August 3, 2005
I’m here. Where are you?
And do you know it takes two days to get here from Los Angeles? I had to wait an extra day in Santiago so I could catch the plane to Puerto Montt. I thought you’d be the one meeting me at the trail, not Gustavo, but it was nice to catch up. Also, ouch. My legs are going to kill me tomorrow from all that riding.
So, where are you?
August 4, 2005
Isabel says you wrote her to say that I would be coming but didn’t say when you would be coming. Should I be worried?
August 5, 2005
And now everyone is doing the whole vampire clam-up-and-not-tell-me-anything thing. Screw you all. If Isabel and Gustavo aren’t worried, then I’m not going to worry about you, either.
August 17, 2005
I’ve been here for two weeks now. Where the hell are you?
Ever since you came to my apartment (Do you know you always smell like smoke to me, by the way? I thought something was burning when I came home that night.) I’ve been looking forward to seeing you.
Is this you being pissed at me for leaving Houston?
You never once came to visit me in L.A. Not once. Except to break into my apartment and leave me the sonnets (which I brought by the way) and take one of my favorite pictures, of course. Would it have killed you to hang around for a while?
Haha. I just realized that was unintentionally funny.
August 20, 2005
Took a ride today.
You still aren’t here.
Think I might go rock-climbing tomorrow—with the Reverte’s oldest son. The really handsome one.
Why aren’t you here?
I’ve been sleeping in your room, and I discovered that without any light to wake me up in the morning, I sleep a really long time. I’m very well rested.
Is that what this was? Just a getaway for Beatrice so she could relax? Not saying I don’t appreciate it, but…
No, actually, I don’t appreciate it. I love this place, but I came here to see you, not ride horses, and hike, and eat Señora Reverte’s really excellent cooking.
So, where the hell are you?
I have a return ticket for the thirty-first. I’m not hanging out until you get here. If you even plan on getting here.
August 25, 2005
Why the hell am I even writing in this stupid journal? It was just lying open on the kitchen table when I got here. Did you know this whole place smells like you? It does. I kind of hate that at this point.
August 31, 2005
Go to hell. I never want to see you again.
August 2, 2006
So, since I’m here again (and I’m just assuming you’re going to be a no-show) I want to explain a few things.
1. I wasn’t going to come this year until Dez (that’s Desiree, my best friend, who you would know about if you communicated with me at all) convinced me that I should just take the free ticket because I love it here and I could use a vacation. So I’m here. That’s why, and that’s the only reason. Not because I wanted or expected to see you again.
2. I’m more than a little pissed that you seem to be able to communicate with everyone we know (Caspar, Carwyn, Tenzin—you even called my grandma on her birthday) but not me. Yay for you. You’re traveling the world and won’t tell anyone where you are. I don’t even give a shit anymore, but it’s just rude. I hope my grandma told you off. She probably didn’t.
3. If you have any illusions about me “waiting for you” or some romantic crap like that, don’t kid yourself. I’m dating. I’m dating a really nice guy, as a matter of fact. His name is Kevin, and I met him in my graduate program. He’s handsome and smart and we have an amazing time together, and when I get back from this vacation, we’re going to have sex. Lots of it. And that’s going to be great, too.
August 15, 2006
I love this place. I really do. I mean, I love L.A. and I love school, but this place is just…magic. Do you come here when I’m not here? I bet you do. I’m betting you read this journal last year because it looked like it had been paged through, and I greatly doubt Isabel went to look under the pillows on our bed to set it out on the table for when I got here this year.
So I think you were here.
And I have no idea how to feel about that.
August 20, 2006
Does time stand still for you? Have you been living so long that a year or two is nothing? It seems so long to me, but it’s probably like the blink of an eye to you. I remember you telling me once that a year was like a day when you are immortal.
So what does that mean? If I was just the blink of an eye in your life, why do you keep breaking into my apartment and giving me tickets to come here? Also, if you want pictures of me, you could call and ask for them instead of swiping the ones at my place. I really liked that picture of me at the beach. I actually had a tan.
August 23, 2006
I hate that everything in this house smells like you.
August 24, 2006
And I hate that I dream about you when I’m here.
August 29, 2006
I’m leaving tomorrow. I’m feeling very relaxed, so thanks for that.
I don’t know what to think about you anymore. Were you really a part of my life? I’d say it was all a crazy dream except for the cryptic postcards that I’m assuming are from you, and the tickets, and the fact that I’m friends with all your friends now.
I’m going to finish my master’s this winter. Only two and a half years. Not bad. I could have done better, but I was having a lot of fun. I learned how to rock-climb, kickbox, and I’m fairly good at a couple of martial arts, too. I’m even a pretty decent dancer now. Surprise, surprise. So I’m not going to regret the extra months.