I started a new journal at ESD after Barrymores this Sunday, and I lost my old one recently, and it’s been strange having to go without even for a short time. Anyway, I thought if I posted some of what I wrote Sunday night it might make an interesting entry for my Thoughts page. Please keep in mind that all of this was written while sleep deprived, after 9 hours of work and 2 hours at a club.

First entry:

I’ve had friends who’s boyfriends were incredibly jealous. They’d hover constantly, thinking that their presence would prevent other men from encroaching up on what they viewed as theirs. The distrusted any man within view of their girlfriends, and any male friends the women might have were instantly viewed as dangerous rivals.

I’ve always hated those guys, and I’ve always tried to avoid falling into the jealousy trap myself. I’ve realized recently that this is not possible. Jealousy is part of the human soul, and as much as I might wish otherwise, I’m just as human as anyone else.

Perhaps this is not such a big deal though. It strikes me that there may be more than one way to be "jealous." The difference is envy versus possessiveness.

So which type an I afflicted with? In all honesty every man, woman, and child has both within them. I'm just glad that I’m more inclined towards envy. What harm is there in wishing when the alternative is hating?

Second Entry:

Conflict, Action, & Suspense:

I’ve begun reading a book by William Noble called Conflict, Action, & Suspense. It’s one of the three books I purchased from the Writer’s Digest web site. Noble’s concepts for building drama and suspense sounded a great deal like something a nymphomaniac friend of mine once told m. For the sake of amusement I’m going to try to express Noble’s technique in terms she would have understood. Besides, it’ll shock people, and that’s always fun.

The end of a school year always brings a certain excitement to the campus of a high school. Friends gather in groups to discuss the plans they have for the summer, they forsake the stuffy confines of their class rooms in favor of spending a few more minutes in the company of comrades.

The intense July sun gives energy to the scholastic prisoners as they contemplate their imminent parole. Men and women united by the passions of the spring can be seen lazing about together, no less alive than the others, but too comfortable in the arms of their respective sweethearts to contemplate separating for even an instant.

In scenes like this it seems that all are happy, contented, excited and at peace with life, love and the world around them. Such is not true of everyone. Every scene has a spectator, a solitary entity existing on the periphery of the seeming Eden.

Two such solitary creatures beheld this idealized, sunlit, panorama. They stood together, her small hand enveloped in his, their eyes subconsciously taking in the happenings around them.

He saw his tormentors lounging contentedly in the arms of those who’d scorned him. He felt the heat of her hand, and he knew that to those others it must seem that his companion was more to him than a life preserver in this sea of surging bliss. He knew better. She was his friend, though one he was unusually comfortable with. She understood him, and he knew the color and intensity of every thought she had. Except on that day, and at that time, as her hand tightened slightly in this own.

Neither of the friends was feeling the customary ease with which they generally associated their relationship. They recognized heaven as the purgatory preluding their separation. In two days she would be graduating, leaving behind her counterpart to face the dismal prospect of the lonely year ahead. Though they were nothing more than friends he’d long known she felt something deeper for him. He could not reciprocate the tender affection he always saw directed at him in her large, dark eyes. He hoped she knew and understood this, but at times he worried that she misunderstood his intentions when they held hands, or walked together along the Canal.

They walked together, hand in hand, united in their mutual desire to at least present a brave front to their happier classmates. Neither wishe to see the loks of mockery they’d receive if they were to wander along through the crowds of contented couples. They walked away from it all in silence. They felt a subtle need to be alone, to discuss without interuption what would happen in their lives when they no longer had each other’s hand to hold when the unity of others made them feel most alone. They found their way to an empty field within view of the school. By mutual, unspoken, agreement they stopped there.

He felt a growing uncertainty as he struggled valiantly for the words to put to his thoughts, or thoughts to put into words. He could instinctively feel that no matter what was said everything would be different after they parted company this time. There would be no more Monday mornings to casually speak of weekends wasted on television and homework. This was likely the last lonely Friday they would face together.

"It’s hard to believe you’ll be graduating on Monday," he said at last, his voice carefully controlled to sound casual.

"You are still coming right? You don’t have to sit with my parents." Her voice sounded as uncertain as he felt, and it set him at ease more to know they share this fear of saying goodbye.

"I’ll be there, I just wish I were leaving too."

She smiled slightly, and they sat down in the grass to talk. They didn’t speak of anything significant, they gossiped, they chatted, and they laughed. They acted as if it were nothing but an ordinary day. Each determined to experience this one last day as friends so that they could add one more memory to the already extensive archive of such warm recollections.

In time they found themselves laying in the grass together, the verdant green carpet bean them, softening the hard earth into a comfortable bed. Their conversation had eventually ended and turned to tickling and gentle wrestling until both were content just to lay beneath the relaxing warmth of the sun’s gentle touch. They lay, short of breath, and high of spirit, his arm encircling her, her head resting on his chest.

His hand lightly rubbed her back in a friendly gesture of affection, intent on nothing except extending this quiet picturesque moment. She brought her own hand up to lightly brush his dark hair from his eyes. He read a multitude in her gaze as she smiled nervously up at him, and suddenly he realized that the art of the back he was so casually rubbing was not longer covered by her thing white blouse. In their earlier struggles her shirt had become un-tucked. He recognized then that she had been aware of this for some time, an that she’d thought he’d been making some form of advance.

In alarm he snapped his hand back, suddenly self-conscious, aware that he’d haplessly wandered into a situation he’d always been careful to avoid with her. Her long held affection was no longer hidden, she met his eyes with a look of naked longing.

His mind leapt suddenly along a new path of speculation. Why was he holding back from her? He’d felt the soft warmth of her skin, he wondered what it would feel like to touch her again, aware of the passion she felt for him. How far would it go? Not too far, surely she realized that he’d never considered her as anything other than a friend.

Doubt started to show on her face, his hand was no long on her back, she felt him drawing away from her…..

That’s as far as I got I’m afraid.then it was time to catch the bus….too bad, I never did get to the point. Perhaps I’ll continue the story next time I find myself alone at ESD.