Every once in a while, I experience a moment of sheer, simple bliss. It is a very rare occasion. When it occurs I hear a faint whisper in my mind saying, "Remember this moment always."
And then later in my life, these wisps of memories will pop up from seemingly out of nowhere and I am amazed at the detail and the way they make me feel. I like it best when the memories come unbidden, unexpected. It is like receiving a little gift from my soul.
This morning I was sitting at work, rubbing my arms to try to warm up. I don't know what it is about this office building. It is always freezing in here. Suddenly, one of those unexpected memories paid me a visit.
It was a memory of sitting on a rock in the middle of a river in Colorado one October day when I was in college. It isn't so much that *fact* that I catalogued in my mind. It was the feeling I had in that moment that I wanted to remember.
We slept late that day and awoke around noon with crashing hangovers. I felt terrible. He brought me water and painkillers and a banana. Eventually, I rolled out of bed and agreed to go for a drive. He said the fresh air and sunshine would be good for me.
We drove up into the mountains, down highways dappled with sun, with the windows down and the wind in our hair. His car didn't have a radio, so he carried a boom box in the back seat and played tapes turned full volume to hear them over the engine and the wind.
I remember the way the air smelled; like grass and meadow flowers. We finally stopped next to a river fringed with aspens and got out of the car. We left the boom box playing. It air was so warm and smelled so good. I took a long, deep breath. My hangover was long gone, left on the road somewhere with my cares between home and here.
We looked at each other, and then at the river...and then back at each other. Without a word we both went tearing into the water, splashing and laughing and running and playing. I remember the stark difference of temperature between the warm air and the frigid river. I remember the weight of my drenched blue jeans and the slap of my wet hair on my arms as I twisted out of his reach in a waterlogged game of tag.
Finally I crawled up onto a large, flat rock in the middle of the river and declared, "I'm home free!" He found a similar rock not far from where I was perched and climbed on top of it. Our laughter subsided and we sat in a comfortable silence. I was shivering from the cold water, but the sun was quickly warming me. I pulled my hair around from behind and twisted it to wring out the water. When I looked up, he was smiling at me from across the water.
"You're beautiful and I love you," he said.
I could hear the music coming from the car. Blue Oyster Cult's "Don't Fear the Reaper" was playing. He began to sing.
"Romeo and Juliet are together in eternity...Romeo and Juliet..."
And that's the moment. Sitting on that rock being warmed by the sun, smelling that fresh autumn air, being surrounded by nature, feeling beautiful, and being loved.
I think I may have said it aloud. "Remember this moment always."
And I have.
The first time I got hit by somebody who wasn't family was when I was a freshman in college. He was drunk. He punched me in the stomach and then threw the bottle of liquor at me. It glanced off my shoulder and smattered wetly into the wall.
I remember being more shocked than hurt. After, we didn't speak of it. We just went on as if it had never happened.
It is important that you know that he was not my boyfriend. He was just a friend. Although, when we fought, it was typically over me talking to, looking at, or dating another guy. He didn't want to date me. He just didn't want me to date anyone else.
The beginning of the end came one cold night in March. We were at a party, of course. I had a huge crush on a boy who traveled everywhere on a skateboard. That boy and I were sitting on his skateboard talking when the other came over and angrily announced that he was leaving. I smiled and said goodnight but didn't move from my crush's side.
Later that night, my crush walked me home with his skateboard tucked under one arm and me tucked under the other. Bliss. He kissed me underneath a streetlight and then skated away. What a perfect night.
I hadn't been in bed for more than five minutes when the "friend" called. He sounded bad. He sounded worse than he usually sounded. He sounded drunk and his voice was thick with tears and the words he spoke did not make sense. Until the end. Until he said, "I’m going to end it. I've already taken the pills. I wanted you to know." Then nothing. He hung up the phone.
We lived in the same dorm, but on different floors. I ran barefoot down the stairs to the second floor, down the hall to his room, and threw myself against the door. I knocked, I screamed, I begged, I cried. Nothing. I ran to the end of the hallway where the Resident Advisor lived and banged on his door.
I don't remember much of what happened between the time the RA came out to the hallway to see what was going on and the time the ambulance came. I vaguely remember talking to one of the paramedics. I remember them finding the bottles of pills he had taken. I remember them giving me something to calm me down. I know somebody drove me to the hospital. I know that somebody gave me some slippers.
I remember that, at the hospital, they were calling me "the girlfriend" and I remember wanting to correct them but being unable to get my voice to work. I remember them trying to explain to me what he had taken, how much, that they were pumping his stomach, that he would be ok.
I remember sitting in his hospital room. When he woke up, I crawled up into the bed with him. I put my head on his chest. I told him I was glad he didn't die. I was expecting him to say he was glad, too. I was expecting him to say he was sorry. I was expecting him to say it wouldn't happen again.
Instead he said, "This is all your fault."
At the time, I believed him. And it really affected me. I pulled away from everyone. I cried all the time. When the boy I had a crush on invited me to spend spring break with him, sleeping in his van on a California beach, I told him no. He went without me.
About a month after his suicide attempt, my "friend" showed up at the house which I shared with three other girls. We lived in a small town and never locked the door. I awoke to him stumbling down the stairs to my room. Drunk, of course. Yelling my name. One of my roommates ran in after him. She told him to leave or she would call the police.
He left. And about a week later, he dropped out of school and left for good.
But he left his mark on me for a long time.