I went on a road trip to Bathurst with my friends this week. We were driving back and talking, deep conversation stuff that only seems to come out when you're exhausted and driving in a car for a long time.
Relationships, love, just anything. Somehow I got to telling the story of last summer, my life in Cape Breton, my roommate. Everything that happened. It's so far away, and separate from my life now, it just doesn't come up.
Only a few of my close friends ever even knew about Scott and everything that happened with us, and I sort of left it all in CB when I left last September. Looking back now, it really was a bigger experience than I ever gave it credit for.
I mean, look at the big picture. How many people do you really get to care for in your life?
I mean balls-to-the-wall, if-you-cry-I-cry care. Those special people who touch your life just right and make you love them, make you want them, make you better.
I can count them on one hand. And I'm not complaining. I'm a lucky one, to have loved more than one person in my 23 years. Not everyone can say that.
Scott. He was one of them. Four months. Just four months. One of which I spent hating him, one where we became friends, one where we became close and one that was inevitable and nothing less than devastating.
This entry deserves to be read through - another reason I am so thankful I keep a blog and that I am honest and that I don't hold back. It's almost like reliving it, these capsuled memories. The good, and the bad.
Back to the long drive. My friend looks at me and says: "Seems like he really meant something to you. I can tell just by the way you talk about him."
"You sure you're ready to let that go?"
"What am I going to say to him. It's not like I can just show up at his door."
"Why not?? If he showed up at yours how would it make you feel? What is there to lose."
So here I am a year later and it's there still, kinda deep and stiff from disuse but there like all great love is, and I'm not sure how to do this but I'm willing at least to try so that's something.
Nothing to lose right? Right. Though there is the gain of that utter sickness that comes with those 20 seconds of bravery.
I extend my hand in the least embarrassing form I can: THE MIGHTY TEXT MESSAGE. You might say it's lame, but I say it's safe.
Meant to say something witty. Instead all that comes out is, "Jays baseball". (??)
Cuz I clearly have an IQ of 35.
But you know what?
That was all it took. Before I had time to truly freak about what I had just done a buzzing was felt in my hand and with it a wave of ecstasy, fear, doubt, anticipation..
I'll spare you the gritty details (one, because I deleted the conversation from my phone by accident and two because...well that's really the only reason).
A friday night of catch ups: where are you living, what are you doing, how's life, etc etc. Back and forth for a good hour. Just a kick start. Just a start. A step in a direction. Just a step but oceans better than nothing.
And I thank my brave friend. Someone who's lived her life never afraid to do what she feels is right, even if she doesn't realize how strong that makes her. She who lent me that strength allowing me to take a step, to do something. To live with no regrets.
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