taylorhpart4

Taylor

Sometimes Callie said she wanted to go home. She said she missed her parents and her friends and she felt she had left them behind somehow. I understood that she would feel homesick; naturally, when you're away from the people who symbolize familiarity for an extended amount of time, you start to miss them. Yes, I understood that. But the thought of Callie leaving was so heavy and overwhelming that it made me lose the ability to speak and when she mentioned it, I couldn't find a way to respond to her.

Maybe I was being selfish. Maybe I should have respected Callie's wanting to go home and supported her in whatever she chose to do. Maybe I was wrong in claiming she would hurt me if she left--the truth was just that, though, she could have killed me instead of going home and there would have been the same result.

There were some days when I wanted her to go home. It was so hard to feel like this, to be so unsure of what exactly it was I was feeling. And then to feel that for Callie and not even be able to talk to her when I wanted to was another story. I wasn't allowed to talk to her, not even look at her, when we entered to grounds of a performance venue. Of course I did--the latter mentioned was an impossible task to perform. The irony of the situation was that the only way I could have a relationship with her was if I didn't make any physical or verbal contact with her. That's not a fucking relationship. That's just some fat old guy with a ton of money who's being greedy and doesn't want to lose a penny. He's got this sick idea that if a 15 year old girl in Iowa finds out I'm in love with a girl named Callie he'll lose every cent he's got. He just wants control, he takes power trips intravenously and thrives on them. He wants to fuck with other people's lives so he can feel better about his own and...

What's weird to me is how I felt when I met Callie and the little control I had over that. She had taken her boots off and held them under her arm so she walked through the room barefoot. Her mascara had run and made her eyes look brighter. There was glitter all over her, especially on her cheeks, but it covered her shirt and her hair and it was everywhere. She looked like a fairy who had gone through a thunderstorm but she was absolutely beautiful and her lips were red and I wanted to kiss them.

Standing with her I felt utterly dorky. Everything I heard myself say I wanted to take back because it sounded so rediculous and yet I couldn't pull myself away from her. Normally I would try to walk away from a situation in which I was involuntarily making myself look like an idiot but I wanted to talk to her and even though the things I said were stupid she didn't seem to notice, or at least she didn't mind. I just wanted to be in her presence.

When I talked to her I told her so many things I hadn't ever told anyone--it sounds cheesy and cliche, yeah I know, but it's true. After that night I don't think there were many things she didn't know; those things were just things I had forgotten about and would eventually tell her anyway. And I think she told me everything there was to know about her. I think we opened each other up and poured out every thought that passed through our minds like milk. Just because Callie did this to me I felt I had to hold on to her so I did. I held as tightly as I could and I hoped and prayed for the two weeks we were apart that I wouldn't lose her. I didn't and when I saw her in the airport in Philidelphia I wrapped my arms around her neck and held her so tightly I think I nearly choked her. But I stopped breathing the instant I saw her so if we both had passed out at least we would have been down together.