Saturday, November 6, 2010

A small taste

Hi dear,

Today is a beautiful day.  Here's why:  I woke up five minutes before my alarm.  I continued to doze for the next hour.  My roommate tried to bring me tea in bed (because she wanted to surprise me with the best present ever*).  I went to the bakery, where Holly, Paul, Liza, Valerie, Laura, Em and her mom all got to be together at one time or another.  I wrote.  I bonded with George.  I went to Crawford.  I made banana bread.  It's pouring down rain, but our apartment is cozy and it's a Saturday afternoon.  I love this day.  I am so grateful.

I was telling Jill the other day how I am in wonder by all the goodness in my life.  There's no drama or discomfort.  I don't have anything to complain about: that is beautiful.  And a little scary.  Who knows what's around the next corner?

But for right now... I say thank you.

And now, just a peak:
I made a move to get a paper towel, but he thrust his body in front of me, barring the way. “Why so quiet, Matt?” He reached forward and tugged lightly on one of my curls. I swallowed hard, forcing down the bile that was rising in my throat. “Nothing to say?”

“I have to go to class,” I said, trying to push past him, my hands silently dripping onto the floor, onto our shoes.

“We’ve five minutes yet.” His eyes were all over my face. “You just want to corrupt him, don’t you? Drag him down with you to have some beautiful company in your slow descent. You’d love that. To take this shining light and bend him for your sick, perverted tastes.”

“Get out of my way.”

“You can’t, you know. Know why?”

I breathed deeply, nausea turning my stomach.

“Because you’ll never be right. And there will always be people who will hate you just for being who you are. Always.”

He gave my shoulder a little pat and turned his back on me. I watched his retreating form, terror gripping the edges of my being. When I wasn’t in class, you came looking, finding me curled in a ball in the corner of that bathroom, shuttering like a leaf desperately clinging to its branch in the midst of a gale. Thank you for holding me then. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you why you needed to until now.

All this to say: Piper and I, we have some serious solidarity. Hatred is discouragingly powerful. And the only way to kill it is with love. You taught me that. But even loving people doesn’t guarantee that they’ll stop hating you, they’ll stop marginalizing you, they’ll stop trying to fix you. Life taught me that. I might not believe in your God, sweetheart, but I believe in your love.

I suddenly ache for not being in the same town as you anymore. I really miss you, if these words have not construed that enough yet.


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