A Summer of Blue Black Nights

An account of a nasty love triangle I endured over the summer of 2010. Written December 2011

A Summer of Blue-Black Nights

            It was a summer of blue-black nights; he was either by my side or hers. He was working as a lifeguard that summer, which amplified the irony of the fact that it was precisely these blue-black nights preserving my pathetic existence, but also asphyxiating me with each erratic embrace. There were, of course, moments of sheer happiness with him. However, in the absence of those moments, it was doubtful that he wouldn’t have preferred spending time with her over me.

            When questioned on whether or not our reunion being postponed had anything to do with his feelings for her, he denied that she was the reason behind the excuse that he “just wasn’t ready.” At the time, I had no sympathy for her. I saw the girl who’d once been such a close companion of mine as a monster who wanted nothing more but to rip the seams threaded between him and I. Now I realize that he’d spoon fed the both of us the same excuses, and we chewed them up and begrudgingly swallowed them with little to no suspicion. “I’m just not ready.” “No, it has nothing to do with her.”  “I really think that one day, it’ll all work out. But not right now.” I still become nauseous every now and then when I allow my mind to wander back to the things he said to me or promised me. My head aches as I try to process that I will never know for certain which of his words, if any, were sincere.

            We sat back and watched as those blue-black nights turned to red-orange dawns; we held each other in tears as we watched the sun climb its way above the horizon over and over. He and I never learned. I don’t believe that either of us truly knew what it was that we wanted. He couldn’t choose between familiar and unexplored. He supposed that he could not live without me, but he also could not live without stepping out of the commitment. I had confused happiness with having him and having him with happiness. I couldn’t decide, and still can’t to this day, whether I was better off being with or without him. We were so young and simple minded, but somehow it was all so complex.

            That whole concept of “what happens at the beach stays at the beach” was an absolute failure. We packed our unresolved emotions right into our suitcases, strapped them down, and stuffed them into the Yukon and they traveled back to Cumming with us. And so they continued, sometimes thriving, and sometimes preserved by a type of emotional life support. We kept tossing dry, crackling, leaves and blowing weary breaths on the fire just often enough to maintain the dwindling flame.

            Perhaps all we had wanted was that formal, final, official goodbye that we didn’t have since, as he said, “we ended so abruptly.” Maybe that was subconsciously what we had aimed for in Outer Banks. It’s possible that we saw it as our opportunity to “show each other how much we loved each other” since we “hadn’t had the time to.” Perhaps we both needed to spread it all out on the damp, nearly deserted shore, stare each picture of pain, joy, distrust, honesty, love, and lust directly in the eyes, and then gain closure as we gazed upon them being swept away into the ocean, soiled, scratched, and scraped from memory by the sand.

            I wish that we could have done it. I wish that he and I had possessed the strength to surrender that which made us weak. We could have closed the book with that semi-fairytale but also beautifully depressing grand finale, in a beach house overlooking the ocean while watching the sunrise. We could have bid farewell to the possibility of a future between us as we toasted to our tattered past, much like the bittersweet moment when a child must surrender their shabby baby blanket after clinging to it for so long to become a “big kid.” Instead, we tried to relive the finale, not realizing that to relive the finale, you must relive it all: the deception, lies, tears, sincerity, devastation, corruption, infatuation, obsession, laughs, “I love you”s, promises, kisses, and “always and forever”s.

            We were afraid of both worlds. Terrified of a world without each other, we fought not to loosen our grip. Apprehensive of what hurricanes would erupt around us if we tightened our grip, we struggled against ourselves to let go.

Those blue-black nights reflected our hearts; they were conflicted, cloudy, and blue and black with bruises. Fifteen months have passed, and the bruises have become less noticeable. The clouds have become less dense, less heavy. However, I foresee that the unresolved conflict will remain as is. After all, we promised, always and forever.