non_sequitur
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i really hope this is an okay place to put this bit of scribble. 
:Oops:
language within. consider thyself warned.
__________________________________________________
We walked next to each other in the bright, cold February morning. The wind pushed at us, bouncing off the glass wall of the University Center. We tucked deeper into our jackets and scarves. I don't remember what we were talking about. School, maybe. We always spoke of so many things. In the middle of a sentence, our hands would come out to sign something for emphasis and then retreat to the warmth of our pockets.
He was my best friend and in truth, my only friend. I trusted him like I trusted no one else. We were both aspiring music teachers. Neither of us thought much of our abilities, and we were confronted by our inadequacies at every turn. We were in the same boat. Sort of. He wasn't hard of hearing, but when we carried our complaints to each other, our troubles crossed the distance between us easily and fell on sympathetic ears. Or sympathetic eyes.
"Suck it up, pansy-ass!" I barked, drill sergeant style, in response to his most recent complaint. He laughed, a reaction I loved to cause. We walked on in amused silence for the moment. We passed by a little triangle of ground that was too small for anything else, so someone had planted a few rows of pansies in purple and gold, our school colours. Even in bitter February, they bloomed royally against the drab grey concrete.
"You know, though, pansies are some of the hardiest flowers in nature. They withstand more harshness than the other flowers and bloom as brilliantly as the rest. They can take just about anything."
He snorted. "Yeah, I bet even you couldn't kill a pansy."
I was notorious for my Thumb of Doom. I'd even managed to kill a cactus I'd given my stepfather for Christmas. "I bet I could kill you," I laughed and began to chase him across campus to our next class.
__________________________________________________
How does a man get so patient? He's been with me through everything. He's been my translator, my moral support, my chauffer, even. I don't know how many times he drove me across town because I couldn't make a simple phone call to the bank.
When I asked if we had time to go somewhere, he used to grumble at me and ask indignantly, "What do I look like?"
"My bitch," I'd tell him with my best poker face.
Now all he does is glare at me. I stare at him blankly, expectantly, and then we both dissolve in a fit of giggles. We know all the lines by heart, and they're still funny. I'm so mean to him sometimes. I wonder why he hangs around me. It must be my charming personality.
__________________________________________________
I'm at a loss now. I have a trouble that I don't know how to bring up to him.
I cannot hear him, and I cannot tell him so. My hearing aids are not working for me. I was so excited when I got them, marveling at every little thud and cringing at the sound of my own voice. But there are more problems than benefits. And I am afraid to tell him. I am afraid to tell him how angry and disappointed I am in myself. I am afraid that he will feel burdened with me now. Before, how we approached the world when we were together was blithe and matter of fact. I didn't hear well, and he gave me a leg up. It was The Way Things Were. For months, we expected it to change once I got the most expensive piece of electronics I'd ever buy. We were so wrong.
He's been operating under the assumption that I'm hearing all these new and wonderful things. Now I'm making excuses to him like I used to do with everyone else but him. "I'm not quite used to these things yet- can you turn the captions on?" "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention. Can you please say that again?" "Oh, I've forgotten my hearing aides at home."
I've never felt so alone. And I'm jealous, now, too, of all the support that my friends have. They have their roots spread out to all these different little sources. I have a taproot- one, large, vital connection. And I'm afraid it going away.
I've never lied to him before now. I've never held anything back from him except for how deeply I care for him. He has been with me for six years. Six years of all-night Star Trek marathons and pranks and good Chinese food and road trips and disheartening practice sessions and exhausting band camps. Six years of dizzy spells and bad falls and headaches and frustrations and hilarious mistranslations. Six years of mistakes and doubts and disappointments and the best six years of my life.
Maybe he can handle this.
Pansies are, after all, one of the hardiest flowers in nature.
I wish I were a pansy, too.
:Oops:language within. consider thyself warned.
__________________________________________________
We walked next to each other in the bright, cold February morning. The wind pushed at us, bouncing off the glass wall of the University Center. We tucked deeper into our jackets and scarves. I don't remember what we were talking about. School, maybe. We always spoke of so many things. In the middle of a sentence, our hands would come out to sign something for emphasis and then retreat to the warmth of our pockets.
He was my best friend and in truth, my only friend. I trusted him like I trusted no one else. We were both aspiring music teachers. Neither of us thought much of our abilities, and we were confronted by our inadequacies at every turn. We were in the same boat. Sort of. He wasn't hard of hearing, but when we carried our complaints to each other, our troubles crossed the distance between us easily and fell on sympathetic ears. Or sympathetic eyes.
"Suck it up, pansy-ass!" I barked, drill sergeant style, in response to his most recent complaint. He laughed, a reaction I loved to cause. We walked on in amused silence for the moment. We passed by a little triangle of ground that was too small for anything else, so someone had planted a few rows of pansies in purple and gold, our school colours. Even in bitter February, they bloomed royally against the drab grey concrete.
"You know, though, pansies are some of the hardiest flowers in nature. They withstand more harshness than the other flowers and bloom as brilliantly as the rest. They can take just about anything."
He snorted. "Yeah, I bet even you couldn't kill a pansy."
I was notorious for my Thumb of Doom. I'd even managed to kill a cactus I'd given my stepfather for Christmas. "I bet I could kill you," I laughed and began to chase him across campus to our next class.
__________________________________________________
How does a man get so patient? He's been with me through everything. He's been my translator, my moral support, my chauffer, even. I don't know how many times he drove me across town because I couldn't make a simple phone call to the bank.
When I asked if we had time to go somewhere, he used to grumble at me and ask indignantly, "What do I look like?"
"My bitch," I'd tell him with my best poker face.
Now all he does is glare at me. I stare at him blankly, expectantly, and then we both dissolve in a fit of giggles. We know all the lines by heart, and they're still funny. I'm so mean to him sometimes. I wonder why he hangs around me. It must be my charming personality.
__________________________________________________
I'm at a loss now. I have a trouble that I don't know how to bring up to him.
I cannot hear him, and I cannot tell him so. My hearing aids are not working for me. I was so excited when I got them, marveling at every little thud and cringing at the sound of my own voice. But there are more problems than benefits. And I am afraid to tell him. I am afraid to tell him how angry and disappointed I am in myself. I am afraid that he will feel burdened with me now. Before, how we approached the world when we were together was blithe and matter of fact. I didn't hear well, and he gave me a leg up. It was The Way Things Were. For months, we expected it to change once I got the most expensive piece of electronics I'd ever buy. We were so wrong.
He's been operating under the assumption that I'm hearing all these new and wonderful things. Now I'm making excuses to him like I used to do with everyone else but him. "I'm not quite used to these things yet- can you turn the captions on?" "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention. Can you please say that again?" "Oh, I've forgotten my hearing aides at home."
I've never felt so alone. And I'm jealous, now, too, of all the support that my friends have. They have their roots spread out to all these different little sources. I have a taproot- one, large, vital connection. And I'm afraid it going away.
I've never lied to him before now. I've never held anything back from him except for how deeply I care for him. He has been with me for six years. Six years of all-night Star Trek marathons and pranks and good Chinese food and road trips and disheartening practice sessions and exhausting band camps. Six years of dizzy spells and bad falls and headaches and frustrations and hilarious mistranslations. Six years of mistakes and doubts and disappointments and the best six years of my life.
Maybe he can handle this.
Pansies are, after all, one of the hardiest flowers in nature.
I wish I were a pansy, too.
people have told me before that i don't write like a <dhh/queer/southern/female/modified/christian/insert subculture of preference here>. guess i jumped the gun a bit. :roll:
