Faulty Foundations

A story about building a relationship with the wrong tools.

There’s a saying that goes: “Day by day nothing changes, but when you look back everything is different.” And so it goes... hour by hour, day by day, minute by minute, second by second -- we’re all changed, evolved, defined, moved, transformed. You know the feeling --you drag along through the year and at the end you’re one of two things. Surprised or relieved. Either way, you typically don’t remember the feelings that got you to the place you are now. What I wanted most this year was to know how days and years feel when you’re conscience of them changing. I don’t want to look back anymore and wonder what pieces of me transmogrified. I just want to know the truth of, and the reality of, each situation. So imagine my elation when I found a piece of advice sitting on a shelf waiting to force-feed itself to me. A lesson I wrote to teach the future me why things change and happen.

Sitting in a covered spot, forgotten by time. A journal, tucked away behind a row of books, and a short story about something I loved most.

+++

“When there’s nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire.”

Surely, people traipse in and out of your life, but many leave heavy-footed prints or, at least, small indentations. Relationships take careful building. It’s delicate, it’s time consuming, and it’s easily ruined.

We built our relationship on late night Walmart trips and 3 a.m. pancake runs. Travel was our glue. Italian take-out and red wine in fancy hotel rooms, our weeknight treat. We lacked money, but we spent all we had on each other. If we didn’t have anything, we’d count quarters and dimes. We stayed up nearly every night listening to our favorite music and watching films. We shared a unique sense of humor. I’d say he was ‘the perfect balance’ of what I wanted and needed then. After only a few months, I walked through an art museum with a friend talking about the future.

He was a mess of a man with passions that mirrored my own. We were too alike, and too different, for our own good.

The quirks. The annoyances. The recollections. Whenever he’d lean over to kiss me, I’d take out my gum and stick on his window ledge. Forgetting I did it, I’d apologize again each morning. It bothered me when he woke up to chug water bottles in the middle of the night. He lost his phone every week. I hated that he would get so mad that he needed to relax in the shower before talking things out. He was a better arguer than me and he knew it. He questioned how fast I fell for him. So did I. He thought I was a perpetual liar, but whenever I felt sick, he would take me to window shop around malls and drive an hour to get frozen yogurt from my favorite spot. He makes gross Mac and Cheese, but great coffee. We would always sing “The Last Something That Meant Anything” at the top of our lungs while driving around in his old car that was sold... which only seems ironic now.

We loved each other, but we did it wrong. We bought plots of land on a faulty foundation. We tried to sleep in the house we built before the concrete was finished drying. And it all collapsed. We worked together for a while trying to rebuild the damage. The outlook was grim -- but the plans we constructed seemed too great to just let go of. If only we could fix it up and move into it like we had planned.

I remember the mirrors most.

I’m staring into it, tousling my hair, or applying some last minute make-up. Coming up behind me, wrapping his arms around my stomach, and putting his head between my neck and shoulder. We breathe in and out as one. Though my head is often tilted down, and eyes closed, sometimes I peak up at our reflection. I was thankful, in those moments. Even as the foundation began to creak, and the wood began to rot, and the tiles started to chip, and it all started to fall -- those moments of understanding never did -- those moments, now just reflections of the past, were the calm before the storm.

When I dream, I still dream of us. A different dream though than it used to be, altered by time and experience. When we were one, toward the end, I’d dream of darkness. Our roofless house. I’d watch the stars glimmering in the distance, trying to grab on to them, trying to convince myself that’s where the light was shining for a reason. He did too. It wasn’t here where that light was, it was there. But now I dream of light. I see two glowing, illuminated souls spatially floating, tied by a string -- pulled so tightly, stretched so far -- that the frays have reached their limits. I no longer pull at the strings. I no longer dance on across the frays to either break or bind them. I leave the house in crumbles, in a vacant lot, somewhere in the distance, only stopping to peak over at how it changes with a smile and warm feeling. I feel peace. I am stripped of anxiety. I am fresh. I am hopeful. I am thankful. I feel no guilt. I feel no regret. I feel changed.

Yes, I realized that the dream house I once envisioned wasn’t getting built. I wasn’t meant to call ‘that’ home. But thanks to him, I’ll never forget what it takes to build one. No, I won’t forget a single nail.

+++

There’s one thing I want to say, so I’ll be brave

You were what I wanted, I gave what I gave

I’m not sorry I met you, I’m not sorry it’s over

I’m not sorry there’s nothing to save.

Author's Note

Please forgive any wayward quotation marks, they were meant to appear as hyphens.

Reviews

[zainul]

Love the write.
Very well expressed.

[Hannah]

This is wonderful. I've never read anything like it! And even though it doesn't resemble any relationship I've had, I connected with it. Definitely keep writing.

[Jagged memory]

I enjoyed this, well expressed write

[Steven Ingels]

that is pretty good. keep on writing