On Less – A Review

I've got problems. And today they're the redhead who lives next door.

Usually we just give each other pleasant nods and smiles. But yesterday we bumped into each other on the roof. See. I came up our ladder, with my dumb camping chair slung over my shoulder and a book of poetry in between my teeth and I found her up there. She was reading too. I told her sorry. Or at least tried to, what with a book between my teeth, whatever came out sounded far from English. And she laughed and said it's fine. That we should share the space. And so, we both read up there for an hour or two. We left after the sun set and the wind picked up.

I know that doesn't sound like a problem, but now when we see each other we don't nod anymore, we don't even smile. We just make eye contact that seems to linger. I wish it went the other way, to a hello. Or a how are you.

But no. It's the stare, that's how it always seems to go.

I just want something less tense. I guess. I want to find a friend who is really just that. A friend.

I want to prove to myself that I’m capable of at least being amicable without being amorous. But I really don’t know how. I could try going up to the rooftops and yelling, “hey anyone want to be my friend?” but we saw how well it went last time I was up there.

And now, here I am, walking home with groceries, and there you are checking your mail. And you’re just looking at me. And I’m just walking to my door. And so I say “hey,” and you flash a smile and run up your stoop and go inside.

“Good talk,” I whisper under my breath as I unlock the door to my apartment and head upstairs.

I consider the fact that she might be heading onto the roof, to meet me like lovers in a play. I concoct a story in my head where I go up there and confront her, and tell her why I don’t want this to be the way things are.

But instead of following through, I just go ahead and put my groceries away. And I sit down and I think about the decisions I’ve been making. And how I’m selective with when and where I want less. And my brain gets fuzzy, trying to do the mental arithmetic to figure out what my feelings are.

And then I get cold and lose feeling and start typing these meaningless words through my numb fingertips to one of the few friends I’ve actually got.

And then my brain catches up to me, and I realize I’m doing the thing again, the thing where I let a concept define me. Where I come to think one lens has to apply to all things.

I shake it off and with it, shake off the numbness. Color comes to my cheeks again, my forehead stops its strange half itch, and I bust out from the distance before it even sets in.

But the distance closes too quickly, and my life becomes a close-up. And I see me for every small detail. Every eye twitch, sweat-filled pore, and microscopic freckle. And now all that coldness is replaced with heat. And I sigh because I am caught again between extremes.

I want to live in a world where you can wear your heart on your sleeve. And moments like this make me think maybe I actually do.

And so, I consider laying it all out there. Demanding what I think I can and being outspoken about what needs to stop. But you can only have change when you work for it. And talking only gets you so far.

So, what else is there to say? Except to tell you that I finished this blog on the roof.

Have a great week. ‘Preciate you.

-Connor