Red Envelope

This is written solely by me, I would be very hurt if anyone were to take it without asking first.  If you want to use it or link to it from your own page, please ask me first. 

    Sometimes when you fall in love, you fall in love with yourself. I hadn't been in love with myself for quite a while. It had been a hard year, bad relationships, the realization that I had no hope of being perfect, and I wasn't even sure what perfection was. My roommate seemed to know what his perfection was with no problem. He had the perfect girlfriend, a great GPA and his perfection was within his grasp.

     Together we lived in a two-bedroom apartment. It wasn't the kind of apartment building I always think of. I think of one building climbing into sky. Instead it was two-story building sprawling out over a city block or more. It was quiet there, my roommate usually spending his time with his girlfriend or with his friends. I spent my time with my best friend and I spend a lot of quality time by myself. I was a writer, or studying to be one. I'm not really sure how some one can study to be a writer. I had always thought that a person was either a writer or wasn't, that it wasn't really a skill that could be taught. Sure, grammar was important and the ability for others to understand is important. But if a person has no personality, their writing will be like a manual. I didn't want to write manuals.

     The third month into the fall semester, my roommate broke up with his girlfriend. At first I wanted him out of the apartment badly. He drove me crazy; he was always there. Writing became very difficult, he always wanted to talk, hang out or watch TV. It was very difficult on me; I had found a roommate to cut costs, not to find a friend. But, I found a friend anyway.

     After three weeks of him driving me nuts, he began to fuel my ability to write well thought out stories with meaning. It scared me to think that I took a boy to help me to write better. My best friend told me that it wasn't him, it was that talking with him helped me to think. I asked him why talking with him didn't work that way. He was too much part of my life to help me, and my roommate was new enough to make a difference.

     The fall semester came and went and my best friend went to London on an exchange program. It was very hard for me; he had given me so much support to pursue things that I would have never has done in my life. To not have him around made my writing suffer. It also made me turn to my roommate for support, so he and I got really close.

     One night we decided to stay in and watch movies. We curled up on the couch with popcorn and beer. It was still cold enough for us to want a blanket, so we shared the only one in the living room. It started with him holding my hand. I then moved closer, and laid my head on his shoulder. We kissed, and then promptly stopped watching the movie. The next morning we woke up in the living room, the TV still on and the both of us underneath the blanket fully dressed.

     I got up quietly, feeling like I had crossed a line that should never be crossed. I had never intended for any of last night to occur. Nothing to regrettable had happened, but roommates should not become romantically involved. I went into the kitchen; I needed to get coffee. I made a pot and sat down at the kitchen table, which faced the refrigerator. I noticed that in the clear plastic holder attached to the fridge was a red envelope. Anyone who knows me very well knows that I associate myself with red. It dates back to m first boyfriend. He said that I was red and that he was blue. I rebelled against that for a lone time, but once I got to university I learned that my color was red. I accepted it. My best friend had started to send me his letters in red envelopes. I guess my roommate had gotten the mail yesterday. I stared at the envelope for a few minutes, but it felt like centuries. I finally got up and got the envelope. Within was a letter from my best friend. It was about my resent problems with my writing. He said to let it go, and allow myself the freedom that I don't allow. It said to ignore the voice in my head that told me to run. I don't really hear voices in my head; I just always feel that when a problem faces me to run away. His advice was about to bite me in the butt.

     Right then and there my roommate comes walking in and kisses me on the check and gets a cup of coffee. I just stared at my red envelope. I wouldn't have noticed him if he had not kissed me on the check. That was the start of out life together. That red envelope is on the first page of the photo album I started that day.

     This wasn't where I feel in love with anyone. Four months later we ate dinner together, it was peaceful. I was washing the dishes when I grabbed a wineglass and it broke in my hand. I didn't make a sound; I watched the glass spill from my hand with blood dripping onto the glass. It cut down to the bone, it hurt. I fainted. I guess my boyfriend/roommate caught me, because when I woke up my head was in his lap, my hand was wrapped with dishtowel and he was holding above my head.
      I tried to get up and he held me down. I told him that I needed to finish the dished. He said that he would finish up after I was okay. I told him that there was nothing wrong. He then said, "You don't always have to be so strong. I'm not going to hurt you if you show your weak side every once in a while. Hell, I won't hurt you no matter what. Stop being such a hard ass. You make it hard to express how much I care for you and how much I love you. I can't even say it to you, I haven't even told you before now. I wanted to tell you I a much more sincere way, but you wouldn't allow me to. Sometimes you drive me nuts." I shut up. There was no good way to express anything after that.

     It was then and there that I found my love for myself. In finding the love for myself, I found the love for my boyfriend. I learned how to be weak with him, allow myself to be human with him. I don't do that with anyone else. He helped me to be a human being completely, instead of just a hard ass.

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