors in college on the verge of the fabled real world, and I find myself writing “ELLIOTT G.” in large block letters with a colored marker. A victim of my era, I glanced your way to procure a name for a later facebook search. Needless to say I was interested, but when am I not? We both know this.
Class was a mixture of children’s games and spoon fed classroom rules. We would break them all. Well, mostly me…
I remember the first time I was able to talk with you. The well-placed questions to feel out your situation. It was not long until I discovered the bane of our chemically-ordained attraction: boyfriend, eight years and going. Welcome to frienddom, my friend. I told myself that I would be good, that I would respect this obviously powerful union. I was comfortable being your friend immediately, as we had so much in common. I let it all hang out: the good, the bad, and the ridiculously obnoxious. I had nothing to lose. I had friends, and if you didn’t like me, well, what was the damage?
And we became close. Really close. I confided in you the darkness which haunts me, the afflictions of my soul, and you provided not only an ear to listen, but heartfelt and honest advice, even criticism, which for whatever reason never offended me. You fell right into the circle of my life. My friends became yours, and slowly our burgeoning friendship grew into the things of life long camaraderie. It was all I could ask for.
The day you were engaged to be wed was a true shock to my system. I had longed for her, the dream of my youth and its appeal to every aspect of my fantastic persona. But the day you called me to report such wondrous news it did indeed sadden me. I replayed it all over in my head a thousand times. I thought back to the day I told you, as we left my apartment on some grand mission only the two of us could ever complete, that maybe, in another universe, we would be a good team. You smiled, a sad and quiet smile, and walked on ahead.
My heart, as unfocused as my mind, would bounce from the girl of my youth and our possibilities to the very possibility of you and I. It was a fleeting thought, as they usually are. But the weight of your impending marriage was a heavy load for me to carry. I remember scoffing at your engagement ring: insulting and condescending. “Gaudy,” I seemed to say with a jovial toss of my hand. I was aching, with the questions I am prone to ask myself in times of helplessness. It hurt, but we had always been friends, and even when I played with the idea, I immediately cast it into the bows of the “forever-no,” alongside my dreams of walking on the moon and flying with pigs.
I thought this was just another moment of self-doubt and regret. I’ve had them before, especially with women. The kind of failure I am far too familiar with. But I had done nothing. Nothing but be a good and honest friend and let the chips fall where they may. I had pledged to respect your relationship and I had, to my inquisitive heart’s dismay.
But the day you called me to tell me you two had amicably split, I was secretly elated. I had my demons to exorcise–the girl of Christmas past and fantastic futures I had envisioned a thousand times. But I was so secretly happy. I felt for the first time that maybe that other universe we had spoke of outside my apartment may someday exist.
And she came to visit me, the girl of my childhood, the girl who had been woven so delicately into my life. And every waking moment I compared her to you. The way she smiled at my jokes. The way she reacted to my casual touch. The way she mingled with my friends and cohorts. Everything had a standard and that standard was so clearly you. She spent a week with me; a long week without you. I remember sneaking messages to you. The most benign “how are you’s?” a man could write to the girl he was realizing he loved so dearly.
She left and I felt like a weight have been lifted off my shoulders. The shackles had been cut. I had been walking in the shadow of an angel and had never fully realized its wondrous light until now. You were right. You were right for me. And you were finally free.
And now you are mine. And I love you so much sometimes it hurts to think it took so long to end up together…
But I do not regret the long road we traveled to find one another. I find it necessary. We had to become friends, the best of friends, and flesh out the most revolting and most amazing aspects of one another to truly fall in love. You know me better than anyone; you know the full me. I let it all hang out, because I had nothing to lose at first. And you didn’t recoil, you accepted it all with open arms and gave me compassion and love in return for nothing. Now I can give you something, my love and my gift…the gift I wanted so badly to give.
I think it all happened for a reason. Eight year boyfriends and girls from a past life, all keeping us at bay and giving us an opportunity to find each other’s real value, preventing us from making mistakes that would shortchange an obviously good thing.
I’m not sorry about anything I’ve ever done, and you certainly aren’t. Even if you were, you wouldn’t have to be.
Together.
In context.
And I couldn’t be happier.
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