Here There Be Monsters

Every now and again when I’m driving or bullshitting in the garage, the radio will play a song from a few years ago, and I’ll be struck by a memory of whatever girl I was dating at the time. Sometimes it’s a reminder of some joke that or particularly great night, but sometimes it’s as simple as being struck by the image of her silhouette framed by the passenger side window and sunset, bathed in late-afternoon gold. These are the things I remember. Invariably, these good (sometimes great) moments lead me to wonder, “What ever happened to us? How could something that good have gone wrong?” And here we go. . .

There are plenty of things in life that are worth being angry about. I don’t get mad a lot, but I get mad. With that being said, there are very, very few things in my life that worth staying mad about. With that being said, if I’m upset about something one day, I’m probably over it by the next day or so. Whatever led the girl and I to go our separate ways. . .I just don’t think it’s as important as remembering what made us want to be together in the first place. When I think about people from the past, I think it should always be with a smile. Maybe it’s naïve, maybe it’s unrealistic; I could give a shit. It’s just the way I like to operate.

The flipside of that is, even though I would rather focus on the good stuff, the less savory memories are just as important (and sometimes even more so). Usually, the “whatever ever happened to us” thought is caboosed by “oh, yeah, she cheated on you” or “oh yeah; you drove her crazy because you’re a moody bastard” or whatever catalyzed the breakup. These are all lessons learned, and I admit that they’re important in growing as a person. With that in mind, however, I think those lessons should float around in the semi-conscious part of my brain, and not be manifested as some sort of checklist for the next girl; I don’t ever want to find myself thinking, “she’s getting really needy; remember how that turned out with (insert name here)?” It’s just a buzzkill.

My point is that, if you’re paying attention, there’s a million reasons not to want to be with someone. They are everywhere, from the way she does that little shrill whistle thing when a word ends with an S to her need to critique every woman that crosses her vision. (Sometimes, I pay closer attention to myself when I’m talking to people, and I get annoyed with myself within about 30 seconds. I mean, it’s ridiculous; I don’t know how my students made it through more than a week or two of my class without throwing shit at me.) The important thing, though, is what makes you want to listen, what makes you want to be around them. You probably see a thousand people a day, and maybe two or three of them really catch your eye. When you consider it like that, why would you want to focus on the things that make them ordinary?

But let’s get back on track. Way back in the day, when we were sailing around the world, discovering new lands and people and all that Christopher Columbus ish, the cartographer would often denote areas of the map with “Here there be monsters” or something to that effect. It could be a classic example of thinking, “I don’t know what’s here, so it must be bad.” More likely, though, it’s a statement of “Hey, we haven’t spent a lot of time here, so watch your step.” That’s the way I look at these 5 second memory flashes of old relationships.; they’re alluring, but more than a little dangerous. A peek in the rearview is a good idea every now and again, but I like to keep my eyes on the road ahead as much as possible. When you pass a familiar spot by the road, it probably still looks the same: oh, there’s that tree with the swing and that hill we used to lay on. But, when you stop, you notice that the tree is a little more gnarled, its branches sharper and leafless, and the grass is more weeds than Wimbledon. The tire swing is now dryrotted and dusty, serving as a frame for spiders’ nests and all their mummified prey. You realize that this is not the idyll you remember, but some kind of setting for misfortune.

There’s a reason you don’t go there anymore, but there’s no reason to let that color your memories of when it was more inviting. These moments are worth revisiting, but you have to watch your step because of what may lay sleeping in the waist-high grass.