He Answered the Phone Part 2

In the past two weeks I have smoked three different nights.

And I have come to a definitive conclusion--

Smoking cigarettes is like having sex on a first date--

It leaves me feeling a little dirty, slightly dissatisfied and wondering why I thought that was a good idea in the first place. 

But you know what?

I'm glad I know that.

I'm glad I had the somewhat disappointing experience to help me realize what I absolutely do not want. 

I feel like I spent the better part of my life having my mind already made up about things without ever experiencing them. 

Not that I need to run out and take the Crack to know that's not for me. 

My personality is already prone to addiction let's not give the crazy redhead any narcotics. 

Can you even fucking imagine?

But sometimes, with some things, I do need to know. 

I need to find out for myself. 

That's just the kind of girl I am. 

I'm a little reckless and impulsive. 

Mostly centered. 

But sometimes a little lost. 

And there are moments when it takes the voice of someone else to help balance my chaos. 

After my gift wasn't received I went on a run. 

I really thought I was fine. 

At least he didn't hate me, right?

I remember the last time I saw Mr. Volcano the summer of '10.

The way he looked at me was frightening. 

I don't think I've ever had anyone look at me with that much venom before. 

It was like he was possessed. 

And I didn't even realize how much it had wounded my heart until I saw him a few months ago, love pouring from his eyes, when he told me how wonderful it was to see me. 

I got into my car afterward and couldn't breathe. 

And an hour later I'd been serenaded in my room with a love song.

I think that's part of why it's been impossible for me to let go of this romance. 

It fell into my heart moments after healing had overcome it--I felt ready for love and there it was. 

How then could I so easily dismiss it?

Didn't it have to be when its timing was as beautifully written as the song played for me?

The people I love have a profound impact on me. 

Probably more than they should. 

So as I ran, I remembered all that. 

Every last detail. 

And I knew it could be so much worse. 

There was no hate. 

It was simply over. 

Over.

The word echoed in my ears.

It was over.

I couldn't pretend not to see it anymore. 

I stopped running and I just stood there. 

I looked across the river at the Portland, Oregon sign and let myself collapse on the cement. 

I wrapped my hoodie around my head and tried to hide inside. 

And then the water fell. 

I'd believed so desperately for so long, and it was over, with such a casual dismissal, just like that. 

And every time things had seemed finished in the past he'd always change his mind and call and want to see me.

But this time was different. 

The way he'd looked at me felt different. 

And I didn't understand how it could just change like that, without me being a part of it. 

But I knew this time. 

The difference hit my eyes like a flash of light.

So I let the water fall down my face and the acceptance wash over me. 

I picked myself up and tried to run again. 

But it was like there were weights strapped to my legs and I couldn't lift them.

So I walked. 

I got close to the Hawthorne bridge and the rocks that look like gossiping friends. 

Suddenly I felt drawn to them. 

I want to climb them, I thought. 

I stepped up onto one and remembered the trail of rocks I'd stumbled on years ago with my friend. 

I'd never had any interest in hiking and we'd gone on an afternoon hike that turned into a seven hour ordeal when we took a wrong turn and landed on the Trail  That Never Ended. 

It was the sea of rocks that clued us in to the fact we weren't in Portlandia anymore. 

A thunder storm found us and we nearly lost daylight and it was terrifying. 

And wonderful. 

Suddenly my longing for him over powered my sadness. 

And since we hadn't talked for...a month?

Longer?

I assumed he'd be as responsive as the recipient of my gift had been. 

I dialed anyway. 

Sitting on a rock, wondering when I became someone who saw rocks and then longed to climb them and then it happened. 

I heard his voice. 

He answered the phone. 

I couldn't believe it. 

I realized I didn't even really know what to say.

I just missed him and wanted to talk but had never anticipated he'd actually answer. 

He wasn't particularly responsive. 

But then again, he'd always hated talking on the phone. 

Knowing that, I felt loved just that he answered. 

I told him about how I'd remembered our adventure and how I never would have tried something like that and realized I loved it if it hadn't been for him. 

I told him about rehearsal. 

How that night I'd changed the blocking for this one moment and when I asked the director after if that worked he said, "I trust you. Did you know that? Did you know I trust you? And I love you and I think you're great."

And how rare that is, to have a director have so much faith in you. 

And it made me really happy to be able to share that with him. 

He'd never been one for words but one of the times he had given me praise was when he'd seen me perform. 

He'd said he was proud of me and proud because he felt that my success had been his success. 

And I think that's part of the reason I wanted him to be in the audience again. 

I wanted him to be proud of me. 

But I didn't even ask if he was going to see the show. 

I just hung up the phone content. 

He didn't hate me either. 

And then it washed over me and I started skipping. 

I ran all the way up to the bridge and looked out over the city. 

HOPE.

Like the wind kissing my cheeks, it seeped into my skin. 

Hope.

Not in any thing in particular, but just a hope.

In the impossible, the unlikely, in people, in friends. 

In love. 

If he could answer the phone then a part of him missed me too. 

And if a part of him missed me then maybe the connections I believed in were as strong as I felt. 

Maybe they could withstand the tempest in my heart. 

Maybe he would come to my show. 

Maybe they both would. 

Maybe someday he might even be in my life again. 

Maybe they both could. 

But even if none of it, even if the hope wouldn't manifest the way I expected it to, it was THERE.

And they all could ignore me, they could reject my love, my persistent heart, but they could not diminish my hope. 

And this time the water fell in streams of joy. 

Pure, consuming joy.