Wednesday, August 17, 2011

valoir le coup, c'est bien dans ma peau

Slowly, unsurely, but with loads of effort, I’m beginning to feel more grounded and sane. I’ve even been deemed well enough to return to school in Fall. I’d say a lot of it is due to the people surrounding me right now.
Agata signed up for the same ballet class I’ll be taking. She says it will be fun for her, but that mainly she wants to see me at least once a week. Amazing gal.
Lorissa promised to do something new and edgy with my hair.
Ryan owes me a glass of wine, and I feel he’s definitely earned a Scotch in reciprocation.
Calle has written the most beautifully supportive things.
And Keven, the absolute best rescuer. The other day he played The National’s Sorrow on his guitar for me. It was so beautifully appropriate, it really touched me, and took me back to the day that Leila literally serenaded me with Mirah’s Archipelago under the shade of the biggest tree at the park. And Keven’s actions are all the more punctuated with the familiarity of our closeness; we truly were best friends, and if that’s real, well it just never goes away. We even reminisced about being raised with the same parental dysfunctions: an impulsively volatile and unpredictable mother, and a quirky French father that was fantastic but mostly absent. Thus the primary source of our deep bond.
And so we laid back and stared at the starry sky, and talked about some of our favorite memories. Like the first time he told me he loved me: he had my landlady let him in when I was at work, and he laid down rose petals and herseys kisses in a path from my bedroom door to a big heart on my bed, where inside he had written in rose petals “I Love You”. I fell down on my knees and cried. And in return, that same night I drove to his house in the middle of the night, and I lined up little toy cars from his front door to his car, where I had written on his drivers window “I Love You Too”; he drove around with the window up for weeks. Or the time I attempted to recreate Shutter in our apartment to surprise him when he came home (we had had to miss it that month); he immediately changed clothes and we danced around our living room for hours, and he thanked me for months afterwards. Or the time I came home on Valentines Day and he had completely transformed the living room- bunches of my favorite flowers hung from the ceiling, scattered around the furniture and floor amongst hearts, chocolates, and a million love notes he had written.
Such fantastic and beautiful memories. I’m so grateful to own them.
We truly had great respect and admiration for each other. So upon hearing my recent story, Keven made me promise him that I’d never let anyone talk me into anything ever again. He’s right- I’ve to learn from my mistakes or I’m bound to find myself back here; and I’m too smart and have worked too hard for that. He also told me that my own decisions, the ones that come from the deep recesses of my cracked heart, have given me a beautiful life that most people wouldn’t be brave enough to live.
But his best compliment was when he said I was truly beautiful, ‘because so very much of it came from the deep inside me, that it seeped to the outer”.
And, with other folks, in the grand tradition of the character that Zach is, he gave me the most bizarre “compliment/or was it”: You’re perfect just as you are Kendra, because you have the body of a model, the style of a designer, the demeanor of royalty, and the mouth of a sailor.
thanks? Typical ‘endearingly weird’ Zach. Aww.
Either way, weirdos, exes, best friends, and old lovers, I’m  grateful for the people in my life right now. I can’t wait to meet Pris’ Roy. (We get to make out.)
And I can’t wait for my new hair, my new ballet class, my new semester, and this new play.
current mood: enveloped.
current music: derby – don’t feed the bear

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