Someone had to crack my “uncertainty” wall. My “I don’t want him to come, it’ll make things too intense, our lives are going in two separate ways, let’s just forget each other and break up” wall.
I went to a party with my ward members. One of my old leaders was there. “So what’s up with Micky?” she said. She reads my blog.
I gave her the update and my thoughts about everything, and prepared to hear the same thing I heard from everyone else: Very smart, Anne. You’re right. It’d be too hard for you if he came.
But she surprised me by raising her eyebrows. “Let him come!”
She smiled. “Anne! It’s summer. You’re seventeen. Stop thinking!”
I stared at her in awe.
“You can come.” I told him.
So he came.
And I loved every bit of it.
One night, Maxwell hung out with Micky and me.
“That movie they’re watching is kinda scary,” Max said, “The worms are eating a guy’s brain!”
His voice was shaky, but he held back his tears. I hugged him and told him to sit on the bed.
For the next hour, we made up our own creatures. Max’s was a blue sphere that lived in water near a farmland. Mine was a red pyramid that loved chocolate. And Micky’s?
“Well you see, we have a great defense mechanism. No one likes to touch us. We just have to watch out for ‘The Runner’, who can injure us pretty badly. Other than that, no one really bothers us, except for the flies, which we eat.”
Max was busting a gut. “What do they taste like?”
Laugh laugh laugh.
My dad showed Micky “the toe.” When he saw it, his eyes grew wide and he shouted “Whoa! It’s… It’s so big!” We laughed at his reaction and watched him examine it some more. Then he said, “This is a once in a life time experience! Can I touch it?”
We burst out laughing again.
He was sweet to my family. We loved him. Mira especially loved him (no surprise). She and Micky filled up water balloons in the backyard and planned a secret attack to get me wet. He wrestled with her and swung her around. She’d hit him and he’d howl. She still brings him up in stories at the dinner table and I wonder if she thinks about him more than I do.
My mom cried the night before he left. “You guys are stupid,” she said. She knew our plan was to break it off. Call it done. Try not to talk to each other anymore. The next morning we said our goodbyes.
He is back in Cali, back in the massive part of his life that I’ve never seen, only heard about. With his family, his cousins, his little cousin, and his dogs. Where he brings Ultimate Frisbee games together. Where he plays archery in his own backyard. Where he walks on the beach and swims in freezing water. Where his family collects buttons and sticks them on the wall.
We have not broken it off, neither made it official. People ask, and we say the same answer we’ve said since August 2009: “Well. It’s complicated.”