"Kindred Spirits" Part 4

       When I make my way back to my apartment, I can’t help but be discouraged by all the unpacking I have yet to do.  I moved out immediately after our falling out, stayed with a friend for a bit, and then decided to settle into an apartment of my own.  I still have so much to do.  A few of my favorite things hang on walls or are placed throughout the apartment, but I still have boxes to unload.  I have things I need to throw away for good, and new things that I need to create a permanent space for. 

       I no longer have to be concerned about where he thinks the coffee pot should go, or what painting to hang where.  I don’t have to create my own space within the confines of someone else.  Though it sometimes caused more stress than living alone, I miss the friction of moving in with someone.  I miss hearing footsteps down the hall, or smelling dinner cooking for me when I walk in the door after a long day.  I still miss him and it almost makes me sick to my stomach. I’m so tired of missing him. 

      I sigh and set my bag down in the kitchen on a bar stool. After I plug in my camera to upload to my new pictures to my computer, I decide to stop missing him. I’m going to unpack and be productive. I’m going to listen to music without being drawn back to moments when we heard it together. I’m going to forget him just like I’m sure he has forgotten me. I’m going to ignore the ache in my heart when I think about him sitting around with a new love.  Him laughing and kissing her neck as they dance around the kitchen together. I’m going to stop missing his smile.  His smile that led me on. His smile that reached his eyes and lied to me for months.  His smile that I couldn’t see through until it was too late. His smile that he still shared when he had to have known that it wasn’t going to work. When he had to have known that I wasn’t enough. I didn’t see the warnings, I had to get smacked in the face with the reality. 

       So I’m going to unpack and I’m not going to miss him.  I switch on my ipod and turn it on a mellow playlists, I wait a few moments as a familiar song comforts me.  Its words and instrumental background move me further into my apartment, further into the mess that is unpacking.  I’ve been unpacking and moving things for at least two hours. I stop and notice the progress I have made in the den. It finally is starting to look like me. A throw is draped over the couch, pillows rest in their places, pictures hang on the wall. It looks cozy and simple and artistic.  It looks like something I should be ecstatic about.  But ecstatic is a bit of a stretch for me.  Even before this funk I’ve found myself in, I’ve always been a bit controlled. A bit introverted. But I’m still pleased with myself and I really do like the room that is totally constructed by me.

       I hear my phone buzz somewhere in the apartment and can’t remember where I placed it.  I find it hidden behind a box on the kitchen counter.  I swipe my finger across the gadgets’ screen and it hums to life, alerting me that I do indeed have a friend who cares about me. A friend who still tries to coax me out of my shell, no matter how much I brush her care off. 

          Wine night? - Meredith plainly asks.

         Such an easy question, which should be afforded a simple yes. Nothing has been as simple as it should be lately.  I want to see her. I want to tell my best friend that I finally have a little bit of my old self back, that I’m going to make it. But that the little bit of myself is still a bit of a mess, it’s a fraction of good and the rest confusion. I want to tell her that I appreciate her persistence and her understanding. I want to tell her that I she’s the best friend I’ve ever had, and the best friend I will ever have. We both know that this isn’t likely, that I’m not one to spill my heart. I’m more likely to get lost in my mind, guarding my thoughts and dreams, even from her.  So instead I postpone wine night with my own clear response, that offers anything but the whole truth. 

         Tomorrow? I respond as a way to give myself time. Time to prepare to see my best friend while I’m in such a state. A state I’m not used to being in.  Meredith knows me. Meredith knows that I’m not the most open book in the world, but she sticks around.  I’m hoping she will stick around long enough for me to realize that some things in my life will stay the same, some things in my life may even get better from here. Like my relationship with my best friend. Though I don’t entirely deserve her understanding, she still willingly gives it away. 

       Yes. I’ll come by at 7. Don’t bail on me. I have my key and I’m not afraid to use it. Have a good night, Lock and Key. 

       A small smile twitches at the corner of my mouth. Lock and Key  We were drunkenly talking about how awesome we were as best friends, how much we compliment each other.  She was honored that I told her I’d never had a best friend as close as her. We both took advantage of my intoxication in different ways. She used it to probe a bit deeper, to uncover something new.  I used it as a way to show her something undiscovered.  Something I knew she deserved to see and understand.  Meredith said I was like her lock. I liked the analogy and then called her my key. From then on, it’s been Lock and Key. It’s been the one relationship that I can consistently depend on. It’s been the one thing that I think I’ve cherished the most over the last few years.  I may be a lock, but I’m lucky to have found the key in a best friend.  Maybe tomorrow night will give me something as precious to hold on to for years to come. Something that will slowly connect us even more, giving me a little more hope as the days go by.