what went wrong?
Photo via: Reader Submission
Supposed to have a snowstorm later tonight, but right now? It's 75 degrees.
I'm sitting next to a fire, drunk on wine and this air and altitude.
Full on Velveeta shells and happy in sweatpants and my Auntie Nor's rubber boots.
Hiked 15 miles today. Washed our dishes in Irish spring soap and metal-pump water.
Rinsed them out over the campground toilet so that bears would not smell the food.
Cranberry snus and a big warm scarf. Feeling the cold creeping in.
We have nighttime good-honest drunk talking here. James looks rugged.
He laid down in the icy glacier creek water to "bathe", made me laugh.
Thoughts of calling Mom in town tomorrow, but I'll be here now.
Sleeping in the back of the warm Suburban in the heart of the forests
Stuck at a Mountain road stop. Talked with 'Swetch'.
He lives in Cooke city Montana in a camper and works on the road until winter.
No girlfriend. Just a motorcycle and his thoughts...
Happy people are everywhere. Weathered faces, dusty and great.
James is writing a letter to his dad right now. Hi...
Jim died of a tumor in his brain this past January.
I loved him best out of the whole Bleuer family. He was the most genuine soul.
Maybe because he wasn't afraid of anything..
Called me the "salt of the earth' when I drank my coffee black at his house and
ate my pizza without a plate.
We're here. There are kids camping in a trailer next to us, cooking s'mores. Life's alright.
I'm dirty, (weird with my period) but somehow, ok.
My shin-splinted leg hurts a little, but it's getting stronger.
Listened to Phish and flew by the ancient buffalo.
Another storm today. I'm lying in our car "bed", warming up with a red plastic cup of cheap wine.
Hiked Mammoth Springs earlier , then took a delicious $3.50 shower at a local hotel.
Now back at the site, with plenty of firewood and food.
More talks about family, and ourselves. So many new stories.
A few great people are camped next to us. Ken, Tracy, Dan and brother on a fly-fishing journey to Boise. They're drinking Fresca with Absolut and laughing while attempting tent set-up. I think they've forgotten some vital poles.
Ken shambled over to our fire earlier to shoot the shit and escape his family for awhile, I think.
I'm remembering why he stole my heart in the first place.
Not for all of the credentials he could list you. (Dartmouth cum Laude alum, Wall street-whiz, car builder, Man's man, etc.) Something else.
Something he's had since he was 17 and rough, and vulnerable, and wide-eyed- infatuated with
all of that Minnesota spirit I had in my worry-free, tanned 16 yr-old body.
He blasted into my thin masquerade like a train in his old
I am in love with a life that hangs on hope and what happens next and what's big and beautiful and soft and humming acoustic soul out of a warm voice or soft chill night with a good sky and a good tan and no roof. I miss you and love him. I love me but I miss her. Thank you for it all, though God.
I'm remembering climbing a hill on a trail (Twin Trails?) I cannot remember anything except a stomach ache and the last hike-day. James was in his day with his thoughts and his mission: a Ziploc bag with a letter and faded Dartmouth cap to bury for his dad, climbing faster (searching for "the spot"), and me trailing "taking pictures". God I am sore in my throat from holding tears. I'm sorry Jim.
~~~~~Now
James and I have not talked in 5 months. I saw pictures of him camping in Connecticut, new camper, in shape, smiling. Hurts my stomach so much. He showed his hate and frustration by sleeping with a string of girls in Manhattan. Now he’s moved back to the girl he loved in high school. Anger fills my head and body.
If, in this one life, quantum physics is irrelevant, and I must move ever forward, not ever in reverse or in nostalgia, then I am going to make a pretty love with someone new as long as my heart leads.
A sip of my black coffee jolts me back to Yellowstone last year, and a slushy drive throughout the Teton Mountains while Bob Dylan's "she belongs to me" album plays in the suburban. Today I felt anger, while blow drying my hair before work. Thinking about my guilt, and that I am mad at his anger piled on top of me. Somehow there has to be a balance of blame, or guilt, or just the heavy burden of emotion for what happened. and what was that?
I fell in love with someone more mature than me (we both thought). With my manipulative girl powers I morphed into his ideals, discarding all that was "me". What was left, he adored. LOVED me to his core. I loved this so much that I believed we could be soulmates, even though my soul was in hiding (or at least the dark, but honest parts). What went wrong? Maybe nothing. Maybe it was my hesitation to let any real love move past the first impression of his dream girl. I was so terrified of his disappointment. We grew up.
"We tried the goodbye for so many days, we walked in the same direction so that we could never stray" - Ben Harper
Ford F 250, smelling like car grease and salty Fairfield summer. Oh man.
I'm sitting next to a fire, drunk on wine and this air and altitude.
Full on Velveeta shells and happy in sweatpants and my Auntie Nor's rubber boots.
Hiked 15 miles today. Washed our dishes in Irish spring soap and metal-pump water.
Rinsed them out over the campground toilet so that bears would not smell the food.
Cranberry snus and a big warm scarf. Feeling the cold creeping in.
We have nighttime good-honest drunk talking here. James looks rugged.
He laid down in the icy glacier creek water to "bathe", made me laugh.
Thoughts of calling Mom in town tomorrow, but I'll be here now.
Sleeping in the back of the warm Suburban in the heart of the forests
Stuck at a Mountain road stop. Talked with 'Swetch'.
He lives in Cooke city Montana in a camper and works on the road until winter.
No girlfriend. Just a motorcycle and his thoughts...
Happy people are everywhere. Weathered faces, dusty and great.
James is writing a letter to his dad right now. Hi...
Jim died of a tumor in his brain this past January.
I loved him best out of the whole Bleuer family. He was the most genuine soul.
Maybe because he wasn't afraid of anything..
Called me the "salt of the earth' when I drank my coffee black at his house and
ate my pizza without a plate.
We're here. There are kids camping in a trailer next to us, cooking s'mores. Life's alright.
I'm dirty, (weird with my period) but somehow, ok.
My shin-splinted leg hurts a little, but it's getting stronger.
Listened to Phish and flew by the ancient buffalo.
Another storm today. I'm lying in our car "bed", warming up with a red plastic cup of cheap wine.
Hiked Mammoth Springs earlier , then took a delicious $3.50 shower at a local hotel.
Now back at the site, with plenty of firewood and food.
More talks about family, and ourselves. So many new stories.
A few great people are camped next to us. Ken, Tracy, Dan and brother on a fly-fishing journey to Boise. They're drinking Fresca with Absolut and laughing while attempting tent set-up. I think they've forgotten some vital poles.
Ken shambled over to our fire earlier to shoot the shit and escape his family for awhile, I think.
I'm remembering why he stole my heart in the first place.
Not for all of the credentials he could list you. (Dartmouth cum Laude alum, Wall street-whiz, car builder, Man's man, etc.) Something else.
Something he's had since he was 17 and rough, and vulnerable, and wide-eyed- infatuated with
all of that Minnesota spirit I had in my worry-free, tanned 16 yr-old body.
He blasted into my thin masquerade like a train in his old
I am in love with a life that hangs on hope and what happens next and what's big and beautiful and soft and humming acoustic soul out of a warm voice or soft chill night with a good sky and a good tan and no roof. I miss you and love him. I love me but I miss her. Thank you for it all, though God.
I'm remembering climbing a hill on a trail (Twin Trails?) I cannot remember anything except a stomach ache and the last hike-day. James was in his day with his thoughts and his mission: a Ziploc bag with a letter and faded Dartmouth cap to bury for his dad, climbing faster (searching for "the spot"), and me trailing "taking pictures". God I am sore in my throat from holding tears. I'm sorry Jim.
~~~~~Now
James and I have not talked in 5 months. I saw pictures of him camping in Connecticut, new camper, in shape, smiling. Hurts my stomach so much. He showed his hate and frustration by sleeping with a string of girls in Manhattan. Now he’s moved back to the girl he loved in high school. Anger fills my head and body.
If, in this one life, quantum physics is irrelevant, and I must move ever forward, not ever in reverse or in nostalgia, then I am going to make a pretty love with someone new as long as my heart leads.
A sip of my black coffee jolts me back to Yellowstone last year, and a slushy drive throughout the Teton Mountains while Bob Dylan's "she belongs to me" album plays in the suburban. Today I felt anger, while blow drying my hair before work. Thinking about my guilt, and that I am mad at his anger piled on top of me. Somehow there has to be a balance of blame, or guilt, or just the heavy burden of emotion for what happened. and what was that?
I fell in love with someone more mature than me (we both thought). With my manipulative girl powers I morphed into his ideals, discarding all that was "me". What was left, he adored. LOVED me to his core. I loved this so much that I believed we could be soulmates, even though my soul was in hiding (or at least the dark, but honest parts). What went wrong? Maybe nothing. Maybe it was my hesitation to let any real love move past the first impression of his dream girl. I was so terrified of his disappointment. We grew up.
"We tried the goodbye for so many days, we walked in the same direction so that we could never stray" - Ben Harper
Ford F 250, smelling like car grease and salty Fairfield summer. Oh man.
someone else's
Photo via: Celeste Ortiz
We met on a film set.
He was the writer and director. I was a simple PA - Production Assistant - the lowest title in a film-production.
I was only on the set for two days.
The first day I was there, I was just so happy to be there, because I wasn't really supposed to be. I was there simply by coincidence. I had met a guy from the film crew on the train, he sat next to me, and I noticed he was holding a script. I asked him about it, and he told me about the film they were shooting and gave me a card. I got in contact with them, and since I had studied film for a year, I was invited to join the crew the last two days on the set. So I did.
The second day, I had got to thinking about him. There was something about him that wasn't just a director's aura, something pulling me towards him like a magnet. I particularly remember one moment. Small, and perhaps insignificant. I was watching the crew put together everything they needed for the next scene. This director, let's call him Tom, was sitting in a car, looking out the window. We made eye-contact, and he winked at me, then immediately looked away. It was as if he had sent a small electric shock through my entire body. I don't know what it was, but it was something.
The whole second day, we sent flirtatious texts to one another, and I was wondering if he was like this, or if he felt something between us as well. I was convinced it was something else the last night of the shooting. I had left the set early to catch my last train home, and he sent me a picture of two glasses of red wine on a candle-lit table, along with the words "you're missing out on some sexy lighting".
The shooting of the film was over after that, and I thought I might never see him again. That was until I got an invitation to the wrap-party. I got there a bit too early. He got there an hour late. No one knew where he was. I texted him: "I bet I've finished my beer before you get here", hoping to get an answer including when he'd be there. All I got was "I think you're right". So I waited. And then, as I sat talking to the guy responsible for the lighting, he walked in, and everyone cheered and applauded. He shook everyone's hand, smiled, talked to almost everyone, making his way across the room - where I was sitting. I began to raise my glass towards him, as a way of saying "congratulations!" and "I didn't finish my beer!", but he didn't even look at me. Not a glance. I felt immensely rejected.
He sat down a few chairs from me, and began eating. I continued talking to the people surrounding me, acting like everything was fine, as if I was having the time of my life. After a few minutes, I stood up and left for the bathroom. On my way there, I got a text from him. "I love that sweater". That was all it took. He was forgiven.
As I got back, a woman I hadn't seen on the set had taken the chair opposite me. I introduced myself and asked politely why I hadn't seen her before. She said "oh, hi, I wasn't on the set, I'm Tom's wife. Nice to meet you". I wrapped up the conversation, made an excuse to leave, and ran for the toilet. My heart was pounding like hell. Why wasn't he wearing a wedding ring? Why was he flirting with me? As a test, I sent him a text. "So when are we hooking up?". It could be seen as a joke, if he wasn't serious about this. His reply was: "Don't tease me like that, love. I'd so call your bluff". Drunk as I was, on beer and several shots, I replied "I'm not bluffing". I took some deep breaths, walked out of the bathroom, and there he was, standing in the corridor, separate from the rest of the bar. Secret. Out of sight. He looked me straight in the eye, and simply said:
"Kiss me."
So I did. It was so simple. So easy to ruin a marriage. It was also the best kiss of my life.
The rest of the night, we fought to get some time alone, without being obvious. It was hard. But after a couple of hours, he came up to me as I sat talking to another guy outside the bar. We went for a walk. Which really meant: we walked a bit away from the bar, found a deserted alley, and made out. We made out with me against the concrete wall, him against it, me lying on my back on the cobblestone ground... Over and over again I said "you can't do this, you're married!" and he simply answered "I know, but you're making me crazy". Once, I dared to ask him if this was the first time he cheated on his wife. He said it was.
The next morning, we said goodbye on the train station, after a very loaded moment in a café - just the two of us. He kissed me and walked away. And we both wanted that to be the end of it. The problem was, neither of us could leave it at that.
We got in touch again, and the next time we met we decided to be stupid. We had sex. And we both realized that this wasn't just a physical thing. The more we talked, the more we fell for one another.
I felt the need to break it off before it was too late.
He broke down crying, then bought a one way-ticket to Gdansk.
I've met the love of my life.
He is perfect in every single way.
The problem is, he's also someone else's love of their life.
Perfect for somebody else.
He can never be mine.
Ever.
"And love,
love will tear us apart,
again."
He was the writer and director. I was a simple PA - Production Assistant - the lowest title in a film-production.
I was only on the set for two days.
The first day I was there, I was just so happy to be there, because I wasn't really supposed to be. I was there simply by coincidence. I had met a guy from the film crew on the train, he sat next to me, and I noticed he was holding a script. I asked him about it, and he told me about the film they were shooting and gave me a card. I got in contact with them, and since I had studied film for a year, I was invited to join the crew the last two days on the set. So I did.
The second day, I had got to thinking about him. There was something about him that wasn't just a director's aura, something pulling me towards him like a magnet. I particularly remember one moment. Small, and perhaps insignificant. I was watching the crew put together everything they needed for the next scene. This director, let's call him Tom, was sitting in a car, looking out the window. We made eye-contact, and he winked at me, then immediately looked away. It was as if he had sent a small electric shock through my entire body. I don't know what it was, but it was something.
The whole second day, we sent flirtatious texts to one another, and I was wondering if he was like this, or if he felt something between us as well. I was convinced it was something else the last night of the shooting. I had left the set early to catch my last train home, and he sent me a picture of two glasses of red wine on a candle-lit table, along with the words "you're missing out on some sexy lighting".
The shooting of the film was over after that, and I thought I might never see him again. That was until I got an invitation to the wrap-party. I got there a bit too early. He got there an hour late. No one knew where he was. I texted him: "I bet I've finished my beer before you get here", hoping to get an answer including when he'd be there. All I got was "I think you're right". So I waited. And then, as I sat talking to the guy responsible for the lighting, he walked in, and everyone cheered and applauded. He shook everyone's hand, smiled, talked to almost everyone, making his way across the room - where I was sitting. I began to raise my glass towards him, as a way of saying "congratulations!" and "I didn't finish my beer!", but he didn't even look at me. Not a glance. I felt immensely rejected.
He sat down a few chairs from me, and began eating. I continued talking to the people surrounding me, acting like everything was fine, as if I was having the time of my life. After a few minutes, I stood up and left for the bathroom. On my way there, I got a text from him. "I love that sweater". That was all it took. He was forgiven.
As I got back, a woman I hadn't seen on the set had taken the chair opposite me. I introduced myself and asked politely why I hadn't seen her before. She said "oh, hi, I wasn't on the set, I'm Tom's wife. Nice to meet you". I wrapped up the conversation, made an excuse to leave, and ran for the toilet. My heart was pounding like hell. Why wasn't he wearing a wedding ring? Why was he flirting with me? As a test, I sent him a text. "So when are we hooking up?". It could be seen as a joke, if he wasn't serious about this. His reply was: "Don't tease me like that, love. I'd so call your bluff". Drunk as I was, on beer and several shots, I replied "I'm not bluffing". I took some deep breaths, walked out of the bathroom, and there he was, standing in the corridor, separate from the rest of the bar. Secret. Out of sight. He looked me straight in the eye, and simply said:
"Kiss me."
So I did. It was so simple. So easy to ruin a marriage. It was also the best kiss of my life.
The rest of the night, we fought to get some time alone, without being obvious. It was hard. But after a couple of hours, he came up to me as I sat talking to another guy outside the bar. We went for a walk. Which really meant: we walked a bit away from the bar, found a deserted alley, and made out. We made out with me against the concrete wall, him against it, me lying on my back on the cobblestone ground... Over and over again I said "you can't do this, you're married!" and he simply answered "I know, but you're making me crazy". Once, I dared to ask him if this was the first time he cheated on his wife. He said it was.
The next morning, we said goodbye on the train station, after a very loaded moment in a café - just the two of us. He kissed me and walked away. And we both wanted that to be the end of it. The problem was, neither of us could leave it at that.
We got in touch again, and the next time we met we decided to be stupid. We had sex. And we both realized that this wasn't just a physical thing. The more we talked, the more we fell for one another.
I felt the need to break it off before it was too late.
He broke down crying, then bought a one way-ticket to Gdansk.
I've met the love of my life.
He is perfect in every single way.
The problem is, he's also someone else's love of their life.
Perfect for somebody else.
He can never be mine.
Ever.
"And love,
love will tear us apart,
again."
not a whim
Photo via: Joel Sossa
We met in England in 2005 because we went together on an Erasmus grant in Sheffield. Well, actually we met before, some months before starting our journey, getting ready for the next year, doing the paperwork together, deciding on our dorm... I had never seen him before around the uni hallways, or simply never took notice of him.
The beginning was no bed of roses: I had a boyfriend back in our country and things were not so clear to me at that time. I started to have feelings for this new boy and I lied to myself by thinking that I just wanted it to be an affair. I told him so "let's make out while we're here and then we will just stop."
Nothing was easy, but at the same time everything was. There's a long list of things we did together that made my stay in UK easier: we walked around, got drunk, talked about everything, danced, traveled, had breakfast, lunch and dinner, stole, laughed, cooked, stayed up all night, listened to music, skipped classes...
While all these things were happening, I became aware that my feelings went further beyond than what I thought. "What should I do?" I asked to myself not a hundred, not a thousand, but a zillions of times. I had to make a decision. Our dream year was vanishing and I feared everything we had vanished as well.
The school year finished and we went back to "normal" life, still without knowing what to do: I told my boyfriend everything, but he forgave me and wanted to keep our relationship. "He's just a whim," he said. I doubted it. Everything would have been easier if he would have just split up with me.
Eventually, I realized that he was not a whim, he was what I wanted, WHO I loved.
Now I know sometimes I hurt him, I took him for granted, I forgot him, I didn't trust him, I shouted at him, not many times, but I did, and I would like to think that all these mistakes I made are part of our story.
Luckily, here we are, almost eight years later. Now life - or work - has wanted to separate us, just for some months, I'd like to think, to prove that all we have been through is worth it.
