The last time I saw him was maybe a year ago, 6:00 p.m. on a Saturday, downtown. I had gone for a walk; he was crossing the street, apparently getting on or off a bus — I didn't take the time to figure out which it was.
My first instinct was to not alter my path at all — fuck that, I'm walking this way and I am not, I mean, really not going to change my course for the likes of him, whom I no longer think or care about. Fuck that, and fuck you, too.
I got about two steps, of course, before a panic attack set in. Now, I've my fair share of anxiety in life, but I've never actually experienced anything quite like that. I was vaguely aware my hands shaking and my lungs refusing to take in oxygen at a regular rate — a predicament not helped by my attempt to stuff a cigarette in my mouth (not that I smoke really, mind you, but I had a cigarette on my person and given the situation, it seemed like the thing to do) - and found myself turning sharply, running off behind the corner of the library, where I stood fumbling and gasping for breath until I successfully managed to light my cigarette several minutes later.
By the time I had regained myself, he was gone - swallowed up in the crowd of tourists and shoppers. I was pretty sure he hadn't seen me. I'm not sure what he would've said if he had. Or what I would've said.
I didn't have time to plot out what I was going to do beyond (my failed attempt at) walking forward, but I dimly believed it would involve something like pretending I had barely recognized him if he did attempt to say something to me - or hoping he might not recognize me at all (not that so
much had changed, of course, but last summer, my hair was blonder and I had sunglasses on and I like to think I look older than I did from the time before).
Anyway, the entire non-encounter left me shaken, but even more — disturbed that it had gotten to me so much. It had been maybe a year since I'd seen him, ages since he'd emailed, more than seven months since we'd talked on the phone. His memory had more or less lost its venom and become impotent and mostly caused me to wonder what it was I was so hung up on for all that time. Or at least, this is what I liked to believe. It's sort of true, afterall. I don't lie awake wondering how someone could ever have done that to me. I'll grant him he was right about as much: I got over it one day.
So I don't know why it was that standing there outside Copley that afternoon, I suddenly had the wind knocked out of me, or why certain other things still have an ability to get to me when I know they shouldn't, or why some people who really don't deserve to have any influence, still wield the power to render you frozen.
Or why I'm writing this at all, really.
*
When I was 16, I twisted my ankle getting out of the car on a trip to New Hampshire. It wasn't anything too serious — I managed to go hiking a few days later — but even now, sometimes, when I go running, I'll put my foot down at this certain angle and suddenly feel a shot of pain right where I hurt it then. Were it not for that feeling, I'd probably never think about that trip or that hike or how once, I was really stupid and fell for it.
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Replies: 1
Isn't Copley more Back Bay than Downtown?
Posted by Dave @ 07/22/2003 11:14 AM EST