Perpetual Time Capsule: II
We’re here again. We scoff at our earlier apprehension towards this process. We never considered the freedom of it. Perhaps further down the line, we might dip into our most tumultuous, haunting waters. But for now it is only warm, gentle laps against our ankles that we seek. And with this preface, I wonder if I might interest us with a memory:
Rustling, sun-dappled coconut fronds; a downward slope of asphalt visible through the windscreen of a parked minivan; and fifteen to thirty minutes of timid conversation blended with companionable silence — for four years, there was no section of the day we craved more.
I can’t relate with the person we were then. It is as though we have been entirely different people at different moments of our life. But that version of us, the one that turned giddy at the slightest hint of those thirtyish minutes, is one we can’t stop envying — yet also feel sorry for. Because we had something precious then. Then we lost it, and have so far discovered nothing remotely close to it.
We could do away with the wordiness and simply call it a crush. But it wouldn’t be accurate. We could try ‘genuine friendship’, but we’ve had that with other people. It still wouldn’t suffice. Even the exclusive combination of both doesn’t quite capture what made it unique. It was…a sense of possibility. An excitedness at what those thirty minutes in that car with that person could become; the potential it bore.
A hope and a prayer and a terror all at once.
Rather complex feelings — which time, poor judgment, and cowardice eventually robbed us of— for a pubescent bugger. Intense too. But ultimately glorious.
It’s possible that we over-romanticize this moment, tinging our recollection of it in a gilded light. It’s possible that times of unrestrained happiness, for us, have been few and far between and we’re just overcompensating for the dearth; that it’s simply another delusion to prop up the frames of our weary, rickety mind.
But really, who cares? We would rather we convinced ourselves of having a golden era than to not have one at all. Don’t worry, the illusions are merely a crutch; fraying bandages to paper over the cracks. We leave the work of finding real help to whichever one of us that ends this loop of constantly deferring said responsibility. We aren’t brave enough yet. But we’ll get there.
