Hers is the face I see when a certain mood moves in

to be honest, I couldn’t for some time choose for the title between that (look up) or “I used to love her / but I had to kill her” (guess which one won). When we met, I was a little punk (actually a brat thinking himself as a punk), calling himself an anarcho-socialist and she was the cool girl of a pink ladies tribe. And she had a boyfriend (and we were only 15 for god sake!) From 14 to 20, we suffered (mostly me, surprise, surprise!).

Sometimes, when a certain mood moves in -guess what- yes, it’s her face that I find myself thinking about. And hence we arrive at today’s topic: Washington’s Axe(l Rose).You know, that Heraclitus thingy, that you can not step in the same (deep) water (as you) twice. -(whispering) Now tell me that “but you also are not the same person as you were when you had first stepped in the water in the first place”-

- But you also are not the same person as you were when you had first stepped in the water in the first place..

Who cares? Do you think I do not know that that first love of mine now exists no more, only a ghost, a haunting phantom of the past, charging, seducing. No sirree! I now know that no more shall I ever be able to set my eyes on those once beautiful and bitter face I had grown accustomed to. The knowledge of her being still alive, living somewhere is as irrelevant as anything else.

We would have fights, god, we would shout, leave the house, hang up the phone, it was how we could save each other from our love going sour. Then that famous last fight came. It wasn’t the end, but we didn’t know it back then. Then a year passed without a word being spoken. Then one day, I was meeting a mutual friend and she also came. Came to see me. We couldn’t find anything to say, just sat there, in that awkward silence, in that absurd situation, with the friend sitting there, overwhelmed by the air surrounding. I couldn’t take it anymore, stood up to leave when she said my name and asked me to wait for her. In the following two days we reached the peak of our love followed by the end, which yours truly managed to not to realize (yep, things like this can happen in real life, boys and girls).

and about 3/4 weeks later the end came, in a combo lingering a little bit more, but the ultimate end was obvious even for me. There and then I think, I died for the first time. And so, her memories, her face comes to haunt me, to mesmerize me occasionally when a certain mood moves in (can you say hallelujah?).

Two things about her (to help you identify if you ever come across):

1. After a big-fight-followed-by-a-loving-come-together-once-again, she had told me that she had thought of us, were we to be together, taking the next step, and she had decided that, it would be good, really good for some time, but then one of us would eventually and almost certainly kill the other. Not intentionally mind you, it would come in a fit of burst, one of us hurling something, hitting the other. And that’s how it most likely would end, with laughs and tears.
2. We had signed a paper that we would (anyway) get married (to each other) when we were 35. We got married (not to each other) by a week apart (hers was the first) and a(nother) mutual friend took part as one of the witnesses in both weddings and that’s life and that’s a fact – but she was somebody else by then, yes, still a successor but definitely not the being who was my first love.

Later Edit (but not that “later” – just about a couple of hours): In my favorite Doris Lessing story “Notes for a case history”, the girl there, Maureen Watson is just a replica of her from a certain angle. I’m almost sure, almost certain that there were such times when she would “evaluate” me for who I am, for my potential and perform that ruthless calculation, those days almost always summed up to a big null. She never gave up on me though, not for a long time so to speak – she’d put me through tests and I would fail all the time but she always hoped that I’d win, she prayed that I’d win. I never did, though and only realized that there were such tests, years later (my misfortune, my fortune).

When viewed from another perspective, she also is like the Summer character in the movie “300 days of Summer”s trailer, in the scene where she initiates the talk about “There’s a light that never goes out”. I haven’t watched the movie but the still invisible a girl I know gave it a negative mark so I put the idea of watching the movie to some dark corner of my mind (of which, there are plenty, that goes without saying but I say it anyway, I really believe that I’m glad -saw what I did here? I marked a hidden reference by italicizing, because I’m on a fine mood (which is surprising given the fact that I’m listening to the Smiths for the last 4 hours) but that doesn’t mean that it will become a habit, you dig what I mean? yep, good for you, be careful, be on the watch, these references, these remarks, one way or another, they’re gonna getcha!)

Much later (like “5 days later” later) edit – The Japanese Connection. I really don’t know how it happened (it all took place so quick) but, as I was on a Juzo Itami run, I was shocked to realize how Nobuko Miyamoto resembled her (I mean, her). Not very much similarities in appearence (yet still some) but in her general attitude you just couldn’t miss it. Then I remembered that, when I was reading Yukio Mishima’s After the Banquet, how I thought about Kazu reflecting her (and by her, I still mean her). Now years have passed, I can remember nothing about the novel save for the knowledge that I had once thought how the protagonist (I checked the novel on wikipedia to recall the name, btw) resembled her… Strange thing, these memories (But all I can do is hand it to you / And your latest trick).

And also: Believe it or not, I’m not so happy giving references, “calling names”. This blog was not intended to be a literary parade/show-off/tour de force, and it isn’t. It has been intended to be (and actually, is) a freak show. (Mind your step. Mind your step. Mind your step.)

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