Aerosolpoetic

Yesterday one of my closest friends boarded a plane and flew across the world. A little more than 24 hours before that, we were sitting on the sofa in her parent’s living room watching the end credits to Knocked Up scroll down the television screen. I had my arm around her and her head was resting on my chest. She said she could hear my heartbeat, and I said, “I guess that means I’m still alive.”

I’ve been thinking a lot about that statement since that night. As the New Year approaches I’ve been thinking a great deal about the beating of my heart, that persistent, thumping reminder that I am still alive. 

At the beginning of 2007 I didn’t feel very alive and it only got worse before it got better. And now I wonder why the same girl who tore my life apart in 2006 and 2007 continues to pull at my taped-together edges as 2008 rounds the corner. 

I remember when it was good between she and I, and nausea still bubbles in my stomach when I think about how bad it got, and how I kept trying as she walked away, saying “I cant look you in the eye”. I remember hating the sound of my heart, beating through my chest every night I stared at the blank ceiling in my room waiting for the sun to rise and bring a new and hopefully easier day. 

I despise those memories because most days they keep me from making new ones. 

They keep me from holding hugs a little longer when a friend is flying off to another country the next day. They keep me from reaching to hold hands with the girl I’m sitting under the stars with at inspiration point. They keep me from asking any girl on a date and instead just hoping she’ll get my impossible to ascertain intentions somehow, and feel the same. They kept me from telling one of the most beautiful and intelligent women I have ever known that I would love to take her out on a date if she is at all interested. Instead I avoided eye contact gobbled down my entire pita bread salad and half of hers because staring into her eyes renders me a nervous wreck, who fumbles his words, and that scares the shit out of me.

In 2008 I will finish my mfa applications with optimism. I will hold each hug longer and firmer. I will remember the thrill of risk taking because I will embrace new risks. I will not avoid eye contact. If given the opportunity, the right place, and right time I will ask for that date and not fear the answer. I will remember my past and the lessons it has taught me. I will remember my mistakes and do my best to make sure I don’t repeat them. I will cherish my heartbeats while I have them so I’ll have no regrets on the day my heart drums its final beat.

Honestly, I wasn’t looking forward to this semester’s final reading. I would rather have been at home sleeping or writing essays for the rest of my MFA applications or anywhere breathing in cool air unrestricted by four walls of classroom in barrows hall, a hot classroom might I add, with swivel chairs, yes, swivel chairs.

I figured I would get over the reluctance once set up began and folks started populating the room but the reluctance remained even then.I thought the night would drag on for all eternity with me dreading every second, until a woman with curly hair wearing a black and green plaid jacket walked up and stood uncomfortably close to me, her face almost right against my cheek. I turned and looked and to my astonishment there stood Solmaz, in the flesh. She completely turned my attidute around with her presence and warm, firm hugs.

But the excitement didn’t stop there. One by one STP alums walked into the room and suddenly the event turned into a family reunion for me. It is always a blessing to be in the presence of such amazing poets and people but something about last night was extra special. It is by far my favorite reading, I only wish I had the chance to spend more time with them.