"They stared into each other’s eyes, but not in a gooey way. It was like they were having a conversation. Kind of reminded me of Sam and Emily. No, it wasn't gooey, but that only made it harder to watch. I knew what it was like for Leah, having to see that all the time. Having to hear it in Sam's head. Of course we all felt bad for her... But I guess we'd blamed her for how she handled it. Lashing out at everyone, trying to make us all as miserable as she was. I would never blame her again. How could anyone help spreading this kind of misery around? How could anyone not try to ease some of the burden by shoving a little piece of it off on someone else?"
One of the rules about teenage girls that Lipkin gave us when we were reading the Crucible is that girls try and 'break up the cookie' by spreading things around. Like if they get enough people involved in a situation, it will be dispersed and thus less painful. I don't have a whole lot to say about that, but I thought of that rule when I read the last piece of that quote.
As for the first part- the first four sentences really - I do have something to say about.
"They stared into each other’s eyes, but not in a gooey way. It was like they were having a conversation...No, it wasn't gooey, but that only made it harder to watch."
Sometimes I feel uncomfortable around Callie and Natasha. They're so... together. Couple-y.
They're like puzzle pieces that match up all perfectly, and its not always obvious, but when it is... it is. It's hard to explain though, because they're not like those people who are all over each other (well, sometimes they are, but thats besides the point), it's like... they speak this language that only exists between the two of them, and they have this magnetic pull that keeps them close together, even when they're not touching or even next to each other.
It feels weird because the closest thing I've ever had to that with someone was with Natasha, so seeing how well they fit together is... awkward. But, it's not even about her, it's more... the placeholder of her. She's the human representation of an idea I guess. The embodiment.
That's part of the reason it's so hard to explain, because it really has very little to do with her, but I can't explain it without mentioning her because she's the placeholder in every exemplary situation.
I was thinking yesterday and today about the place on your body that no one else touches, unless you're together, usually. And yeah, you can take that to be anatomically suggestive, but that isn't even what I mean. Think about it- how often do you purposefully come into contact with other human beings through the day? Maybe you hug some people, you might even squeeze someone's hand, but there really isn't a lot of contact outside of the accidental bumps and nudges. When you're not involved with someone, no one sets their hand on your knee, rests their leg or their arm against yours, people don't touch your face, your back, the space where your neck meets your shoulder. All those body parts and untouched spaces seem insignificant until you think about the way we've reserved them for certain situations, certain people. They're not sexual in connotation, or at least they don't have to be, they're just a delicate- yet purposeful- way of physically conveying something intangible.
Lying your arm next to someone else's on an armrest, sleeping on someone's shoulder, resting your head in their lap... you can't share that with everyone. You have to be comfortable. Both of you. Most people don't recognize those moments, don't realize how significant they are. Most people take it for granted.
It's not granted. You miss it when its gone, even if you can't put your finger on exactly what it is you miss. You get envious even when you know you shouldn't and you try your hardest not to be.
So appreciate it. Even when it's fleeting.
