This essay is part seven of my year-long project where, each month, I’ll look through old journal entries by using a random date generator to decide which day of my past to explore. This month’s was May 25th.
MaY 25, 2012—2023
2012: Mom, Dad, Jonny and I went to IKEA which is always fun. After, we went to the Arts Society because Jonny won first prize for emerging photographer. We’re all really proud of him. Dana got a raging bloody nose during it, which was hilarious.
2013: Boston Calling started and it is awesome. Ms. Mr., Portugal. The Man and Marina and the Diamonds were all so good. After the shows, we went back to [Jonny’s girlfriend]’s to order pizza and drink beer.
2014: [Two college friends] and I split a fifth of rum [at Boston Calling] and were pretty drunk when I did the splits for an Alex and Ani documentary. We went pretty hard at Brand New — I got a bloody nose — and Tegan and Sara were amazing. It was a perfect weekend back.
2015: After I went to Monster Cycle, Zach, Shanice and I spent the day in the park. Zach got so sunburnt, but it was a lot of fun just hanging with them and talking about how cool it is that this is our life now.
2016:
2017: Mom and I walked in the rain around Boston before going to a bar to meet Ashley [for Boston Calling]. We met up with Dana and Ali at Thinking Cup and, at night, Tony [our dog] slept in my room because he was scared.
2018: Serria, Chels, Alberto and I saw all the monuments and then the three of us girls ended up at the rose garden. I wasn’t going to drink, but ended up having multiple frozen cosmos instead.
2019: I went to Greenpoint with Ava, Serria and Jess which was fun, then went to [the Barfly bartender]’s birthday party alone. He kissed me in the park, then we went back to his place for a party and hung out after all his friend’s left.
2020: I woke up and felt just awful. I drank two Gatorades and laid on the couch all day. I can’t believe I fucked up like this and messed around with people’s feelings again.
2021: I was busy at work closing NGL, but I feel good about it. At night, I had my date with Steven the Astrophysicist at The Garrett and it was really nice — I had a good time with him and felt comfortable.
2022: I am feeling a little more mentally stable today — I am accepting my feelings. I had a nice date with [a friend] at Saraghina and we really had a lovely time, but I wasn’t ready for him to come back home with me yet.
2023: We had [my boss]’s wedding celebrations at [my bosses boss’ apartment] after work which was lovely and then I went to an Absence of Proof event before going home and ordering a full pizza because I am still sad.
I’ve been militantly diligent about documenting my life in these notebooks for the last 13 years, so I was surprised to find the entry for May 25, 2016 was blank.
I have realized, recently, that I have a habit of separating my life into chunks. This as an organizational tool isn’t necessarily toxic — here are the Idaho years! the college years! the learning to be an adult in NYC years! the learning to be a sober adult in NYC years! — but when I think about the past, I tend to stick on the first strong, visceral memories from each category and use my 5 Year Diary as a resource to color in the rest of the details.
It bothered me, much more than it should, that I will never know the mundane details of a day that happened eight years ago — so much so, in fact, that instead of spending any time this month writing about the obvious parallels of the other May 25th’s of my past (Boston Calling! bloody noses! the fact I am apparently sad A LOT at the end of May!), I spent a large amount of time trying to find out what happened on that May 25th. I searched through my social media, my friend’s social media, my photo library, my other journal, my now-collaged book of items I used to hang on my wall as an ongoing art project (if you know, you know), looking to no avail for anything that could jog my memory of that one lost day.
While I was searching, I came across mementos of men from my past — a lot of old photos, a few sweet notes, a pair of eyeglasses the bartender I thought I was in love with in 2016 left tangled in my sheets and never realized were missing. Looking through these objects from past people, I realized I don’t only chunk out my life chronologically — I also do it in my relationships. When I think about people who have been important to me intimately in an emotional way, I can never quite see the full picture. Instead, I do what I do with my life — focus in on the moments that made me feel first, fill in the details that made me think later.
And, so — the following is a poem I wrote about the first sensual memories I have when I think of five different men who have meant a lot to me romantically. Some of these relationships only lasted mere months, others went on for years. Some ended horrifically, some ended fine and one has not ended at all. (Editor’s note: we broke up a week after this published).
Taste.
Our first date.
His easy smile, the way I kissed him before I even got into the car – ready,
As if we already knew each other.
Cigarettes and spearmint, finally mixing.
His fingers, instantly, laced through mine.
His hand on my thigh, my head on his lap.
And, later –
Slowly, his fingers inside me, then inside my mouth.
Inside me, again, and then, finally,
In his mouth.
His eyes, so wide, looking down at me, then back up at the road.
Then, still, back at me.
You taste amazing, he told me, and we both laughed,
Comfortable, comfortable, comfortable.
I pressed my thumb into the bald spot in his beard,
A perfect oval without hair.
Stress, he told me, and I put my fingers in his mouth,
Making him taste me again.
Touch.
Our first night.
So light, barely anything, just a graze, but –
His fingertips.
They burned against my skin and I pulled away, in shock.
Electric.
Nervous.
Ready?
My brain short circuits when I think about what we said, did, felt.
I won’t let myself remember specifics,
Other than his hands.
Hard, calloused, level, calm.
Steady.
Sure.
I loved them, his fingertips,
The first parts of him that ever touched me.
And, later –
Five years, eight years, twelve years.
I’d still take his palms and trace them down my arms,
Slowly, slowly, slowly.
Trying to recreate our first memory.
Sight.
Our first look.
His eyes, that night flicked with gray and blue and green and gold,
Never once leaving mine,
As I moved across his bar.
I felt seen in his gaze,
Really, truly, finally (finally!) seen.
I loved staring at him staring at me,
Knowing I didn’t know him.
Knowing he didn’t know me.
Certain, in the soft silence of that one hard look,
We could someday know each other better than anyone else.
And, later –
After I’d walked out of the bathroom, planning to search for him,
And he was already there, waiting for me in the hallway.
After we’d introduced ourselves and stood there in a comfortable quiet,
Grinning at each other like we knew our lives were about to change.
After that night,
We’d look into each other’s eyes everywhere,
Bar stools and bedrooms and in the back of every taxi,
Careening back to Brooklyn,
Staring.
Seeing.
Knowing.
Hearing.
Our first song.
Hours in bed, for him, meant hours of playlists,
Hours of sunlight streaming through the window,
Hours of sound and hands and hope,
Hours and hours and hours,
But there is only one song I considered ours.
And, later –
When we are no longer together, I hear it – the song.
You, you, you, you, you.
And I, unexpectedly, immediately, violently,
Burst into tears.
I am not thinking about the messy sheets and the music,
Or the sounds we’d make only together.
I am thinking about the day we found his first gray hair,
Right behind his left ear.
And how he didn’t believe me.
And how I pulled it out for him, laughing.
I am thinking about how much I loved that,
How much I loved watching the person I loved grow older,
With me.
Smell.
And, now –
My favorite part of every morning is him,
Rolling over, burying my face into his armpit.
Breathing deeply, breathing him.
He smells like warm candles and linen and smoke and home.
I trace the familiar lines of his tattooed chest with my fingertips – ready,
And press even closer,
Trying to cover myself with all of him.
His eyes, so wide, looking down at me, then back up at the ceiling.
Then, still, back at me.
You smell amazing, I tell him, and we both laugh,
Comfortable, comfortable, comfortable.