spent the fast few days in a whirlwind of work, and with stuart. thursday night he came over and wrote a few music articles for my mag, which was fun and rewarding. friday, i juggled interviewing a boy in prison with stuart’s going away party at .popstarz. stuart’s been going there since year dot, and it was fun to see him in his element one last time.
last night i cooked a little dinner for him and his visiting german friend, tim, before heading to dive bar in chinatown, for his last hurrah. his mates were there, and my cousin michael and andrew made an appearance as well. everyone was sad, saying their final goodbyes to stuart, leaving for asia and australia for a whole year. his friends kept checking my reaction—i was calm, cool, collected all evening.
i knew, when i met stuart that he would soon be leaving the country. in two months, i’ve grown closer to him than i ever have to anyone in such a short time. when you think about a long-distance relationship, you think about taking things slow, getting to know each other, and having your relationship grow without physical interaction. with stuart being my neighbor, i’d easily say we had a short-distance relationship. although we only dated for 2 months, i saw him practically every day, every night. we very rapidly shared our pasts, our personalities, and within days of the start of our dating relationship, we sank into married couple routines.
last night, on our way home, he bawled his eyes out, already missing his great clique of friends here in london. back at his, he packed, we had some chips, watched some glastonbury coverage on teevee, and then spent our last night together. we’re so comfortable together, we fit together so well, and when his alarm went off i figured it was just another weekday, another morning with a cup of tea and groggy goodbye kiss on the way to work. this morning was different, obviously. we started to walk the very familiar, all-too-short walk to the tube together—he insisting that he doesn’t want any sad goodbyes at the airport.
one of the most shocking things a friend has ever told me was by my gentle, caring gal-pal from college, laura. we were strolling around campus late one night, enjoying the cool, misty, fragrant pasadena night air, and we were talking about her religious beliefs, my religious upbringing, sexuality and gossiping about life and love and friendships.
she told me, flatly, that she thought i didn’t show emotion, that i’m a very cold person, externally, and that i do an amazing job hiding depression, joy, love, sadness from my friends. she gave me examples, and i reluctantly agreed with her statement. i had always been that way. i know this isn’t my therapist’s couch, but i’m sure it has much to do with my rocky childhood, my stepfather, my distant father… god only knows what else. i often view this emotional detachment as a strength, but i actuality i wish my emotions weren’t switched off all the time.
this morning, that was certainly not a problem.
two punk rock boys, in the glaring big-city summer sun outside the tube station, hiding between two parked busses, saying their goodbyes. blabbering like little girls. trying to make jokes, but just quivvering lips and drippy noses.
one silly boy, at home, alone, sporadically sobbing, and sadistically proud of the salty tears streaming down his face as he types this, hoping that they never never stop.
