Sunday, July 3, 2011

Carrie Bradshaw

I remember during the fall of my senior year, I caught a Sex and the City marathon on TV. I had never seen it before and one episode turned into a whole season. It was safe to say I was obsessed. I carried the lessons with me and tried to internalize what I had perceived as truths about men. I didn’t become alarmed until one very distinct day when I realized that Sarah Jessica Parker was narrating my life. In my head. And what was most alarming to me at the time wasn’t the fact that a I could hear a fictional character in my head but instead, that one of the most dramatic women to have ever graced television could find something to say about my life. My life that was happy and peachy and sunshines and rainbows. Just a few days before, I had been waltzing around in a happiness-induced daze.

But I remember walking out onto the marching field, flute and water jug in hand, looking over at the trumpet section, seeing Aron and the narration began. That’s when I realized that something was amiss among my world of smiles. If there was narration going on, then the relationship wasn’t working.

It did for a while. For a while, our relationship actually produced happiness within both parties. For a while, we just couldn’t contain our witty banter and flirty texts. Then came the waiting. The very lonely nights of watching E! reality shows, staring at the phone, as if my undivided attention and longing could cause it to ring. And it did ring. It just wasn’t Aron. It was never Aron anymore. Not a text nor a call came from my boy of the moment.

Angry and jaded, I would reach out to other boys who I knew would contact me if they only had the means. I gave them my number and even ended up with a new boyfriend (who, coincidentally, was Aron’s best friend but that’s for another day) but I was never satisfied with the phone ringing. It just wasn’t the right person.

For those of you who want to know how the story ended- it would never ring again. The few times he did contact me, well, again, those are stories for another day. But it was never the same. Despite everything we had gone through together and the secrets we had divulged to each other, it was something replaceable to him. He wasn’t waiting by the phone.

It seems that, for a good portion of my life, I’m waiting by the phone. I’m waiting to hear from the right person- waiting for them to say the right thing. Now, going into my second senior year (don’t worry, it’s of college) I feel like most moments are moments of anxious waiting. Waiting for the text message icon or for the all-out glory of a call, bringing across the airwaves just the voice that I need to hear.

I need to hear from law schools, I need to hear from literary agents but most importantly, I need to hear from my boyfriend right now but he’s out with the guys so that probably won’t happen. It just makes me wonder- when did life become the waiting game? When did it become rapid successions of moments instead of one continuous wave? And why isn’t that smiley face text icon flashing on my phone? 

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