Sunday, June 20, 2010

Flesh and Blood


They leave. They all leave eventually. It's a strange sensation because how could they leave when they were never really here?

They tire easily, they bore even more easily and become bored. They don’t understand their impact nor do they care. They're kittens toying with an errant string. They're fickle changelings, distracted by shiny things.  
They tug at her heart and in the moment, they are close, so close she could touch them, they click clack sober and sozzled. She kids herself that they’re real, meaningful, decent but she knows. She knew from the first instance, the first contact, the first flirtatious word that this is play. Guard her heart she must. And try she does.
She saw her aunt do it years ago. A fine woman, a mentor, a teacher. There were always waifs and strays for Christmas. Kids from the drama class, the boy from the wrong side of the tracks with potential, the precocious West End prodigy. They all went by the wayside. None kept in touch, none knew she’d emigrated, none knew when she passed. Not so much as a flower from these urchins she had so loved and engaged.

She knew from the first 'hello' it was fruitless. She knew her heart would break. She never loved them. Not really loved them. She was infatuated, absorbed, fond. When they came on line they were her world. All else was  forgotten, only they existed in that moment. 
Not all at once but in succession. A parade of pretty things to flirt and play with. Like every procession they approached slowly, tantalising in their beauty and spangles. Their whispering sounds and familiar tunes amplified with their proximity.

It began with cheeky comments, then sprung into email then developed into full-blown chats, even live conversations and time spent together in the flesh. 

Then, like a marching band, they walked into her present and slowly passed, accelerating toward new horizons.  They never looked back but left her standing on the pavement waving a flag for nobody to see, a longing in her heart that nobody knew existed. A lament for friendship lost.

He entertained her at work. A pretty geek with long hair and sardonic smile. They'd play during back-ups, he'd share his life, his loves his longings and she lapped him up like a kitten with cream. They met, they still do but contact is sporadic and she misses him more than he admits to missing her.


Then the suicidal brat with a big mouth and an an even larger brain. Self-destructive and arrogant. Articulate and sardonic. A pathetic mood swinger but still, he tugged at her heart. He was vulnerable and in need of a friend. His plight was sad and desperate and she would be his Joan of Arc. He’d been perverted by God, pursued by peers and protected by parents. Naive and narrow in what really matters, love, empathy, forgiveness and grace, she broadened his horizons. She was his rock. She knew because he told her so. He became her son but as his confidence grew, he needed her no more. He's still arrogant and lacking grace but he's no longer emotional.  She built him up, made him whole, healed his scars and sent him on his merry way.  He is leaving.

Then another spun screaming into view, a whirlwind of a man. Landing meteorically loquacious and persistent, encouraging yet annoying. Devilishly handsome and extraordinarily bold. Yes this one a little older. Incredibly bright, sharp as a semantic tack, quick as a whip, insatiably creative. Why her? She never really knew. He claimed she was interesting, had a talent and was the only one awake across the watery divide. He became her sweet distraction, her slight obsession. He filled her being with intellectual satisfaction and flirtatious innuendo. He flattered her, he talked long and hard and deep  about himself. He read his prose, sang his songs, played his games. She thought he was her muse but the roles reversed and she became his. He made her laugh, he made her cry, he made her feel young and fresh and tight and sexy. She knew he was a wanderer, a temporary diversion, a free spirit he was always going to run and he will leave.

So now she is resolved. No more emotional energy to be spent on bright young things with no future. Time to disconnect and  join the real world for the virtual holds no charm and waves a dangerous flag. Beware, this is not real, this is fantasy and try as you may, living a fantasy is living a lie. She is off to find a real friend, flesh and blood.

3 comments:

  1. They are flesh and blood ephemera...ice sculptures...sand castles.

    She is so deserving of a good, solid companion. So, so deserving. But disconnection can be hard.

    May this flesh and blood lover manifest soon.

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