February 20, 2009

• A certain kind of fit

  "It's like a triangle trying to fit into a square. It kinda works, but not really." This statement could potentially refer to anything. Ikea furniture, for one, has so many loose pieces and thingamajiggers, triangle shaped things and square shaped things. I once built a bed from material that was supposed to be a coffee table. Ok, no I didn't but I'm sure I could. They're all about putting piece A into slot B. I don't know why that sounded dirty. Ahem.

  Really though, my long time girlfriend and I were talking about life, about the nature of being in our mid-twenties and being in transition, and being utterly and completely clueless about where life will take us. And about loving it. We started talking, of course, about relationships, about men. We've both had our fair share of experiences, of stories. I've known her since middle school so we're able to chart each other's personal (and physical...she notices, for instance, if my jeans are a little less snug than usual) growth. Our pasts came up, our last relationships, and we both noticed that there was something that didn't quite fit. I mean, there was a fit of sorts. And after years of somewhat fitting there's always the emotional attachment to keep you going. But there are always signs aren't there? Little things, little ways that show that the triangle occasionally slips from side to side, that there's room for something else in that square. There are always signs. But we become quite adept at ignoring the rattling, filling in the sounds with inane chatter, with vacations. Still, the sounds slip in, disturb the routine. I heard them occasionally, and they would grind against my sensitive nerves like long unmanicured nails against chalkboard (I assume, spuriously of course, that manicured nails sound much more pleasant against chalkboard). I heard them and saw them occasionally, and my heart would hurt a little, and there was a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach like an empty space. Eventually though, something happens. You either move forward (in a manner of speaking) and the space gets more noticeable, and concurrently you get better at ignoring it until you get married and then one day the rattling is unbearable and deafening and someone quits. Or, someone quits before it gets that far.

  Except it's not quitting so much as making an intelligent decision, or in some cases having the intelligent decision made for you. It's realizing that you now have an opportunity to have someone who does not complete you because there is no such thing, because a square without one of its sides isn't a square and therefore not whole, and therefore not capable of doing much (as much as shapes are capable of doing anyway). No, it's realizing that you have an opportunity to have someone, to be with someone who is vaguely square shaped too, and you need not fit into them nor them into you because you can sit by side and work just nicely that way.

  I'm pretty certain things fit better that way.

  • 1:29 am
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