So you know how I said that fishing allowed me to both have my attention on something and think about my life at the same time? It was a new balance I never thought was possible.
Yeah, well, then, I started thinking about Sam. Like, too much.
I think Sam had begun as a river in my brain when I first met him, and my subconscious built a dam so that I could function. But it wasn't the anniversary of when the man was born, nor when he walked me home in the rain and melted upon meeting my cat, when the dam crumbled.
It was the day after Willy's birthday. That's when the following shitstorm began.
And mah lawd, my subconscious built that dam because it knew what was going to happen.
As I reeled in a halibut, I thought about me and Sam going to a beach back where I had grown up. I had said as a child "If I get a boyfriend, I want this to be our first date."
As I caught some seaweed, I thought about him and me having a late-night conversation over the phone. Talking into the morning, about anything and everything… potentially even passing out while the call was still going.
As I caught a tilapia, I could only imagine what being in his arms felt like. Because, like, someone can hug you, but that doesn't guarantee they'll make you feel warm. I had legit hugged someone and didn't feel that much warmth coming from them. Then again, that person turned out to be an asshole. With that logic, I imagined that Sam could be so warm he could give me a fever with his embrace. That was the one fever I'd be more than happy to pick up.
As I caught another tilapia, I wondered if he was going through anything in his life. I doubted (and still doubt) that there was (is) a person walking this earth that wasn't (isn't) fighting a battle of some sort.
I caught some more seaweed and tried to tell myself I didn't have a snowball's chance in hell with him. After all, with situations such as these, it hurt the most when I'd gotten my hopes up. I wanted to be prepared for the inevitable. It would hurt less to accept it than to fight it. I understand, for many situations, it's vice versa… but this wasn't one of them.
He was so outgoing and cheerful. He liked a lot of different people. He needed someone who could talk to people and make them happy like he could… which wasn't me.
I caught another halibut and wondered what Sam was doing, where he was, how he was feeling… things I really didn't need to know.
Sam's stopping by the pier to say hello held a much different meaning. When he didn't, I felt even worse. Part of my mind would launch into a tirade about how he didn't care anymore, how he was maybe just one of those people who wanted to greet everyone he lived with, how… how there had to be some sort of ulterior motive that wasn't that I meant something.
Whenever he did, though, it made my heart pump that oxymoronic combo of sedation and excitement again. I got all happy and shit. I felt what I knew had to be romantic somehow. I wanted him to stay. I wanted him to sit down with me, talk to me about anything and everything… maybe even pick up a fishing pole from Willy's shop and fish with me. I didn't even think he liked fishing! I… I just craved for him to be there. The logical part of me knew that all that was way too much to ask; Sam had a life, a life different and independent from mine, and that was okay. In fact, it was a good thing, really.
Eventually, when midnight fell… I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to go home. It was like my brain designated any waking moment as a chance for me to see Sam again.
My logical mind, though, quickly reassured the emotional mind that I'd rather not see Sam than have him see me passed out on the ground. Again.
This went on for a few days before I could process it.
And right there, on the pier, the midnight of the last day of summer, I accepted it. The stars knew I accepted it. They almost seemed to twinkle brighter because they were proud of me for accepting it.
All of this? These stupid thoughts? And their occurring constantly?
Feelings. I had feelings for Sam.
Shit.