The Girl Without A Face

Have you ever had seemingly non-related events occur in a short period of time, all of which make you feel a certain way or stop and think or cause a reaction, and then when you finally reach the conclusion you realize what you were supposed to learn from this chain of events? Yes, no, maybe? Ok, I could be reading into things but let me explain.

Last night I went to the gym, per usual in my new routine, my friend went too last night. The first night we went together in days. I know I’ve mentioned this before, but I’m trying to rack my brain on how to meet people, trying to figure out ways on how I can dip my toe back in the social scene, meet new friends, maybe even meet a love interest. Yes, I know, I know, I’m getting ahead of myself. And in true me fashion, I always dream when I walk into the gym that someone will approach me or that there will be someone there and we’ll catch eyes and it will build from there. Don’t we all? That is if you’re single. Ok, moving on. We finish our workout and walk outside, we stop in the parking lot to finish our conversation. Oddly enough, my friend was talking about dating and what she is going to do now that she’s recently single after 15 years, etc, etc. And wouldn’t you know, as we were talking about that exact topic, a man pulls up. He rolls down his window, her pause in conversation caused me to turn around. Me being me, I’m the one who approached (you never know whats going to happen where we live and I felt like I needed to figure out what he wanted). But all he did was look directly at her and say, “I just wanted you to know I think you’re gorgeous”. And as an afterthought he looked at me and said, “Oh you’re cute too but I just had to tell your friend that.” She of course thanked him and then he was on his way, after he left she had tears fill her eyes and I knew the exact feeling she was experiencing. It was the one that I felt when the person at the gym (who is no longer there for some reason) said to me, “You’re killing it, keep going” after a workout by myself one day in my early back at the gym days. My eyes filled with tears, just like hers were, because that was exactly what I needed to hear but didn’t know it at the time.

Soon after, I got in my car, and the thing was I didn’t feel jealousy at all. She is pretty, and more so she deserved and needed that compliment. But I didn’t want to ignore my own feelings either. I wasn’t jealous of her but I was sad for myself. “When will it be my turn” involuntarily popped in my head. I remember the times when I used to have more than one friend. I remember even having boyfriends. I remember getting those compliments. It feels like a lifetime has passed since then. I’m sad for myself and what I’ve lost in my loneliness.

Surprisingly, I was able to quickly move past this feeling. I made dinner, responded to my sister like I normally would have. I picked up my son, we were driving home talking about music. Him and I both have the same pet peeve of people that jump on a popular artists band wagon just because it’s “cool” not because they feel anything from what they’re listening to. Music is what kept me going when I was younger. It was my lifeline. Those artists were my friends in my mind. They knew me without ever speaking to me. Tupac and Amy Winehouse and Mac Miller specifically. Pink Floyd if I had to name a band that’s moved me. My son knows this, he’s lived with me his whole life. I have The Rose That Grew From Concrete printed out and framed on the wall. I have Tupacs poetry book displayed in the spare room. It’s not hard to tell. The songs I listen to more than others when I’m getting ready or cleaning. The fact that I annually watch the Amy documentary. The thing is I dont make it a point to outright say this to him, but I have made it a point to understand his taste in music. He is always the DJ in the car when we’re driving, especially long distances. I always have him save his songs. I tell him I love his taste in music. So last night he jokes with me and said, “Don’t lie, you’re favorite artist is Bo Burnham.” And while I did have a phase where I may have watched Inside a few too many times, he’s not a musician. So, I said with a smile so he knew I was being lighthearted, “I need to make sure we’re on the same page with who you say are my favorite artists.” And I made it funny, but if I’m honest part of me was sad that he forgot who my favorite artists were.

As quickly as I was sad about that, I recovered just the same. It was a twinge, a fleeting moment of the feeling. I finished my night, woke up this morning, dropped him off at school. I drove home and lately I’ve been in the music listening mood. I was getting ready, and just before I was done, the song Wildflower by Skylark came on. My moms favorite song. When I was young, maybe 11 or 12, I remember driving with her and her introducing me to the song. “Be careful how you touch her, for she will awaken. And sleeps the only freedom that she knows. And when you walk into her eyes you won’t believe the way she’s always paying for a debt shes never owed”, I remember her telling me that was her favorite line and being able to feel that verse like a punch to the gut. I knew moms story so intimately, her childhood. Every aspect of the nightmare she lived. I could feel her pain so deeply in these words.

Thats when I realized it. That’s when it all came together. Each of these pieces, seemingly not connected, now all pieces of the puzzle. I’ve never been seen, but I’ve been able to see. I have always wanted to understand others deeply, but in reality I wanted that for myself. There are hidden messages in the music people like, or the music they can “feel”, the things they joke about. There are things you can hear that are not said with words if you listen closely enough. I always wanted someone to notice me in that way, to care enough to see me. To take an interest in who I was. I know my son’s a part of this story, it’s not his job to do this. But I felt like it was my job for my parents. In a way, I’m happy I broke the cycle. I’ve made him feel seen, listened to, cared for in a way I never experienced personally. But in another way I’m incredibly sad, for always going unnoticed, for never being the most important when I should’ve been. I know I can be that for myself. I understand that now. Maybe this is part of the grieving process, maybe I’m craving connection, maybe ill only find it in music and books. Maybe through my sadness I’ll reach acceptance.