As I was driving along today, by myself, I found myself having a conversation (in my mind) with James Eisenmeinger, our long-dead friend. I don’t know why my mind manifested him, but it did. Feeling very introspective lately (since Kelly, my girlfriend, has been out-of-town), I was just speaking with him about ME. Kelly and I are moving rapidly into our fifth year as a couple, and the topic of marriage has been heavy on both our minds. We are all making the transition from students to workers, my parents are getting older. We are getting older.
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I haven’t been to James’ grave since the day we put him in the earth. I always planned to, and in my own comfortable sadness today, I thought about doing so. Being Father’s day, however, my day was consumed. I thought about just going there and sitting in front of his headstone to air my thoughts. I thought how silly that would be. Not silly in a whimsical fashion, but silly because for some reason, I can’t seem to bring myself to do that with any of my friends, relatives, or even Kelly. I can’t express my feelings that well, apparently. Like I mentioned before, I didn’t go through with speaking with James today, so you, the inky void of the Internet is my confidant. I know full well that Hunter, Danielle, and others will read this. But I don’t mind that. It’s strange, I know. I can’t explain it.

The things that were on my mind at that moment are ages-old. Ages-old in the fact that people have grappled with them since the beginning of time, and ages-old in the fact that I’ve been thinking about them for quite some time. Marriage, my own emotional cloistering, my ability to love.

I love Kelly Brockman. Let that be known to all. I love my friends. Every single one of them. I don’t say either of those often enough. I CAN’T say them often enough. And I know I don’t show that often enough. “Asshole” is the word I remember more often than not when my attitude is referred to. And I’ll admit to that. I’ve changed a lot in the past few years. Life has been changing a lot in the past few years. College, girlfriends, jobs, money, marriage. It’s all been turned around, and the in the commotion, I didn’t remember how to communicate. I got confused. I don’t know. I shrink away from communication. I’ve lost friends that way. Either by my own cognisant effort or not. Megan Leahy I never wrote back when I was 10. I’ll never forgive myself for that… and I never heard back until she returned from France. Oh well.

That is something I must remember, so this is as much a message to anyone who reads it as it is a message to myself.

“There is a comfort in being sad,” someone once wrote. I know this too well, but rarely do I ever show it. I am too easily swayed. I too easily lie to myself. I too easily shun confrontation or communication, to hold onto the sadness that is my center of gravity. I’m never too happy, or too sad. I stay somewhere safe. If you get to high, you fall to far. I’m afraid of heights. I afraid of falling. I’m afraid that what I build will come crashing down, and I’d waste what I have now. Why must I be so rooted in my past? Just because my parent’s relationship failed doesn’t mean mine has to as well, right? Then don’t let yourself destroy it, Ben. But how do I know which is right? I’m tugged between the two. I don’t want to be told which way to go. When is that door going to open? When you start communicating…

Thanks for the chat, James.