This is not a love story

this is a story about love

Gumby and Pokey 10/13/2010

Filed under: Description — thisisnotalovestory1261 @ 7:22 am

I knew she could hear me crying, I could practically feel her think to herself “if she’s still sniffling in five minutes, I’m going in there”. I tried to shove the overwhelming need to cry out deep into my chest, but it would not go. I had managed to keep the tears sitting just within my lower lids thus far. I sat staring at the brilliant white light coming from my computer screen, blinking as fast as my eyes would close, breathing in sharp from my nose. I heard a shuffle, and then a small voice “what happened?” she asked, before I could even articulate something had gone wrong. That once again, the boy who claimed to love me had shattered my heart into a thousand tiny splintered pieces.

The sound of her soft, gentle voice was all it took; the tears spilled over. I started to try and get the words out, my throat constricted like a snake and the only sound I could emit was a cross between choking and suffocating. She came right over, the white towel from her shower still coiled around her long dark locks. She sat down gently next to me on my pink and brown striped bedspread. She just looked at me hunched over; spine curved into a deep C and said “it’s him isn’t it? What did he do?” I explained to her the trigger, what he’d done this time and how I felt as though at any moment the skin would melt off my bones from the red hot heat I was feeling within. She just looked at me for a moment, her eyes swimming. I knew she wanted to tell me he wasn’t worth it, to run as far and as fast from him as I could, that the only way to make it out of this alive was to jump ship; before it capsized. I finished explaining to her all that had happened, and ended with a typical teenage “it just isn’t fair”. She told me it wasn’t, that I deserved more, better. That everyone else loved me, even if he couldn’t treat me that way.

It took less than 5 seconds flat for her warmth to spread within me.  I felt it start in my cheeks, flushing when she named off the other boys that would kill to be in this one’s position, it lowered to my neck and relaxed my throat when she mentioned my family and how proud and supportive they were, finally I could breathe again. It hit my stomach like a shot of warm whiskey when she named off the friends we always laugh with, and hit my kneecaps like a gentle wave licking you calves at the beach when she spoke of the places we’d been and the impressions we’d left.

And like a lightning bolt had shot directly into my chest and pierced my heart, she reminded me that we had each other. That no one ever, would love me the way she did. The way a best friend was put on this planet to love you above all else. To tell you who’s not worthy and assure you there will be others, many others; who if they’re lucky, will be valuable of your time. The kind of love that you never forget, and despite distance and time, never fades. There are some bonds that not only can you see, but you can feel in the deepest corners of your heart, the places you forgot you could feel in. That’s what a best friends love is. The kind of love that picks you up when you fall, and when it hurts too much to bear, they lighten your load and carry your troubles with them. E.E. Cummings had it right when she said “they carry your heart with them, they carry it in their heart”.


Buzz and Woody 10/05/2010

Filed under: Language — thisisnotalovestory1261 @ 11:53 am

What language do I speak? Simply stated; English. What language do I speak with my best friend? Well that’s a whole other story. When you know someone as well as the two of us do, you develop your own kind of language. Not to say that we sit around perfecting our Pig Latin; the words we use are in their truest form English, even though we are known for tacking a “ski” on the end of certain words. Often times, lines from movies come to have their own place in our vocabulary. The lines can mean something to us and something entirely different to other people which help us get away with a lot when we’re out in public. We have developed our own little language that is not different at all; it’s the exact same words that anyone else uses, but we use them in our own way.

The other more obvious fact is that she is my best friend, and I don’t monitor myself around her. When we get together, the language can get a little rough around the edges. There was a moment where I was in the middle of a particularly tense game of Super Smash Bro’s with my best friend, and my cell phone rang. Now to understand this story you must know, when it comes to Smash Bro’s we don’t play around and the language gets colourful to say a least. We paused the game for me to answer the phone and knowing it was my mom, I spoke the way I always do with her

“Yes I ate the carrots you sent up, no I won’t be home this weekend, I love you too, goodnight.”

My best friend looked at me and said “That was quite the change of pace.” I didn’t understand what she meant at first. Apparently right before I had answered the phone I’d let out my Smash Bro’s catch phrase when something doesn’t go my way “ah shitballs” that lead right into my “Hi mom” greeting. I had blurred “shitballs” and “mom” into the same sentence.  I always knew I spoke differently to my friends and family, but the shock that my mother had almost heard me say shitballs knocked me off my feet. If my mom had heard me say that word, it would have been my head on a silver platter. Not only did young ladies not use those kinds of words, but they also didn’t use them in front of their mothers. I’m supposed to respect my mom, and treat her as though she is my authority, thus I conduct myself as so. It’s not that I don’t respect my best friend; it’s just that we are young and goofy.

And on a more serious note, sometimes my best friend and I use no words at all, but it’s still a language to us. It’s in the way I don’t need to say a word for her to know exactly what I’m trying to tell her. There have been times when we’re at a party and something happens, it just takes a simple look, and she knows. She knows word for word what it is I’m trying to say and why it is important to me. Other times, I can’t think of something and I’ll literally just say “what’s that thing?” and she’ll know what that ‘thing’ is. There are moments when I’ve been hurt, and she doesn’t even need me to explain why I’m upset.  I don’t ever have to validate why I feel the way I do, and she doesn’t ask me to. We can sit in silence and know what is running through our heads. We can sit in a room full of people and be having a conversation all our own. It comes down to the simple fact that we speak the language of best friends, but only with one another. Using the Smash Bro’s catch phrases and other inside jokes outside our room is unacceptable.