Love And Other Life-Changers

LIFE AND OTHER LIFE-CHANGERS

Kaleena Arca

          The short, shy, red-headed girl wearing the big JNCO jeans and a flannel sweater (typical of the grunge era), checking her beeper, painting her hair with multi-color mascara, chipped black nail polish, and listening to rock music by the hangout spot among the “rockers” back in high school, was me. I wore the black dress on Valentine’s Day and hated all the boys that didn’t like me. Who was I kidding? It was just an excuse because I was afraid a boy would want more than friendship.

         It was my sophomore year in high school that I watched the boy I had a crush on walk down the tracks holding his clothes, ready for gym class. I would breathe in deeply and exhale imagining what it would feel like to be his girl. Was love in my future? He seemed to have a good life with happily married parents, two younger brothers, a dog - the American dream. My parents on the other hand, put the fun in dysfunctional. This boy would probably realize he made a mistake to like me or to even be with me, a girl that held resentment, sadness, and anger inside from her childhood.

         I grew up in a life of abuse, drugs, and alcohol. I’d watch the silhouette of my mother fighting my father from my room. I’d smile at my dad, he had no idea I knew what his coming in and out of the bathroom every so often was all about – his dangerous habit. I watched my brother clench his pillow with eyes wide open screaming out of fear due to the hallucination of our mother’s face melting and the four walls breathing heavily down on him – silly boy, trips are not tricks. Then there was my mother, a shivering half smile as she swallowed her happy pills.

         I laughed and cried when my dad, mom, and brother all went into recovery – it could have been too good to be true. No way possible that was going to last, I thought. I was confident that my dad would probably die a using addict. There was hope for my mom and brother, but my dad – no way. So I did laugh and cry.

         I knew the drugs my dad used for most of my childhood made him absent emotionally, in a fatherly way so he could watch me grow into a big girl. The drugs made him a stranger to me. He went into recovery. When daddy came home, he wanted his script to play the role of Dad. However, he couldn’t have picked a worse time, a nightmarish period for most dads. I was at the stage when a girl begins the awkward and embarrassing adventures of becoming a woman. “No boys till thirty,” it was taboo. Unfortunately for daddy it was too late. My family was somewhat normal then, minus the drugs, it was my turn to enjoy life, to be happy and not worry about people knowing too much of what was going on.

         The summer of ’99 before my junior year, I became someone’s girlfriend. From time to time, when my boyfriend asked about my childhood worry, fear, and paranoia arose. I was vague and concise, but I knew that if our relationship was going to eventually flourish, I’d have to let him in. So I invited him to my heart and soul - he accepted. I closed my eyes and winced at the thought it would project. He went deep within my heart and he saw what I felt: pain, fears, worries, my father, mother, brother and love. He saw me.

         It took months of dating for me to finally call him “babe,” or even say, “I miss you.” He’d stay up until six in the morning with me on the phone in silence as I told him stories of my life. He never pressured me into doing things – he respected me. Good behavior didn’t mean he could collet my innocence and pass go – he waited. He embraced my nerdy tendencies from playing World of War Craft to reading the Twilight saga. He’d stand behind me as I faced a mirror, not liking what I saw. He demanded I repeat the phrase “I am beautiful” until I believed it. He’d hold me protectively and tell me to breathe in sync with his breathing to overcome anxiety attacks. He’d text me every morning, during work to remind me to take my thyroid pills. He’d plug in the heating pad, pass me a glass of water with two Aleves to help relieve my menstrual cramps. We argued back and forth too, sometimes said unpleasant words, then quickly delivered one soft look to one another and moved back into each other’s grip for forgiveness. On beach days, he’d make sure I’d been sprayed evenly with SPF sunblock – he’d researched that redheads are actually more prone to skin cancer. He tucks my dog and I in every night and whispers “I love you,” to both of us. He cradled me after a bad dream and kissed my tears dry. We don’t even look like a typical couple. I listen to rock-alternative music and he listens to Hip-Hop. I wear Converse sneakers while he loves Jordan’s. He wears diamond earrings and I wear all my ear piercings. His skin is artless and mine craves more. I buy him Ecko shirts and he buys me leopard prints. Opposites do attract.

         July 20, 2009 will be my ten-year anniversary with the same boy that I stared at as he walked on those tracks with his gym clothes in hand. I look forward to the bad, good, beautiful, and ugly times with love. There’s nothing in this world that’s a better feeling or experience than love with someone who I trust, confide in, care for, and share my deepest and darkest secrets with.

         To my best friend – because of you, I believe in love.