I flew home. I stayed from Christmas through New Years and I didn’t realize how homesick I have been until I came back, eight days ago.
I know what you’re thinking. No, I did not see Xavier. I haven’t spoken to him since the last time his name popped up in my notifications. A few days ago however, (not too long after I left home again) he randomly posted my name in a status on Facebook with the words “Fuck you fam [insert smiley emoji here]” attached. Oddly enough, I felt little to no emotion towards it. After receiving it at about 3 am and waking up to read the post again, I could only form a small, yet sad smile. Comparing my life to his and how far we both have come since the parting, I can only feel sympathy knowing how much farther my path has stretched. With the realization that I supersede him, I commented under said post, ” I was like you before. Once…” and I didn’t get a chance to see any reply before he deleted it. I blocked him. My close friend told me of his disapproval for my action through screen shots of his following posts, but I am no longer involved, I can only pray for his mental health.
During my visit, I reconnected with my mom and sisters, visited my father and my step-mom and spent a lot of time with my little brother Zackie. I also reconnected and stayed with my childhood friend from fourth grade (who I’ll expand on in another post) and saw a lot of old friends (including Q) and even a few Exs (Don’t you dare think I saw Kyle). In the ten days I spent home, I managed to see almost every one who wanted to see me and still had time to take a breather from work.
For Christmas, I opened gifts with my family – my grandma, my brother and sister, my parents – and we went out to eat. We spent the rest of the day playing family board games and catching up. My gifts included some jewelry, some gloves and a beautiful black bow to match the black violin I bought myself (another fact about Freespirit: She’s a professional violinist of nine years.) That night I went to my Father’s house for a big Christmas dinner which included his side of the family. For New Year’s I went to a house party with a load of friends from my old high school and drank the night away. Don’t worry, I had a designated driver and got back safely and I didn’t have a hangover the next day (thanks to Xavier’s intoxication of my life and my ability to “handle” it). I think I drank so much because it was the anniversary that Xavier and I spent New Years together/got back together in 2016. The alcohol helped me to not think of him. Also (drumroll please), though there were a lot of people smoking, I didn’t touch any of the marijuana. *Crowd applause* *Freespirit bows*
Additionally, Q and I reconnected on a whole new level. If you don’t recall who that is, refer to my first post of the present, 13 Nov 16. Anyway, he had grown to be even more attractive than I remember back in June of last year. Still, he didn’t change a bit. He missed me as much as I did him and it was like no time had passed. Initially, Q was very guarded because he didn’t know how he wanted to handle the feelings I have for him or what he may feel in return… Along with the weight of the most recent experience he had when his former feelings were countered with negativity (in a different situation that doesn’t involve me.) In other words, he had this great barrier built since our last time spent and I couldn’t blame him for it. I decided if he can respect the fact that I was with X, I can respect whatever boundaries he’s laid out (no matter how reluctant I am to do so) for however long. But while I wait, I don’t want Q to forget who I am in that nature. I gently reminded him that he could trust me – and should – as he used to.
I met Q’s mom for the first time, then we laid on his bed and talked with his TV as the background audience for quite some time.There was the familiar congeniality in his home like times past… reconciliation and tranquility. The vibes were just as peaceful as before – except this time, Q and I didn’t smoke and we were both completely sober. I haven’t felt that comfortable since before I left the state. We horsed around a little, challenged each other in push ups and I impressed him with my newfound strength. Then, Q became sleepy and suddenly I was on his back (I don’t remember how I got there) trying to massage whatever kinks I thought I could work out. Key word being “trying.” I still smile to myself at his gentle dissatisfaction towards my meek efforts. Soon, I was the one on my stomach, being rubbed and kneaded. And though I was fully clothed, his effortless hands and compassionate voice turned me to mush. “This is how you do it…” Q eventually lifted my sweater to kiss my back and then my neck and finally, I turned to meet his lips. Similar to a dream I had a few months ago, the one kiss turned into much, much more.
I must mention a previous conversation between Q and I here. After expressing his insecurity and skepticism, I remembered – in this exact moment – telling him not to over think, to trust me and to do what we always did and “go with the flow.” It wasn’t the pleasure in his action that allowed me to open up to him; It was the realization that he truly did take my words and allowed himself to open up to me. The eradication of his uncertainty and the new level of trust he enabled with each kiss… This moment was far more than indulgence, it was a different level of intimacy and trust blooming.
But lamentably, the moment was brief. He heard his mom walking around the house outside of his door and his mind yanked the reins of his body. Again, I couldn’t blame him. Unlike most males of this generation, he has respect for his parents and their house – a characteristic I adore and should have probably learned a few years ago. But the childish side of me was still upset for not getting what I want. After I cursed him and everything around me under my breath and in my mind and we begrudgingly redressed, he hugged me with a small kiss and an “I know, I know, I know…”
Before he drove me back to my best friend’s house, Q and I made plans to get a hotel room. Nothing too expensive, but not cheap in quality. Unfortunately, I was stuck in Philly with a friend and so I was available considerably later than we anticipated and well, Q fell asleep. We missed check in time and quite possibly an amazing night. Maybe it wasn’t our time yet... I think of it as the growth of a fragile flower – a buttercup to be exact. Something so sweet and precious, but can only grow in certain seasons; Can only be given so much sustenance, as too avoid over doing / killing it. We’re just going with the flow, as I said.
I did see Q one more time the night before I had to catch my flight back. He drove me 40 minutes from my best friend’s house to my mother’s (who wanted to drop me off at the airport) and we talked and laughed the whole way. He met my family as he helped me with my bags and kissed me one more time before driving off. I already miss him so much.
That night, I prepared to depart by going through my old clothes my mom stored in the basement. I went through plenty of bags and memories – most of which included Xavier. Honestly, that moment is the only time I thought of him while being home. I pulled out necklaces and various shirts and other products that I’d attained over the two years we were together. With each item, a memory accompanied and flashed through my mind, an emotion flooded my heart. When I saw the ripped items and a few of my favorite shirts ruined due to Xavier’s angry rampage many months ago, I almost lost it; My composure, my newfound strength… And then Q made my phone vibrate, my memory fade and a smile come across my face. Since I’ve met him, he doesn’t know how often he has been a doctor of sorts.
Q let me know he was back safely and subsequently, expressed his feelings for me – which was a great thing. But the words be used to do so made me feel fake. “Innocent”, “Pure” and “Strong.” God, I wish I could truly match those adjectives. It’s not about self-esteem, so please don’t mistaken that. It’s about my desire to be so much more than I am. To actually be all that people view me as. I have so much to learn about myself without the title “His girl” and about the me who’s truly me. I don’t hide my true self from Q, but I feel like he doesn’t accurately see me. Most likely because he has his own self-worth to gain / focus on. I don’t mind though. It’s these facts about the both of us that motivate our deep, relatable conversations.
Anyway, after my conversation with Q I returned to my clothes and my recollection with a different outlook. Without much thought, I packed the clothing items that I liked – regardless of how they became a part of my wardrobe. The next day, during that peaceful but long plane ride, I decided that Xavier only influenced me to that amount because I allowed him to. But he didn’t make me or my style. It’s not exclusively about the fashbacks attached to the fabric of my clothing or the beat of my heart, it’s also about how they look on me / make me feel and the quality of what exactly is flowing through me. The clothes, the memories, the pieces of my heart doesn’t belong to him, its MINE. I wear me, I am me, not him.
Upon my return to the dorm, I unpacked and took care of my belongings. I chose one of the jackets he used to wear and wore it as my own the next day. Surprisingly, his scent was still infused in the fabric and emanated when I took it off the hanger. You know what I did? I utilized my favorite body spray and continued to wear it out with my friends. And I’ve recently received many compliments on my “new jacket”. I feel one step (or flight) closer to being free. To finding me.