Not because I had too many drinks last night with friends, it actually started in the morning.
I emailed Jimmy a couple of weeks ago to ask if we could have a conversation and so we arranged to meet after mass at the church where he is working, my home parish. When I sat down in my pew I didn't see him; I got a glimpse at the sign of peace of a tall man wearing blue almost directly behind me but in the very back of the church.
I genuflected and turned to go meet him and suddenly it seemed like an awfully long aisle for him to simply be standing and waiting at the end, and the irony did not escape me. An eternity later he greeted me with a joke and fell in step to the lobby. He suggested we sit outside, a stone bench by a statue of Mary.
Did the sky really have to be so blue? The breeze so nice? Because it immediately seemed like I could be sitting on a very similar bench praying morning prayer at Mina Jo Powell Alumni Green on the campus of FSU back when my hair still moved with the breeze and the nearness of Jimmy made me giddy like the leaves shaking all around us.
We make small talk until a silence grows. I know this is when I need to start talking but I just can't do it. I wait for him to prod me.
"Soo... what do you want to talk about?"
Time to monologue.
"I-" I was choking on vowels. "I love you. I will probably always have a special affection for you. I'm okay with that." I took a deep breath, "You know, we stopped talking for two years and then when we started talking again we never brought up what happened before. I tried to just treat you like all of my other friends and maybe that was a good idea, maybe not. I'm glad we saw each other, it made me glad to be able to be around you but over Christmas break, and particularly one night at Sean and Ryan's, I felt like you sent some mixed signals that were really hurtful to me. I just needed to tell you that."
He didn't say anything. His shirt was oxford, the light blue kind with the collar that has tiny buttons.
I stole a look at his eyes and my heart sunk, "You don't even know what I'm talking about."
He was quiet for another moment then replied, "Or... I know exactly what you are talking about."
And he did. Four months later, four years later, a glance and a touch was all it took to make me feel 21 again.
He continued, "I went home and I was hurting too. I spent a couple of days confused, frustrated, not sure about myself. It is serious to me that you felt hurt and I am sorry."
One of the victories of this conversation is that I didn't talk too much. I don't know if that is another part of growing maturity or if I just regret all the times I have interrupted Jimmy in the past and then later wondered what I didn't give him the chance to say. So this time I gave him the opportunity to say a lot.
He said that if I hadn't called him two years ago he probably never would have reached out to me, that the only way he knew to deal with unruly emotions was to run away from them and I made him face them and learn to create healthy boundaries. He said he realized he had failed at this, apologized, and said that in preparing to talk to me he recognized the extent to which he was responsible for failing to both take the lead in creating healthy boundaries in our relationship and in owning up to his actions and emotions, the good and the frustrating. He discussed the freedoms he did and did not have regarding interactions between us and faithfulness to our respective vocations. He said he was still learning what it means to love people well as a celibate man.
It was legitimately the best conversation I could hope for under the circumstances.
Partway through he looked at me sideways, smiling, and asked, "didn't we have this same conversation four years ago?"
I had to smile too. But it wasn't the same conversation. I remember watching his reflection walk away from me towards Oglesby Union and sitting down at a picnic table and just crying.
We are totally different people now, much more self aware, self-possessed, and mature. I think at that age I didn't have any clue how to use my agency over my emotions and desires or even why. Talking to Jimmy and in the days following I relearned that restraint and maturity. It is hard to have healthy boundaries when there is a part of you that doesn't want them at all. But part of being an adult is learning both how to give of yourself and how to protect yourself from being hurt.
The wounds are still there, I recognize the places I need some help. I still feel hungover from just having an honest conversation.
This makes me wonder at the beauty of life and becoming who we are: the ways in which growth is hard, love is difficult, and finding the right path and the Lord's will are complicated.
Here is a poem from 2006. I think it demonstrates these things aptly.
Song of Songs 5:16
and one of the thousand conversations
you want to have with me.
My soul is pouring from my lips, unchecked,
like the craving I see in your eyes.
I'm just thinking it would taste so good to kiss you.
Please stop looking at me like that.
This eros wasn't planned or willed-
for my fleshless lover to be a not-quite
priest, meditating renunciation.
Today our banquet is more than simple bread:
pressed sandwiches, tostadas, and sweet mango tea.
I'd still give this body up for you.
The beat of salsa is like gravity;
the 8-count rhythm regulates my pulse
and keeps my soles connected to earth.
I eat my black bean soup and make
small talk while pretending I can't feel
your gaze devastating my selfishness.
I know you want a woman with a mantle of stars.
I want to be her. But a sinner I was conceived
And my fiat never feels like enough.
