Please tell me what you all think of this. Its not a poem but a commentary and my first post in about a year and a half.
Joshua Farmer
10-24-2007
Commentary Final
English Non-Fiction Writing
In Retrospect
When I was 16 or 17, I used to be a hopeless romantic. I always felt, and to a certain extent still do, that the world (or God) had placed someone out in the world that I was destined to end up with. I sometimes find myself believing that adage now, even though I’ve been through twenty-five relationships since. Melanie was one of my last romantic dreams.
Although my relationship with Melanie never ended up being what I expected it to be, I still took a few valuable lessons from her—in particular, the realization that caring about someone else didn’t have to involve dating them. She also gave me the ability to care for someone…and provide me with a sense of peace when my family was disintegrating before my eyes. It was hard to say “goodbye” to her but I eventually did—a goodbye that fell on an early autumn morning in 1998.
I knew that this was going to be goodbye. Have you ever had a feeling about something and know that’s its going to come true regardless of what you say or do? That morning, I felt as if my world were coming apart even though I was at peace with what I had to do. I was sad.
She was everything to me then and at times, an inspiration now. I’d like to believe I left an indelible mark upon her that she would use later in life.
Melanie had just moved into a new house with her family from her old home, which was on Old Hickory Grove Rd. in Mt. Holly, or as most of us always called it, Gastonia. Her old house was nice, but rather small—Melanie lived with her extended family. We’d dated for about 7 months until we went to New York with the East Gaston Marching Band. The trip was a school function, but everyone was able to choose who they rode on the tour bus with. Naturally, I was going to sit with Melanie and the rest of the color guard “corp.”
It was supposed to be an exciting trip for us but it ended up turning out sad. I enjoyed the sites and sounds of New York but I didn’t enjoy the arguments. Melanie and I fought the entire ride up, the entire time in New York and even a bit on the way back. Even today, I can still feel the wind as we stood next to one another on top of the World Trade Center observation deck in disagreement over a trivial matter.
I can see her face is puffy because she has been crying and I don’t know what to say or do and instead of giving her comfort, I took my silver trumpet charm necklace from her and told her never to speak to me again. Where would I be today if I would not have made that fatal mistake?
And so Les Misérables sealed our fate…a play of constant struggle and of my constant tears. I sat with my head on Jessica Earley’s shoulder during the majority of it. When we returned home, things would never be the same again.
We’d already broken up. New York was crazy: The Holiday Inn, calligraphy notes and a lot of tears and arguments. I remember walking into the East Gaston Marching band room after we arrived back from New York and trying to give Melanie a plastic rose I’d bought for her along the way. She didn’t accept it and aside from the breakup, she didn’t really know what to do. Later on, I learned that she’d still really cared about me. At the time I didn’t know, nor did I care. It was what it was.
About a month later, I remember rolling my ‘87 Nissan Sentra to a stop in front of her driveway, a bit of wind-blown straw strewn across the fresh concrete that still retained a bit of gray. Concrete doesn’t dry well when the air holds a chill. I shivered and felt tears drip from my face to darken the collar of the blue jacket I’d worn. The tear-stains spread out like ice crystals freezing, but that was okay as well. I wasn’t really thinking about whether or not I looked cool or not at the moment. Of course, boys aren’t supposed to cry: in high-school, in college…or ever. The only thing that I could really think of was that I needed to get my poetry back and tell Melanie goodbye—at least find a bit of closure for myself. I needed to feel as if I had not wasted the last six months of my life on nothing.
“Hey,” Melanie said, when she met me at the door and for a moment, I was silent and I could think of nothing to say. Melanie stood there and waited for me, dressed in her favorite gray hoodie with the screen printed Minnie Mouse across the front. She wore faded jeans (another of her favorites) and looked apprehensive about seeing me.
“I just came to get my writing, Melanie,” I said, and stood there while she looked at me.
“I’ll get it for you.” Her tone was dry, but reluctant.
She went to get my writing--every single poem and the biggest gift I could have given her. I had to get the poems back. It was my closure. Later on, I burned every single poem she’d ever touched because at the time I thought it would help me get over the biggest heartbreak I’d ever experienced. Burning the poems is a decision I regret now. It would be nice to look over those poems and compare them to what my writing is like now, not to mention the memories.
Melanie disappeared into the house and I crouched. I watched as the sun started to drift down in a slow, western arch over the horizon. While I waited, I noticed that most of the trees in the neighborhood were blazing with the onset of fall. I thought about Jessica Earley and her best friend Adrienne Buchannan—both of whom lived in Deer Crest. I remembered Melanie for what she had always been to me and how much shit she’d put up with like the nights I’d spent crying to her about how my Dad treated me and how I was lonely—always lonely. I recalled sipping red wine with her—something today I wished I would have never done because alcohol has given me a lot less joy than I ever thought it would. I drink as I write this.
Melanie finally came to the door again and I felt a shivery chill run up my spine.
“Sorry I took so long…my mom wanted to know what you were here for.”
“That’s okay, Melanie. I have to go in a minute anyway. Just wanted to know if you wanted to sit and talk for a few minutes.”
Melanie looked at me and pushed the box towards me. Her head tilted to the side, like a sunflower in the final days of summer, finally letting its petals reach towards the sun. I let my hands float outward and took a hold of the box, shaking. We stood and looked at one another for a few moments, or rather, a few seconds.
“Let’s sit down,” she said.
“Ok, Precious,” I said, using the nickname I’d given her when I first met her.
“So…what happens next?” I asked.
“Josh, I really don’t know what is going to happen next. Its just not going to be right at the moment,” she said. Her head drooped over like a flower saturated with dew. I looked into her eyes…and she looked away, then looked back. No one spoke.
For a while, it was those awkward silences and thoughts. Occasionally we’d glance at one another but always we’d look away nervously. I knew she cared and she knew I cared but we both knew that tomorrow was going to be something different for both of us. Finally, the words came out.
“I really like your new house, Melanie.”
“Thanks,” she said and looked at the ground.
I noticed then, that the grass was greener and fresh, even though summer was nearing an end.
“I think we are gonna be good in concert band this year Littlebit.”
She looked at me and I looked at the ground. I started fumbling with a blade of grass and plucked it, accidentally pulling up a bit of straw.
“Well, I should go in, Josh,” she said.
“Okay Melanie, I’m sure we’ll see each other around soon.”
I stood up, clutching the box and walked down to my car…thinking. I felt sad, but at the same time I thought maybe this may end up being a new beginning for me. I watched Melanie as she walked back into her house, her hair limp and lifeless and her body language whispering of defeat. She walked slowly.
She walked in slowly. Tonight I think about how she looked—skinny, distraught and completely used up and I wonder if that is what my life is going to end up being about. I’ve used myself up extensively with my drinking. I’ve destroyed friends and broken relationships I would have been better off keeping. What have I learned? Even as recently as spring of this year I lost Rene…my ‘Critter,’ and the person I’d always dreamed of. I still dream of Melanie sometimes.
Life always moves forward however, even if you are drunk, or you are in love, or you are sitting somewhere by yourself lamenting the mistakes of the past. Life moves forward, like tears always do whenever you cry. I regret many of my decisions, from taking that first drink that hooked me to treating Melanie badly. Today she has made a beautiful life for herself—living in Virginia Beach, VA and married. She is a youth pastor and has faith, something I’ve grabbed and dropped so many times before. Melanie has moved on.
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