Nicholas.
When you called and asked if I could pick you up from the airport, I started making plans. As soon as I knew when your flight was, I tried to figure out what we should do that night, because you were someone I made plans for, even if they never happened properly. I made plans because you were important to me, and I knew this gesture you'd made, asking me to give you a ride, wasn't meaningless. I knew that because nothing you do is meaningless. There's always a reason and there's always a plan.
I agonized over this for, oh, it must have been weeks. None of the plans were actually particularly viable because you'd have just flown for however many hours it is from London to Seattle, and you'd be tired. But I tried. I imagined driving out to Gasworks or something and watching the city and just talking like we used to do before, and I kept coming back to that one.
So that was the plan. I still remember ignoring your phone calls that night, thinking what a lovely night it would have been to just sit on the grass and watch the skyline glow, your head on my shoulder. And I remember thinking, as I deleted your texts without reading them, it had been a good plan.
20130412
plans, pt. 2
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3 comments:
wow rob it's almost like i've gotten to know you through your writing. i started reading stuff from this particular blog in 2008 and i forgot about it after several months. i'm not sure why, but it just slowly faded from my memory. just today, i was searching through my favorited websites on my old laptop, kind of like looking through your old high school yearbooks before beginning college. I rediscovered your work, Rob, and the feeling when i did was quite strange. it was like meeting an old high school friend after a five years, but someone you didn't really know that well. it's a strange feeling, and one i don't think i can describe. it's kind of like knowing that while you went through the trials of the last five years, so did that other person you knew. it's like becoming cognizant that while you did your thing in life, someone that you knew did theirs, completely unaware of each other. and then you intersected again, at that one moment in life. i can't describe the feeling, maybe you can?
I didn't quite get it at the end, but it was so intriguing. Love the dark look of the blog!
anon: I think it's the realization that, though you have this amazingly complex life in your head, with a sense of narrative and continuity, every single other person out there has one, too. I remember once staring out of an office building at the freeway and watching the cars and people drift by below until I was overwhelmed, just thinking of how many universes were passing by that I would never intersect with.
rachel: glad you enjoyed!
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