One year ago at this time a tiny blue car (who goes by the name of "Baby Blue," if you were wondering) was traveling through the mountains on the way to my house. And I was terrified. I remember being so scared, in fact, that I played Paul Simon's "Graceland" over and over again on a little tape player I kept beside my bed. That was my favorite break-up song, and I wanted to mentally prepare myself for the worst. I kept listening so I would know what it feels like to lose love, to have a window in your heart. I knew it would happen, and I wanted to be ready.
That night the power went out. I was worried about how Micah would find my house before, but now even more worried about how he would find it without the porch light. That was the end of my Paul Simon listening. I sat on the bed I made for the first time this year and practiced the apology I would make when Micah finally got here and realized he'd made a huge mistake. There were a few candles burning beside me, and my belly was full of bumblebees. I hadn't seen Micah in over a year; he was on his way to my house, and I was in a room with no power, feeling scared and in love. A few hours later I got a phone call from Micah saying he had reached the North Carolina state line.
I met him at the local McDonalds that evening, much to my mother's dismay (it was well after midnight when he finally arrived), and we rode to my house together. My belly was still full of bumblebees. The only thing I remember about our conversation is Micah saying, "my hands are sweaty, so I can't really go in for a hand-hold," and I remember thinking that I'd never wanted to hold a hand more than his, no matter how sweaty.
When we got to my house we carried his things in and put them in my room; it was finally a mess again and felt like home. Micah hugged me and all my bumblebees went away. The rest felt like a dream. We spent that night talking and laughing and hugging, and I realized I wasn't going to lose love after all - not that night, at least. The power blinked on and off and we heard musical flashes of Paul Simon's Graceland on the tape player beside my bed. This carried on until morning, until my mom warned me that my father would be waking up for work soon. And that was the first of many all-nighters I would spend with him, in person or in conversation, realizing that I didn't have to be so afraid of losing his love after all.
I've learned a lot this year. That Micah likes to sing in his car when he drives, especially if it's Kanye. That it's hard for us to talk about what it's like to live in the south in a civilized manner. That Micah finds monkey vaginas extremely funny when they're on television and he's tired. That I can never talk about Hitler's perhaps-unstable mental state in a serious manner because that lets him off the hook.
The most important thing I've learned, though, is that it's always important to have faith. More and more these days I find myself wanting to completely forget that I'd ever believed in a God; I want to try to give up the search and continue to re-shape my life without religion. But Micah never let's that happen, and I'm so grateful. Whenever I'm feeling desperate I tell him it's impossible for me to have faith, that I'm literally incapable of it, and he says, "Tracie, every single thing you do requires faith," and I remember that I only need to practice more.
Most of my favorite memories with Micah are simple: sitting on the kitchen floor after church, drives in the middle of the night when we're all bundled up, kisses at stop lights, visiting book stores, spending an evening making silly voices and laughing, reading together on his bed. When I think about this a quote comes to mind. I don't actually know who said it, but it goes - "Whether you're skydiving together or sitting at home and doing different things, it's always comfortable. That is fucking love." And I am always comfortable with Micah, and happy, too, and I don't really know what could be better than that.
Sometimes I feel sorry for myself for being in love with someone who lives 9 hours away, but then I realize how lucky I am t0 be in love and more than that, to be in love with the person I'm in love with. Micah is someone I take for granted far too often - someone who reads "How We Decide" so he can talk to me about neuroscience, who tells me there's nobody else he'd rather share a meal with. Micah is a constant source of motivation and inspiration to me. He makes me feel pretty and even though it's cliche to say so, complete.
I've always thought people were silly for saying a person is all they ever think about, but now I understand what they mean. I can see a peach in a grocery store and think of Micah, and pomegranates are even worse. My mind is never safe - a picture of a president, a love poem, a certain highway we've traveled on together (that chances are, I've gotten us lost on). He introduced me to the music I like the most and we've watched more movies together than I can keep up with. I wake up every morning and talk to him all day, and I wouldn't change that one bit.
But this isn't to say that everything is perfect - we fight and love with equal amounts of passion. Micah's far too honest to tell me exactly what I want to hear at my command, and even though it makes me mad in the heat of the moment, I've always found that so endearing. He hates when I tickle him, and I hate when he gets sleepy too early (even though I know this comparison is hardly fair - a desire to tickle can be suppressed much easier than the desire to sleep). But the thing is, after an argument, I realize I have exactly what I've always wanted: someone who is honest - someone I can trust entirely and therefore, love freely.
And that is what I talk about the most when I talk about love, when I talk about Micah: freedom. The freedom to sit on the kitchen floor on Sunday afternoon and talk, the freedom to tickle (even though I know it will make him mad), and the freedom to love without holding anything at all back. Whether my belly is full of bumblebees or I'm crying on the phone to him after a silly argument, I know he will bring me comfort. And to me, that is exactly what love is all about. The associations, the memories, the motivation, and the freedom.
It might be silly and sappy to say so, but I'm so thankful I can be best friends with the boy I'm in love with.
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