I listen to music roughly 75% of my day. It takes me back. It helps me heal. Its stirs emotions and awakes my creativity.
I heard a song the other day that reminded me of a boyfriend I had when I was roughly 14. By 14, things like your period and tits are a scary thing of the past and now you just deal with them as you have them mostly under control. You're girlfriends are important but boys become even more so. For me, I have a handful of pivotal 'boy's to men' that I keep near and dear.
Over the years I have consistently had dreams and thoughts of one person in particular. I wondered where he was in life. Was he married? Did he have kids? Did he settle down or for that matter settle for less? Though he wasn't my first kiss, he was the one that taught me how to kiss. I remember it was slow, wet and soft. I remember passion. I remember his hands, respectful for the most part and always holding mine. Our 'relationship' was brief but ever important. He was slightly older than me, by a year or two. Tall. Deliciously handsome. Older in his spirit than what showed in his face. His mind was complicated and dark. His lips plump and satisfying. The cuts left by his braces made my lips swell and itch.
He'd pick me up in this jeep-ish looking thing. It belonged to his father but somehow we drove it more than he did. Parked in front of the Friday night party, we'd talk and kiss in his truck. He'd go off into deep tantrum about something and all I could think is, fuck me. Just take me here. Right now. Being 14 and in my mind thinking I was ready, maybe the reason he didn't is because he knew I wasn't ready. I had every intention of letting this boy strip me off and pluck me. I wanted him to take what I thought belonged to him and keep me forever. He was at the very center of my heart. His hardened life. His weak soul. I don't remember if I ever told him I loved him, but I know with all my heart, I did.
He had a very busy social life and was liked by many people. He had a handful of very good friends around him, of whom I've dubbed the 'Brat pack'. Kids that drove cars and smoked a pack a day. They didn't go to school when they should have and drank copious amounts of booze at noon on a Tuesday.
The dreams I have about him feel real. My dreams tell me things and usually, I understand them. I have dreams all the time about people from my past and the next week I'll see them in front of me. I'll see someone I don't know in my dreams and let's say that person is pregnant, I can wake up and know one of my friends is actually pregnant and know exactly who that person is. I can tell who's calling even when there's no call display. By no means do I think I'm some clairvoyant, uber psychic-I-See-Dead-people kind of gal, but I can see and feel energies. I dreamt about him the other night, nothing sexual, he was just there, as he always was, swave and gentle. His smile was bright and his voice was calm and velvety. Since the era of Facebook I have caught up on the life of my once-cardinal lover. I feel it's important to reach out to people from your past and now, with modern technology its simplified and easy. I write him emails when he's come into my head or seen him in a dream. I often will contact people when I think of them. Weather or not they appreciate it is a different thing entirely. I'll write him simply to say hello. Its never more than a paragraph or two, but I helps me keep him important. I've learned he's married. He has two kids, a Girl and a Boy. He lives a province away in a house he's fixing with his own hands. His brother is almost as good looking as he is. It seems hes tight with his family and doesn't take life too seriously. I love that his life turned out well. I love that when I email or message him, he actually replies. Little hello's and little goodbyes.
He had and still has intense energy. He could vibrate my world the minute he entered a room. His disposition was eerie and well played. He came across as cool and indifferent. He could hold my attention which frankly, at 14 was near impossible.
Teen-angst played a soft roll. He'd tell me how he hated the world and how people pissed him off. Something as simple as the word no would make his face tight and his fists hard. I felt at the time that I could relate and if I could make him understand that I 'got it', it would be me and him against the world and we could collectively change the mother-fuckin way shit works. Perhaps I felt more deeply about him then he did about me. Or maybe it was just strong feelings going in different directions. Either way, I loved him and in some ways I still do. I haven't seen him in probably 13 years and I don't really know that much about him anymore. But the things I do know about him, freezes me back in time and keeps me full on the ease of a simpler time.
