Two Years is Not Enough!

It's not often that we remember the exact moment we meet someone. I don't have any idea when I first met most of my close friends. Probably somewhere during the beer soaked years at R-Club. I think I can pinpoint Zappagirl, JohnnyB, and Guildenstern to sometime during that era. Rosencrantz was around in the Mr. K's/Film Society days, back when we used to drink the guys under the table on quarter draft Mondays.

I do, however, remember when I met Roger Mexico. It was two years ago today - May 25, 1999. I'd stopped by Arlin's for last call after a poetry reading, and a mutual friend introduced us. From that point on... well, let's just say it's been an amazing ride.

I started thinking about this for two reasons. First, the rescheduled Full Contact Poetry show again falls on May 25th, opening for Gojira at Sudsy Malone's. (And if you're reading this on the evening of May 25th, stop reading and get down there. This entry will be here when you get back.) Weird, weird déjà vu.

And more importantly, in a few weeks Roger Mexico will be moving away from the city, to his new job in eastern Pennsylvania, far far away. States away. Not right around the corner anymore. No more late nights hanging out, watching movies and working on music and writing. No more long honest heart to hearts over a few beers or a bottle of cheap merlot.

I hate thinking about it. I know it's inevitable, but it's tearing me up inside. The last time he left town with no return in sight was sheer hell, and at that point I'd only known him for two and a half weeks. (Thankfully that job never worked out....)

Man, does this suck.

So since this date's been weighing heavy on my mind, I decided to write about Roger Mexico tonight. Well, actually I wrote a lot of this about a month ago in one of my various notebooks, while he was working on music. And yes, it's actually written to him rather than about him. I have a tendency to write down things I'd like to say, but don't get the opportunity to share with him.

Here goes... bear with me.

Last night at your place was one of the best nights I've ever spent with you. I love the fact that I can talk completely open with you about my writing and my job, my strengths and shortcomings and how lost I sometimes feel on my Life Path, about my occasional odd philosophies and new-agey spiritual side, and how I think my brain is lopsided, and you reassure me that it's all OK. I love how you really listen to what I say. I love that when you speak to me, you say my name - it reminds me that I exist and that you're talking to me. (Sometimes I feel invisible, and it reminds me that you can still see me.) I love that you honestly want my feedback on your music, even though I don't feel qualified to give it, and sometimes my critiques are strange and ham-handed attempts to translate the visual images and emotions that 32 or so measures evokes in me. I love how you patiently explain the technical things to me when I ask, like how your computer works in conjunction with the keyboards or how a synthesizer can be out of tune. I love watching/listening to you put a song together from a single drumline to a multi-layered miracle, only to get frustrated because the melody eludes you. I love the fact that you haven't smacked me yet for asking so many questions about your creative process; the one you go through is so externalized compared to mine that I'm fascinated by watching you work. (C'mon, watching someone scribble in a notebook is not all that entertaining.) I love that you're a bigger feminist than I am. I love the fact that you feel secure enough with me to discuss practically anything, and that you aren't offended when I ask you in-depth questions about your past and your beliefs.

Sometimes I forget what an incredible person you are, and I'm ashamed that my mind could slip that far.

Sometimes I think the reason why I'm still single is that I have the most amazing relationships with my male friends, and you're a pretty damn good example. No man that I've ever called "boyfriend" or "significant other" has ever allowed me to be as open, has ever taught me more about myself and the world around me, has ever made me think about my philosophies and question my beliefs about Life more than you have. I am constantly in a state of profound amazement at my good fortune to have such a person in my life. Who needs to date? I've got the best non-boyfriend in the world.

I got the brochure announcing next year's season at Playhouse in the mail, and got depressed because it reminded me that you wouldn't be working any of those shows because you won't be here.

Rosencrantz once postulated that every person we meet in our lives, be they good or bad, has something to teach us, and sometimes it would be easier if they just put it down on a 3x5 card. I've always seen more than a 3x5 card in you. Once I estimated it more as an OED. Two years later, I'm still a believer in that. I feel like I'm just cracking open Volume 2.

Whenever I know I'm going to see you or get to hang out with you, I get excited and nervous like a teenaged girl waiting for the prom. Everytime I spend time with you, I know I'll get to take something home with me - a snippet of good conversation, a piece of the song you're working on and the feelings it invokes in me, a moment - that I get to store away in a mental keepsake box.

When I get angry or nervous because I haven't seen or talked to you in a while, it's actually fear that I've lost you from my life, and that thought devastates me. I keep trying to live in the moment, enjoy every second I have left with you, but the inevitability of your departure is always there, breathing down my neck. The idea of saying goodbye to you again is overwhelming.

I wonder if you realize how special you are to me, how much happier my life is with you in it, and how empty my heart will feel when you leave.

I've got to stop now, or I'm gonna be too bleary-eyed to drive home. Have a good weekend, everyone. And if there's someone in your life that you haven't told how much they mean to you, go do it now.