Cross The Threshold?

After saying something slightly asinine to me in one of his bizarre squawky voices, Jordan and I laughed and I disappeared into the classroom adjacent to the wood shop.

The shop was filled with the sweet scent of sanded wood, the sanded wood of the guitar stand Jordan was building. I had sat in the classroom the whole period and listened to the machines whir and the tools clattering. I had seen quick flashes through the window of long brown hair, pale white arms, a black t-shirt. Jordan wasn't wearing his sweatshirt. I almost didn't recognize him.

After class, he ambled into the classroom, waited by the door. A few of his other casual friends were in the class as well, so I figured he was waiting for one of them. But he simply greeted them with more weird statements and let them pass. I think he's waiting for me. I slung my heavy backpack over my shoulders and headed toward the exit. He feel into step right behind me, and we talked all the way up to fourth period. Just my friend and I. The guy friend who does weird things that make me laugh, the girl friend suffering from a weak point by his side. But she bounced back. She always does. Just two friends. Right?

On Wednesday morning, my computer sat open in front of me as I ate breakfast. My desktop background was a picture of a girl reaching out to a heart-shaped balloon as it flies out of her reach. (It's work by a street artist called "Banksy." If you Google Image search something like "Banksy girl with heart balloon", you'd probably find it) Jordan had pointed at it and said, "I don't get that." I responded with, "She's chasing the heart." He said, "Shouldn't she be running or something?" I shrugged and went back to eating. "I don't know. That would probably help."

Maybe she's out of breath from chasing it for too long.

I was sitting at home, strumming the song I had written about him only days earlier, when I realized what that girl in the picture was doing. She wasn't chasing anything. Not anymore.

She was letting go.

I smiled.

Is that what I'm going, let my heart go, waiting to see whose hands it falls into next?

"When one door closes, another opens."

That's the thing. Did another door open?

I think the most accurate response would be maybe.

If it did, it opened up long before I gave up on the first one. But I had quickly averted my eyes. Why that door? Maybe now I'm completely letting go of that first door. "Jordan," it says across the front, etched into the wood, the tall, thin letters mocking me. The door never opened. I shoved bobby pins into the lock, I tried to knock it down with an axe, I tried to be a telekinetic and make it break from the hinges with my mind. But nothing ever happened.

So I let go of the doorknob I've been yanking on, and I fall down into nothing. Well, maybe not nothing.

I'm falling. There is air rushing in my ears and I smile at the sound. I leave sweet smelling wood shops and love songs on repeat behind and drop into another dreamland. In the new dreamland, there are no dreams, no love songs, no hopeless romantic musings. No, not yet. There is just a dark, murky but sweet smelling pit of utter confusion. I'm drowning in it. It feels good. It feels right. It's not a raging physical attraction. It's not a need for a fairytale romance. It's not song writing. It wasn't even post writing for a while. Until right now. It's not thinking someone is adorable. It's not looking past stupidity just because you're only attracted to the good things. It's not a crush.

No, this comes from somewhere else.

And it's confusing the hell out of me.