Scenes, Set in Cleveland, Without Much Else in Common: Two

This got split because as I wrote last night I realized that it was a) really freaking long and b) getting late and I wanted to sleep. So. Part Two. This actually happened to people differently named and less introspective at the time. Also have decided not to number them anymore in case more things happen to me worth writing about in Cleveland.

II: In the Company of People Who Hate the Word Hippie

Mark is late. Predictably. I cannot remember him ever being on time for anything, and when I called him after my work wind-down and not directly after work as I'd said I would, he took over an hour to get to my apartment. Knowing Mark, I was not worried, nor was I angry. I took advantage of the time to make dinner and throw in a load of laundry, so when he arrived I was fed and pleased that something useful had gotten done with the evening.

Mark and I were on an expedition. I seem to have an agreement with the world that I cannot go to ethnic food stores with anyone but him, and I needed miso badly. So off we went to an Asian store about twenty minutes away that was supposedly big and bright and awesome.

On the way I looked out of the window at things. Looking at things in places I have not been is one of my hobbies. It also made me feel less bad that the conversation was less than stellar. Mark and I have a history. It is not a particularly long history to tell, but it was a very long history to live. He fell in love, I fell in love, he ran off to Virginia with a girl who might have been a lesbian.

Years later, we're still friends, but the friendship works much better when we're apart. He hedged around telling me he was dating someone, which made me laugh because I knew it already. I didn't say much at all and contented myself with looking out the window at things and thinking about how much had changed. He understood.

Since Mark and I dated, so much has changed. In fact, I think it's safe to say I am now a completely different person than the one who loved him. I think about this as I look at things and wonder if every generation is as fascinated with their aging process as I am.

It's also the fact that I loaded enough guilt on him for abandoning me that it always takes us a while to melt the ice--we both are afraid of saying something that will tip off a nuclear reaction in the other, even though I think we've both grown past that point.

The store is closed when we get there. He gets upset for a bit but I remain calm, and we decide to hit up our old favorite on Thirtieth and Payne. It is also closing, but a cute Chinese girl knocks on the locked doors and gets let in. Mark in his massive Caucasivity also gets in, and we buy our miso, dodging the glares of the employees.

On the way home I look at things and think about how little there is to say. How hard it is to break down that wall of not-wanting-to-give-the-wrong-impression. How little we have in common anymore, and how our paths have diverged when once we thought they were the same. How being with him changed me completely, almost overnight, and how I have slowly reverted to normal.