July 28th, 2001

running, bomb tech

speeding up or slowing down?

Sometimes Darkside's eyes tell me I should kiss him. I chicken out.

Sometimes Darkside's eyes tell me I should kiss him. The staff of the cafeteria gazes thoughtfully in our direction over their coffee; there are few people here this early in the morning. I chicken out.

Sometimes Darkside's eyes shine with general happiness and contentment and I want to take him by both hands and dance with him. I look at my clumsy feet, I look at his hands, I look at my hands, and I imagine the look of betrayal on his face if I should suddenly grasp him by both hands and let my soul fill my own eyes.

Sometimes I reach to hug him goodbye, to have him duck away, look at me with hurt, me bite my lip and wave a salute at him and wander off. I've sworn he won't make me cry. If I tried to make myself think that he can't make me cry I'd be lying and we both know it. If I tried to make myself think that he would ever make me cry on purpose I'd be betraying us both.

Sometimes I think it's moving too fast, that we should stay friends forever, never touching, never touched, but for our eyes and our hearts. Sometimes I know we're moving too slowly: I should have kissed him in December, laced our fingers together and whispered "I could love you...," not allowing the heartbreak that followed. I should have told him outright after Shrimpy's spell was dispelled -- "Your idiot classmate made me feel that way for you for those days; the only reason his misfire worked at all was because it was already there; he just woke it up. I had a crush on you from day one. I stomped on it and folded it flat and ignored it for a time. Now it won't be ignored. You are my friend, and I would like to date you. Just to see..."

A month ago, he shied away if I put a hand near his head. Yesterday morning I wrapped my hands around his throat in symbolic irritation about his schedule -- his classes began at nine, mine at seven -- and he critiqued me on my grasp and the amount of damage it would do, then wrapped his own hands about my throat to demonstrate. He is so very warm. His hands are strong. He still shies away every now and then if we brush hands with no particular reason, if my finger begins of its own will to stroke his hand. "Joan, quit it." I'm learning the boundaries. He's learning the boundaries, and as he learns them, every now and then backs them up, lowering fences, lowering barriers, lowering the spiked constructs of his will to be alone. Or I drop them for him -- what he does unto me, I may then do unto him one-tenth as much, gradually increasing until we are equal. We have always been equal, in my heart and mind, each with our own areas of skill, each with our own boundaries, but no automatic senior, but by chronological age; no automatic higher, but by physical height. One moment I am as an elder sister, but by a year or a few minutes; the next, he is the elder and I listen. Twins, effectively, though he is older; but I have lived away from my parents and he has not. I do not automatically assume he knows more; I never automatically assume he knows less. We are both the experts. We are an even match, physically. Sometimes he wins. Sometimes I win. Some days we call it a draw.

One day, not too far away, we will both win.
  • Current Mood
    determined determined
running, bomb tech

Danger, Will Robinson!


I'm babysitting. Rather, Nephew is watching Pokemon, as much as he ever watches it, and Sis and *her* Dave are locked in the West bedroom. I'm in charge of care, feeding, rewinding the Pokemon movie via remote under the door (thank you gods who invented infrared) and keeping Nephew from wanting in to Mommy's room. 'Cause Mommy's busy.

I've finally met the infamous Dave. I could see why Sis would be worried about me and him and all the techie-talk... you see, when he's talking about the Art, he talks to her... but when he's talking computers, he talks to me, since she understands the Art far better than I do, and I understand computers far better than she does. He's got skill with both, combining both. He's the sort of person that's capable of extreme monofocus, like I am. I doubt he could ever see me as more than a friend, but I am very certain that he and I could get into a deep technical discussion of the sort that lasts for hours, and she would just be sitting there...

You remember when you were small, and you were out with your parents, and they were talking to another grown-up about something excessively boring, and you wanted to leave, because you were tired, or hungry, or really had to go to the bathroom, and all they did was talk, talk, talk, talk-talk-talk-talktalktalktalk.... and then you tugged at their leg, or pulled on their sleeve, and they were just standing there ignoring you, your feet were sore, you wanted to go home, or go to the party, and all they were doing was just going on and on...

I can see Elli's Dave and me talking like that, and I can see Elli just sitting there and fuming... like she was this morning... grabbing him and hauling him off into the bedroom while he and I were still talking....

Ah. They seem to be done for now. I am to take Nephew and leave by noon or twelve-thirty... this should be interesting.