ruby slippers, anyone?

Is it totally insane to be homesick without having a home? Homesickness is just a feeling, a combination of loneliness, nostalgia, and directionlessness. Sometimes it is a complicated feeling resulting from failure, or loss, or from transience.

Maybe that is why I am homesick. I am experiencing all of that. I am afraid of failure. I live failure. I suck at my job, I am only attending school part-time, retaking classes that I inarguably failed.

I have lost my home. It was sold on Friday, emptied of all the little keepsakes that transformed it from a house into a place where memories were made, dreams dreamed and identities formed. My mom shipped out old books, paintings, couches and crayon drawings meant for the refrigerator.

I managed to keep from crying until I heard that not only do I not have a home anymore, but I have suffered a loss of limb, literally. My trees that I love so well, loved so well, have been cut down to make room for a pool. My home was not the walls, the carpet, the furniture, or the layout of the house. My home was the view from my bedroom window. The maple trees, the ivy, the niche of green that held promises of fertility and life. It was a shady spot, where the snow stayed the longest even as spring approached. This corner was home. The green-dappled light that flooded my room from the leaf-covered windows.

I am homesick for green light. There's no place like home.

sounds of silence

There are some communications that don't require words. Some answers come without saying anything. It is the pauses in life that are the most articulate.

Never wait around for a phone call. If he wanted to call, he would. Don't check your email every twenty minutes after the first day. When you ask if he wants to continue communicating and he doesn't respond for a week, then that means no. If he wanted to write, he would. Don't fly to him in Manhattan. If he wanted you, he would have made an effort.

I put the last one on the list to remind myself that I am not the only one in the world who holds out, who hopes for the insane, who stands in her own way in regards to happiness.

He's not coming, he's not writing. Go out, have fun, don't think about him. Don't call him. Yeah, I think I'll call him.

heaven is the spanish riviera

I have three rules regarding the behavior of people that I love.
1-they cannot move away, unless I move with them.
2-they cannot die, unless I die too, or first.
3-they cannot get married, unless I get married too, or first.

All in all the rules come down to the same thing. I don't like being left behind. Of course I don't mind leaving everyone else behind, so I suppose my rules aren't fair. But at least I have exceptions to the rules. I'm not going to just deny everyone's right to die. How unfair that would be!

I think I am a very reasonable person. I even came up with a solution to anyone's dilemma. Jocilyn, Julie and I were the only ones in the complex over Christmas break and we came up with...Spain. Bryan inspired it in a way. He had a job in Portland at the end of the summer and he wanted to work for a few years and then transfer internationally. I couldn't let him do it, not without me, so I decided to come too.

I made a list of friends who had to come along, who would marry whom, who would have what profession in the commune I designed, and even who of the six families would have the big screen TV's for watching BYU football via satellite. We'll go skiing in the alps in Germany for Tarythe and have trips to France for me. Our kids will grow up friends and be allowed to play in the street of our private cul-de-sac.

Since the original plotting of this story there have been some adaptations. Jon, no longer invited, for instance. Joe, now definitely invited. Marriages had to be shuffled around, but it all amounts to the same thing. I will live with everyone I love until the fateful day when I administer the special Kool-aid. Then, I will have them forever.

I think I have a preoccupation with my friends. Despite the fact that I dedicate this blog to the discovery of my own life, I recognize that I cling to my friends like to a life preserver. Although a shrink once said my biggest fear is being like my mother, I disagree. It is being unloved. Perhaps that is like her. Or worse, having no one to love. That is hell. Spain is my heaven.

dreams last for so long

My heart got broken today. I had a nap in which I dreamed I was reunited with many people I love. Ted was the principle character. Regretfully I woke up from such a happy dream and went straight to the computer to see if I had news from any of my friends. I hadn't checked my email in over thirty hours, and since I normally do it every half-hour or so I had high hopes. Hopes that were dashed to pieces when all I had was a horoscope entitled the Fog of Desire. I think I am lonely.

finding harbors

Today was a day to culminate the comings and goings in life. It peaks a week that was the same, of a prime month, etc. Today I took April to the airport to see her off. She went home to Ohio indefinitely. I wept the entire ride home as I listened over and over to a CD she gave me. I saw the looks that passing motorists gave me, watching me as I cried onto my dash and sobbed clinging to my steering wheel. Oh how I will miss her! And yet, I haven't a doubt in my mind that she will stay close to me, that we will keep one another posted on all of our "hands down" events in life. But for now I miss her like I missed the air I couldn't breathe for crying.

On the positive side of the temporary crossings in life, Ted is coming home. That is to say he is coming back to Provo. He's not sure where he'll live or for how long, but the important thing is that he will be back. One can't be without an April and a Ted in this life. That would just be cruel. I half-expected Ted to be at my door when I got back from the airport. Can I call it a fair trade? No, because I want them both! I'd never trade either. But no matter, Ted hasn't come yet. And when he does it will only signify a new medium for hiding myself from the world. As I am Ted's second favorite person in the whole world we will inevitably spend copious amounts of meaningful time together that will signify nothing and succeed only in damaging my potential standing as someone's first favorite person. Ah, how I the ostrich love my sand!

Other passings: Ashley, Elise, Laurie, Jackie, Julie, Jocilyn, Aubri, Joe, Brian, Dane, Troy, Troy, Matt, etc, etc, etc.
Other comings: New Roommates, Tarythe, potential friends? and Kevin.

What? Kevin did I say? Like I would pass over him so easily.
I took the opportunity of his starting work yesterday to email him a note wishing him good luck. It was answered. The determined silence is ended. Shall I let it now slip into accidental silence resulting from lack of maintenance to the relationship? After all, the hurt is gone, so why push it, right? Wrong. I have never been able to just let things go with Kevin. I certainly won't do so at this point, not after he called me a quality girl.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow once said, "Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, Only a signal shown, and a distant voice in the darkness. So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another. Only a look and a voice; then darkness again and a silence."

I have seen proof enough to believe him, but still I don't. Some day these ships, all these vessels that dot the seas, they will find a harbor in which to moor themselves. Ships are not content with fickle signals cast out across the water. I would abandon whatever course I had set to reach a friendly flicker, even if it meant breaking myself on rocks as I inadvertently chased the glow of a light house. I am not alone in this. You want it too. Someday I will have anchor next to you.

it's alive!

At approximately 12:51 a.m. on August the 18th in the year 2005 I, Audrey Michal Hunter, finished my novel. Right now...Right now it is printing. As yet it is titleless, but shall be given as is to my trusted friend April and to Heather Jenkins who started me on this project. I'll trust their scrutiny of my first draft. Maybe April will even manage to give it a title. I feel like Dr. Frankenstein, and I love it!

thinking versus dying

"Most people would sooner die than think; in fact, they do so."

I used to think too much. Ask anyone who has known me longer than a year. They all told me so. I was christened Thinky, the eighth dwarf, by my sister Joyce. Apparently there was something wrong with this. Too many people gave me the advice to stop thinking about it and just go with the flow. I tried it. I tried listening to myself, feeling my way through life and experiencing the ups and downs. I failed classes by not planning ahead. I wasted credits by not forming my graduation plan. I hurt people's feelings by not evaluating our relationship. I led people on by just going with the flow. I never thought. I experienced a whole lot. I wish I could take it all back, but there I go being cognitive again.

I just want to know, what is wrong with thinking? What? Mankind have some of the most highly developed minds on the planet, third only to mice and dolphins. Why don't we use them? We have made cities, maps, clothes, fire, wheels, airplanes, but now we have decided that thinking is wrong? Most people would cry outrage at that statement, but it is true. We settle for sub par everything, mediocrity is our biggest friend. Ingenuity is punished. Not everywhere, of course, but in general. What is wrong with our culture that we hate anyone more advanced than we? We teach our children to do the same by our example. The smart kids are tormented by their peers whose respect they ought to have secured. To this day, I hate being called smart, even while reveling in the fact that I know I am.

I know I am smart. At least, I know I was smart. Smart people don't get into stupid personal scrapes. They don't fail classes. They don't go through life trying to ride out the current. Smart people don't act as I have been doing this last year. I stopped reading too. It seemed as my mind liquefied I became more and more satisfied with idleness and interactions with humans whom I couldn't stand on a mental level.

It is time to change. For all that my roommates complain that I don't participate as much as I have, that I read more and write all day, I will continue to do so. I will be anal about where I am going with my college career. Hell, I will make a plan, with the aid of a counselor. I will analyze things until my mind is reeling, until I come to conclusions. It is high time that I think too much.

"I think, therefore I am."

the quill is mightier than the stereo

Today is going to be a day spent in front of my laptop writing the next great American novel. My time will be punctuated with Ace of Base songs, to which I am currently listening and which I have no intention of giving up. Ah the wonders found in my brother's CD case!

I wish I could say that I am proud of my book. I am, but I am so afraid of censure that I rarely talk about it. I am writing three books currently with many others dancing in my head. I love the quote from Little Women: "At night my mind would come alive with voices and stories. I gave myself up to it, longing for transformation."

I have twenty-nine chapters written of the story that needs the least background research. One hundred and seventy pages! I want to finish this summer in order that I may say I have finished something for once in my life. So here goes. I leave to write, to listen to the muse that sits behind me and whispers passages in my ear, when she's not getting The Sign stuck in my head.

missing K and not willing to admit it

It usually comes on suddenly and without warning. I am always amazed at the people I miss, especially the when and why of it. There are small triggers that spark something in my subconscious and then I am left with the effects of it. Yesterday was such a day where this happened often.

The Akula's had their softball game at seven, and despite the looming threat of an awkward run-in with J, I went. I felt like I was watched the entire time, but I didn't mind. As Julie said, I could dictate my own reactions. It was something else that bothered me. I never by any means missed J, but I did miss Ted, crazy badly. In his place some tall, skinny guy was pitching. Softball games will always do that to me, just as Haagen Dazs will always make me miss Elise. Billy Joel brings back Bryan and Rascal Flatts, Matt. These are the predictable ones. Like how I know I'll miss April whenever I buy a new toothbrush or listen to Blue October and Dashboard Confessional. It is the ones that blindside me that I am fascinated with.

Last night I got to missing K. It's odd really. Ashley was talking about DTRing with Brandon and all of a sudden I remembered how K and I usually never had to say things, we just knew. How when I had to tell him something important he would sit next to me so that I wouldn't have to avoid looking at him in my awkwardness. I could predict what he would do. Okay, he is really predictable. All I know is that last night laying in bed I was overcome by nostalgia for him, my friend. It happened Sunday too, when Bethany asked what had happened. Whenever he is brought up I find myself dwelling morosely on it.

Probably everyone lays in bed and forms conversations with someone who isn't there. I find it is usually the best time to tell someone off, to rehash exactly what I should have said when insulted. Last night I told off J with evil efficiency. When he looked at me all smarmily and tells me that he thinks I did have feelings for him, I counter scathingly, feelings for you? I was in love with K for a year and a half. He dumped me only two days before you kissed me. Tell me, oh genius, where in all that chaos did I have time to have feelings for you?

J thinks that he got too close to me and that my walls made me pull away. Deluded! I never trusted J, although I tried to force confidences every once in a while. One time I told him about my writing, pried from me with all my cynicism. I didn't even have the faith in J to hope that it would mean something to him. In fact, I wasn't surprised when one day he asked me with a hurt tone if I would ever tell him about my writing at all. Maybe it's not his fault that he has a crappy memory. I just remember how anything I told K about myself was cherished. He loved to hear me talk. Nobody has a worse memory than K but he remembered when I said something important.

Damn him and the fact that I miss him. Damn him that he's so far away when J is in town. Damn me most of all for knowing that I don't want him back but hoping that he might email me anyway, just to end this bit of not talking to each other. I don't care to talk to J again, but I do curse my pride that I drove K off as well. It just sucks that one is allowed to miss a friend but not a significant other, that to miss K is wrapped up with all sorts of complications. I don't want anything more than friendship with him, as if there is anything more than friendship, but I would at least like that back. I miss him and I can't do anything about it.

sisters

Sometimes I wonder if I am the peacemaker or the antagonist of the family. Probably, like everyone else, I am a little of both. I tread lightly around some areas. Sometimes after a while of egg-shell walking I decided to stomp as hard as I can right in that same tender spot. I did that with mom. I've done that many times. It usually involves the parents, though sometimes there are tensions with my siblings, mainly Joyce.

Joyce has never learned to deal. If it were her fault I might feel better being harsher on her. Even with the situation as it is, I sometimes want to grab her by the shoulders and tell her what the world is like. There are consequences! That's my wisdom, plain and simple. Every child knows that to touch something hot is to get burned. Not Joyce. She wants to move out. Again. She can't get a roommate because she is too difficult to live with. But she won't live in a cheap apartment, "because it's not safe". She only has a minimum wage job because she dropped out of high school and won't get her GED. She has to pay car payments, insurance, cell phone bills, and now living expenses for herself and cat. Her budget after bills are paid: -200 dollars.

My mom flies to the rescue. Well not exactly. My mom called me to work out a budget for me for fall. She wanted to see if there is any money left over for supplementing Joyce's "independence". She asked my advice about the whole situation. I can understand that my mom doesn't want to throw her money away on something Joyce may give up on in a week, but she also wants Joyce to feel supported so that she will make an effort to better her life. Joyce's fear of failure is crippling. Here's the clincher. Will a safety net encourage Joyce to cross the tight-rope resplendently, or will it encourage failure by blunting its consequences? Sigh. I don't know.

Along the lines of sisters, my oldest (but not old, never old) sister gets into town tonight! She is the opposite of Joyce in many respects; she's organized, successful, goal oriented. And yet, she and Joyce have always been the closest to each other. Heather, I think, is the protector. She's classy and funny and strong and honest. I am going to have a blast with her, even though I have to work and share her with my brother. It's still always good to have a sister around. Only eight more hours!

flower power

Last night the most gorgeous arrangement of flowers was left in our apartment for April. She had already gone to bed and we were forbidden to wake her. It was just as well. She woke up expecting a crummy day and got a wonderful surprise. It didn't just affect her either. All four of us in the apartment were giddy with it. I am wondering to myself, is it the thought that counts; the surprise that excites us; or is it really that we swoon over flora?

reaching out

hands. touching hands. reaching out. touching me, touching you.

Sometimes there is nothing I crave more than physical human contact. That's one of the many wonderful things about Elise: she touches all the time. If she is talking to you, her hand needs to be resting on your body. If y'all are not talking, her legs may be sprawled ungainly over yours. She loves to cuddle, to hug, to kiss. So does her male counterpart Gabe. I'm not often comfortable sitting with male legs draped over mine, nor do I usually lay my hand on a boy's thigh. But with Gabe I can! I who am so intimidated by touch have learned to freely use it.

Yesterday at church I was sitting in sacrament meeting and wanting so badly to touch someone. I finally turned to Julie and asked if I could hold her hand. She looked a little amused but offered it to me readily. I actually hugged William Way. I've been kissing Elise like I live in Anne of Green Gables. I spooned Ashley when we had a group nap. Uncomplicated touch is probably the best way to relate to another human being. I love that Elise taught me that lesson.

Last night was her going away party. She is returning home to the great state of Texas to await The Call. She wants me to come to her farewell. It's so fun. I know I will miss her, but she will make a wonderful missionary. She loves everyone, really loves them. I didn't know anyone took that passage in Matthew seriously, but Elise sure does. She takes everyone into her life as though they have been her best friends, and people react by loving her like one. The small gathering of her most intimate friends last night consisted of over twenty people. Elise spawns love wherever she goes. As long as she can keep her hands to herself for eighteen months, nothing will stop her. We she leaves behind will be better for having known her, more open, engaging and vulnerable; but we will find life is one light bulb short.

the straw that broke the camel's back

Jon had his once more, and this was the worst. A complete stranger got in a fight with Julie about me. I don't even want to go into it. I want Jon far from my mind, and to do that, I confronted him. As my bishop said, Even the Savior when he saw things amiss at the temple, dealt with it. So I went to his house and dealt with it. Julie took me, and as we entered offered this warning, Just so you know, you scare me when you're mad. I did not yell. I did not swear. Joyce will be ashamed. I was very cold, with my arms crossed on my chest and my voice steady and my face blank. I was honest, although he doesn't think me capable of such a thing. He still thinks he's right, and I still think he's scum. But now it's over.

i say a little prayer for you

I am sitting at the computer listening to the sound-track for My Best Friend's Wedding while April sings to it. We're wallowing in our Saturday night at home. Soon we'll start a movie, pull out the snacks and wallow in style. Right now dancing in formal dresses to Tony Bennett is exactly what the doctor ordered.

Don't get me wrong, I was very glad to see all my friends giddy about their respective dates tonight. Elise fell in love with her friend is telling him tonight. Ashley, stoic unromantic Ashley, was worried how her hair looked and whether the new jeans were the right touch for the night. To quote Elise, if boys just knew what we went through!

It would be better if they were to know what we do when we have no prospect of a date. Our frenzied primping is predictable; it's when we sit at home rewinding and rewatching selected scenes from chick-flicks that we are most revealing. Rupert Everett serenading in a restaurant! Is it wrong that I am swooning over a gay man? Well then, one more time through and I'll stop. I'll just watch the scene where Michael sings on the barge.

I want to be serenaded. Probably I shouldn't want it, because I would laugh in the face of whoever was brave enough to try. To quote Jane Austen, spinster albeit romantic expert: I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love...Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may [be the food], but if it be only a slight, thing sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away. One may substitute serenade with poetry, though the original is true too.

I just got caught up in the giddiness of the evening. Love is in the air. And now April is leaving me for Joe. I've stopped the movie only to find Jerry Maguire on TBS. I love this movie! Yes it's hokey (and yes I just used the word hokey) and yes the lines I love are totally cliche. But I melt over his speech. He had me at hello.

Being a girl certainly has its ridiculous moments. I guess that's what this blog is all about, the ridiculous things we do when we witness love and want to take a part in it. For tonight I will watch the plights of fictional characters and rejoice when boy gets girl back at the very end. Maybe I'll break out the pint of Haagen Dazs.

walls and fruit

I once had a dream, it would be about four months ago now, maybe six. In my dream I was back home in Texas, a home to which it is unlikely I shall ever return. My parents were still married. But more than that, they were happy. They looked like they did in a picture I remember of them, where they have their arms around each other. In dreams you have insight into things that you couldn't possibly know by the empirical evidence. I knew that dad was healthy and mom wasn't worried. Joyce was there too, and she was happy, unpierced, whole. And I was excited.

Any minute, I knew, a friend would be visiting me from school. I ran back and forth between my room and Joyce's trying to decide what to wear. On my third time through the family room, passing the large window that faced out over the backyard, I noticed the apple tree. I could see only the top branches but on them were many large red apples, beautiful fruit. Stunned I stopped and went to look. I had remembered that tree not bearing any fruit. When I got next to the window and looked down I saw that the bottom branches held only a scanty supply of withered pale apples. I thought to myself, nobody would even know all this lovely fruit is up here unless they went through the trouble of climbing the tree.

Soon I was interrupted from these musings and told to wash the dog. My mom was always paranoid about the dog being clean when guests arrived. I took Emma to the tub, but she was so old that she couldn't hold her head above the water, and she was scared. I climbed in and comforted her, holding her as I washed. When I was finished she was clean but I was a mess. I started crying and ran to my room. On the way I noticed that the walls, which I had hitherto thought whole, were under construction, and that the house was being pulled apart.

In my room I wanted to be alone, but my parents and Joyce followed me in. They were different. They were as they are now. My dad was old and sad. He had on his wedding ring. My mom was stressed and her hair was short. She did not have her ring on. Joyce had pink hair, but the most shocking difference in her was how small she suddenly looked despite her height not changing. I tried to send them away.

"There's someone here to see you," my mom said. I knew who it was. "I can't let him see me like this!" I cried. "How can I offer him this?" I gestured to my wet clothes and soggy hair, my room and family. Inexplicably I thought of the fruit. "He'd probably only see the bottom branches anyway." I was lamenting this when I heard a voice speak quietly from the doorway. "Hello Friend." I looked up and smiled, and then woke up.

I thought of this dream randomly today when I was thinking of Ted. Last night we were talking about friends, as a title. He laughed at me, telling me that I am utterly indifferent to people I don't know until one day I award them the title friend, and then I love them. He grinned, At least it happened early on with me. I'm not really mean, am I? I asked him. I don't mean to be. You know what you're doing, he answers bluntly. You hold them off with a cold shoulder until they can prove themselves to you, and with encouragement like that, of course everyone perseveres in the attempt. He doesn't seem to think this is bad, only mockable. Mostly, he understands exactly why I do it. As he once said to Ashley in my presence, it's so interesting to see exactly where her walls go up when you prod, isn't it?

Ted is not the only one to notice my walls. I was dumped by a boy back in high school who complained I had too may walls up. Of me he remarked, her personality is a puzzle, but I don't even have the pieces. They're locked in a vault somewhere I can't find with a combination I don't know. I'm just worried that once I put it together it's not going to be anything beautiful, that'll it'll be one big blank blue board. (at least he had good alliteration).

Kevin complained of it, as did Jon. But what none of them saw was how easily other people could get to me. Matt was to Kevin (the first time) what Bryan was to Kevin (the second time) and what Ted was to Jon. They were the ones who knew me and didn't understand how the latter couldn't. Ted says that they were inhibited by their investment. But I did not care to understand the reason; all I knew was that my friends knew me and my boyfriends didn't, that my friends loved me and my boyfriends liked me, that my friends stay and boyfriends leave.

You can ask April and she will say of me, she's not as tough or as mean as she likes to pretend. My walls are really not so threatening. They are made of cornstarch and water. If you poke too fast, too hard, you will rebound off of them. But under a soft touch I will melt. Boyfriends look at the walls and get afraid, anxious and demanding. Friends don't even look at them; they look at me, and with their love the walls come down on their own.

Perhaps the title FRIEND is given to those gladiators who can bring down the walls.

my soft spot

Everyone who knows me knows this about me: I love animals. Bryan was the first to notice how my hands would go to my mouth every time I saw something small and fuzzy. April permitted me to feed the stray cat at our door. Jocilyn told me to ask for a kitten instead of a ring when I get engaged. I yelled at an ex-roommate's fiance who kicked a cat. I watch where I walk in case worms or snails might be under my feet. I cried when my dog died. And today I fell in love with a pigeon.

When I got to work he was just lying there on his side under a bush with his feathers askew breathing slowly and barely moving. My heart hurt and I wanted so badly to pick him up and do what I could to make him comfortable before his life expired. As I could not leave work duties to do so I instead offered a prayer in my head. Dear Father, Creator of beast and bird, take him to you swiftly so he is not in pain. I walked past him a couple more times and cried when his head rocked to the side as if he were looking to see who would come to his aid. I just didn't know what to do!

Finally as I left for lunch I decided to call my dad, bird expert, animal lover, a softy to the core. But as I got to the bush under which he had lain I saw nothing but dirt. I cried again, this time in mourning, and tried to push the thought of his body being thrown unceremoniously away far from my mind. May he rest in peace, I thought, naming the pigeon Bert in my head. May Bert rest in peace.

As I turned the corner an exclamation of surprise burst from my lips. There was Bert limping determinedly across the sidewalk. His legs and wings looked bent, and his head was held in such a way that implied he had very little strength or focus left to spare for it. But he was up. Bert is a fighter. I may have said, "I'm so glad" aloud as I walked around him slowly, trying not to startle the convalescent. My prayer changed, hoping for a long and happy life for my darling little bird friend.

bry-bear

Just after I finished writing that post all about Bryan I checked my email to find a letter entitled "Hi Friend". Bryan always calls me friend as if it were my name. It had been over a month since the last email between us. I have forgotten whose turn it was. I believe I am right in condemning him as the bad correspondant.

So, has the good 'ol 149th done anything really cool this summer like they usually do? I'd love to hear about all the fun I am missing out on. To be honest though, I don't really feel nastalgic about ward activities and the happenings of Provo. It's the quiet evenings watching a movie (or, more appropriately, watching you watch a movie with your legs curled up under you and your hands in front of your mouth during the intense parts) on the couch or walking down to the Malt Shoppe for a much-needed milkshake fix and a chat with people you care about that I really miss. So, is there any of that going on?

Well, after that, who can condemn? I miss my friend!

funny, that's what i call him too

Bryan was a friend I never saw coming. He was too pretty, too nice, too enthusiastic. He was the one male in a group of six females. He made me nervous because he was always saying happy, good things about people. He seemed to be the opposite of Ted. I once even told him so, told him that his seemingly lack of bluntness made him difficult to read. He apologized!

Bryan can't stand to have people mad at him, but because of that he is often a little wishy-washy about telling the truth. I've only gotten it from him after I pushed until he was mad. We both learned. He had to be honest with me, no matter what, and I would be straightforward with him. What he hated most about me was that I didn't like accepting help. It frustrated him that he never knew what I needed because I hated asking. The best compliment I ever paid him was that he made asking for help acceptable and getting it a pleasure. He fairly beamed.

Of course, Bryan beamed all the time. He reminded me of a puppy; sometimes I could see his tail wagging out of sheer pleasure. For those familiar with literature, Bryan is a Bingley. He is gentleman to the max. He always walked us home when we'd been hanging out at his apartment. There wasn't a Sunday when one of the girls in the ward wasn't wearing his suit coat instead of him. As he was the only one with a car he always drove us around, and always opened the doors. He liked to pay compliments. But what I liked best about him was how much he liked his friends.

Bryan and I agreed on how friends were to be valued. So one day when he told me I was one of his best friends I was touched. He looked out for us all, got involved in our lives, met all our boyfriends, held me when I cried about my dad, and he taught me to ski. I went down the mountain so slowly and wiped-out at every turn and he kept telling me how amazing I was.

But Bryan sucked when it came to his personal life. Of course it couldn't help that he had women falling in love with him left and right. All the same he preferred inaction. We became the sand to each other's ostriches. We could hang out and never feel the possible rejections that the dating world offered. It was not a very smart thing to do, but it was convenient.

Bryan now lives in Manhattan and I hear from him rarely. April hears from him more; they were always closer. When I have talked to him recently it has been to lecture. Okay, Audrey, let me have it. I am always honest with him, and honestly sometimes I am annoyed to the extreme by what he does. He thinks he's such a charmer, and really he is, so I find perhaps too much joy in seeing past his smooth act and calling his crap. He likes to do the same with me. He's far from perfect but he's my friend and nothing he's done yet has changed that.

christmas in july

Is it bad to be glad that someone died? Even if you don't know the person? What if I am just glad of the consequences that resulted from said death? Allow me to explain.
The phone rang mid-afternoon. With fear that Jon's voice might be on the other end, I answered.
Hello?
Hi Audrey.
Who's this?
Are you serious?
No! I know you! I'm sorry the connection is bad.
I should hope so.
Julie, guess who it is!
(insert reply here)
Better!
Ted?
YES!
His aunt died and the funeral is Wednesday, here in Utah. He'll get into town tomorrow and leave again on Thursday. Can he come see me, he wonders. I laugh. As if an answer is even required. He is really only calling for a number. His brother has recently moved and Ted forgot the phone number. I had to guess at this number since you moved. Our conversation is short. He merely goads me about who else could have possibly been calling. Who did Julie think it was? Are you expecting someone? He actually makes the ooooo sound that girls are famous for, where the inflection follows a crescendo. I laugh again. He tells me that my latest email has been received although not read. His inbox is being weird. I give him the phone number and say I hope to see him soon. You won't hold it against me if I can't make it to see you, will you? Of course I will. I need to keep my hopes down. I know it, but what if I count down the hours until work lets out tomorrow? The conversation ends with him wishing me a Happy Camp Christmas. Isn't Christmas wonderful?

a time to keep silence and a time to speak

and a time of war.

If Jon makes one more comment about me to Julie so help me if I don't call him on it. And I won't use any nice flowery words either. He has no right, none at all, to keep harassing her or me. I don't care if he does think it's for the best. In fact, to think that shows how misguided he is.
Let me relate the conversation between the two.

Julie: Did you read Audrey's blog again?
Jon: No. Should I?
Julie: No.
Jon: No, now I'm curious. Did she write something about me?
Julie: Yeah. She is mad at you. Big surprise.
Jon: Now I want to read it.
Julie: I wouldn't if I were you.
Jon: I think I'm going to call her on her crap. I think the reason she was so unsatisfied with our relationship is that I never knew the real her. She might get mad but I think it would help us.
Julie: I wouldn't make her any more mad if I were you. Don't do it.
Jon: I haven't decided absolutely.

after the conversation is related to me, Me: Oh I dare him to call me on my crap! Crap. What crap? I told him everything straight up!

I am not going to contact him but if he contacts me he will be left in no doubt of how angry I am. What good does he think it will do? Do for what? For us? Surely not. There is no us. I dumped him two months ago. He needs to leave me alone and leave Julie out of the middle of it all. Be her friend if you want but don't do that to her!

I wish I knew what to do!