She Will Always Carry On

5 November 2006

West Ham 1-0 Arsenal
Harewood 89'

This match seems to be indicative of what I need to write about. A 1-nil loss to West Ham (who are currently in a relegation fight) is exactly how Arsenal has played all season. They can beat the big guns, like Man U, Liverpool, Chelsea: but when it’s West Ham, or Fulham, or Sheffield U, it’s like they’re hungover, they totally forget to show up for the goddamn game. I really don’t get it, and I don’t think anyone does. If we had been able to win the small games and the big games, we would be challenging Man U for the title right now. But because we fold like a cheap card table when it comes time to face 16th-placed teams, we’re dwindling into fourth place, essentially praying we don’t fuck up anymore and keep our goddamn Champions League berth. Praying like we believe in all Gods from all times, all of them, every single one. That’s how much we are praying these days. Relationships are miraculous things. They are roller-coasters, sure, you’ve heard that analogy before, but it is so wildly true. Talking like this, of course, gives away the impetus for this entry: my girlfriend and I have broken up. This is the real roller-coaster rather, the post-relationship time. It’s strange; nothing seems different, really, but I feel different. Which is to say, I finally understand how different I felt when I was with Michelle. She didn’t complete me, I wouldn’t say that, but we certainly complemented each other in a lot of the necessary ways. She showed me things about myself I would never had known without our time together: not things that she grafted onto me, but things that were within me all this time, things I had simply never seen before. Like my ability to actually be a reasonably good boyfriend. I was terrified for a long time that I would be a totally lame boyfriend. But strangely, I found myself going through all the normal motions, like flowers on Valentine’s Day and calling her baby, all these motions, and they felt right, they didn’t feel cheesy, they felt like things I wanted to do, to express how much I cared for her. To a certain extent, it would feel like they were things I was supposed to do, especially the flowers: after I bought them, however, it felt good, it felt right, I wanted to give her flowers. This was a surprising feeling for me; most of the time, the standard motions have felt forced and tacky. Here, though, in this relationship, my first real relationship, they felt wonderful, because expressing my feelings in institutionalized tropes means something. What does it mean, Sam? It means… well, it means a lot. It normalizes us as a couple, because here we are, acting like couples all over the United States. That’s probably the most important thing it does, and one reason why I was excited. “Look, we’re a real couple, I bought her flowers, just like you did, see, I can be a stereotypically good boyfriend: Ta-da!” Thus, in turn, it normalized us and it normalized me, it reassured me that I am who I thought I was. Furthermore, it gratified my neuroses by convincing me I am someone worthwhile to be with, that maybe, just maybe, it is all just in my head. These are exceptional gifts that my short time with Michelle gave me, because in the end they all boil down to one ingredient: confidence. She gave me so much confidence, in myself, in my appearance, in my writing, in my life: she helped heal so many broken years, so much time spent in self-wallowing depression, anti-social Saturday nights on my computer, avoiding people who really wanted to be my friends for fear of opening myself up. That’s really what this whole thing was about, for me: learning to open up, learning how to be vulnerable, how to show myself to someone and hope they smile at what they see. Everyone’s weak, at the end of the day, everyone wants to be justified and legitimized for what they are. Michelle gave me that, by smiling at me so earnestly when I would prattle on, saying whatever came into my head. She gave me that by telling me I am attractive, even though I have terribly dorky traits. She gave me that by accepting who I was and kissing me softly, holding my arm, breathing onto my shoulder. I can’t thank her enough for everything she gave me from this experience. It’s hard to think about it though, and I wish, perhaps selfishly, that it had gone on for just a little bit longer. I gained a lot, and I could have gained more. This is the third part of the cycle, however; the third part of this whole experience which is demanding I grow. First, I had to gain the confidence to talk with this girl, and decide that I was really ready for a relationship; second, I had to find that good boyfriend who was living somewhere in body, and now I know where. Here we are, part three: I have to find the strength to move on, the maturity to not look back at what-could-have-beens, and develop my personal depth to think about other girls. In due time, of course. I don’t really feel like thinking about other girls right now, in fact, thinking about girls at all kind of makes me feel sick. It’s a process, a process that I am really only experiencing for the first time (although it does kind of mirror the process of when I crush on a girl and find out she’s not any kind of interested). At times I feel okay, you know, I feel secure in the future, and curious about what will next come my way. But at other times, weaker or more sentimental times, I get overwhelmed with sadness. I think about her smile, and her quiet grace, her absurd maturity, that made it sometimes feel like I was with a 45-year-old. Which is reasonable, seeing as how I often strike people as a bit of an old soul. Michelle is an incredible girl; she carries a large weight with her, a weight I was always fascinated by. She lived a lot of her younger years (as if we really are 45, I suppose) a bit wildly, and is now coming to terms with adulthood, as we all are. There was always this feeling, to me, of her being caught in her own wake, as if her life was a big cruise ship but she, the captain, had fallen off, and was trailing behind on a life-raft. But she’s catching up, you know. She’s made the raft a makeshift home. She’s got a nice sail on it, and she’s watching the coming horizon, her left hand over her eyes, blocking out that beautiful sun. She’s smiling too, you know, she’s smiling because she knows no matter what, no matter where this raft (and cruise ship) takes her, she’ll be good. Whatever shore she washes up on, whomever’s house she walks up to, they’ll be happy, and they’ll have this circular window on the third floor of their house, it’ll overlook the sea. She’ll be able to see the cruise ship and the life raft lying there in the sand, and she’ll smile more, because maybe she’ll think of me, and hopefully those memories will be happy. Godspeed, Michelle, I wish you the best of luck. I’ll miss you.