This one is gonna hurt a little but try and stay with me. I've known Mrs. B for 6 years, long before she was Mrs. B. When people write about the term 'ethereal' I've always imagined they must be something like her. She's a waif of a girl if there ever was one. Rarely do I feel husky, but being around Mrs. B makes a mouse feel heavy. But the point isn't how small she is (and I don't mean short here, people, just waif-ish), it's about something I struggle to find words for. Mrs. B has an innocence about her that I've always sort of revered. Not that she's never done anything wrong or that she's some sort of blushing nun. No. She had a loser boyfriend in highschool, and too much drama her freshman year of college, but... even so, her innocence remained. Part of me has always... wanted to protect her. And some part of me... has always wanted her approval.
I'm laughing derisively at myself now, chuckling really, under my breath. Oh silly me. See, I saw her the other day, the incredible Mrs. B. She's blissfully recently married, well employed, and all around just enjoying life. She is everything a 24 year old ought to be. Did I mention she's also stunning? Yea, just in case I left that out, she's just breathtakingly gorgeous. And never more so than when she isn't wearing an ounce of make up. Anyway. She's everything a 24 year old ought to be. And I... I am none of those things. I am not married, not even close, I do not have a job I love, and my life is in the midst of a giant upheaval. And instead of doing what I planned, which was putting on a brave face and turning most of the conversation to her, instead I just couldn't shut up and drank too much wine.
It literally makes me wince to remember. I haven't been that embarrassed in a long time. Why on earth would she want to hear about my ponderings, upheaval, and lingering confusion and heartache? Dear Lord, I really try not to think about it. I'd like to erase the entire night. I just never shut up. And now, now I fully plan on not seeing her for years, just so I don't have to face it. I don't want to see her until I have my life together, because next to her I just feel... well it's not good.
And I know, she didn't always have it so together. I remember just two years ago, she'd call me at 1:45am, needing a ride home. So I'd go get her, and as soon as she got in my car she'd burst into tears, begging me to let her crash at my house because she couldn't face her mom while this drunk. And I did, I always did. And woke up at 7 to drive her home. But I'm still ashamed that I'm so incredibly dramatastic. Not in that 'did you hear what that %(@^ Rhonda said to me!?' sort of way but in the 'it's been years and my heart still hurts' sort of way. I'm mortified at my inability to fake it, even for a single night. I'm mortified at my tendency to dull my nerves with wine. I'm mortified that someone I wanted to see only the bright sides of me knows so many of the dark ones.
Yet writing this out has made me mostly get over it. I can't judge myself through what I imagine are her eyes. I had a bad night. It happens. And my life is in the middle of a giant, consuming upheaval. I can't change what happened, but I can learn from it. And I can take her off a pedestal, and stop trying to put myself on one. I don't have it all together. In fact. I never, ever will. I'm still gonna send her a Christmas card.
P.S. Mrs. B, just in case you ever read this, feel free to keep the shirt. After 2 years, it's yours anyway. I'm really very glad you're so happy, even if I am a little jealous.
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