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The Dark Side of the Moon
By AlanGrant5
THE
DARK SIDE
OF THE
MOON
Written by Devin Da Graca
Copyright 2003
When I look into your eyes,
I’m reminded of the moon,
I wonder how far away from me you are,
And if I’ll ever reach you soon.
INTRODUCTION
It was doomed from the start. We were never meant to be. The separations in lifestyles had convinced all but ourselves that we were imperfect for each other.
“She’s not right for you.”
“You can do much better Ryan. You deserve much better.”
“You’re such a good guy… I’d hate to see you end up with a broken heart.”
“Leave it alone. Forget about her.”
These were the words spoken by the outsiders- the people who knew nothing of us. It is often the observations made by outsiders, that those who are on the inside begin to see that which could not be seen from the distance in which they first perceived things. Sometimes they were close to being right, but they could never be right. Not until they successfully transported their inner-self into your very own body, could they ever be right. It’s the experience that made you know what you’re talking about, not the subconscious assessments you sometimes made from afar. Nothing is learned until you’ve experienced it. I had experienced love; as young as I may be, I had it. In the palm of my hand, I had it. And, as with most things we have, I’d lost it just as well.
You can try to ignore their words of wisdom, but you can’t ignore the moments that cause you to think, maybe they were right. In these moments of self-reflection you can’t help but think that. Shit happens. Because some things are inevitable, like pain for instance, people are able to make these predictions that occasionally tend to ring true.
Telling me, “Ryan, this thing you’ve got going on… it’s only going to hurt you in the end” is like saying, “You will die.” Bottom line, everything’s eventual. With life comes death, happiness comes sadness, love comes hurt. For every single thing you do, there is always a result. One thing I’ve learned in my eighteen years of existence is that results may vary. No matter what you do, or who you are, the outcome of any situation is different for any given person. You could be a convicted serial murderer and have the best of luck throughout life, while the family man; the everyday man, who had done nothing but good, experiences a lifetime of backfires. Funny how life works sometimes.
I remember the first time I saw Megan; the girl who’d made my heart hers. She had attended View Crest two years before I had actually recognized her. Well, maybe not ‘recognized’ her, but rather, recognized her as the girl of my dreams. I could sit across from her in English Lit., with my head turned, and still feel her smile without so much as looking at her. I guess if you were to ask how the two of us communicated with each other most effectively, I’d say, “We just… felt each other.”
You wouldn’t know it just by looking at her, as for most of the time a smile concealed her unseen torture, but Megan was very unstable. In order to uncover what it was she was hiding, you had to get to know her. If you didn’t or she wouldn’t let you, than the only side of her you’d know, was the side she faked the most. The seemingly happy Megan Ferris was rarely happy, but when she was, you took note of the moment; remembering what it was that made her that happy, so that you could somehow resurrect whatever action it took to get her that way. You’d be surprised at how many people out there are far more deserving of a Best Actor Oscar than those whom actually receive it.
By the time I had gotten to know Megan, which was a little over a year ago, she’d been dating random guys, in and out, searching for that satisfactory partner who looked to have a good three months (at least) in him before he’d ditch the relationship. It wasn’t until she dated Chris that I began to realize I was falling for her. Two months of her having dated Chris and two months of me having heard about it, I told her how I felt over the phone.
“I think I’m in love with you,” I told her, straight out, no bullshit.
“I think you’re drunk,” was her response.
I then proceeded to remind her that I don’t drink, to which she replied, “Why would you say something like that?” and hung up.
She was mad at me. Four months into our friendship and two months into her relationship with Chris, I had told her what had taken some guys years to confess. Three and a half minutes later, she called back saying, “How could you say something like that? I thought you were gay.”
“No,” I said, “How can I be when I’m attracted to you?”
She laughed then, but I could also detect a nearly inaudible sniffling. At some point between the time she’d hung up and the time she called back, she’d cried.
I continued, “Actually I’m glad you bought into the whole ‘gay’ vibe I’ve been trying to intentionally give off. It’s actually a tactic I use to gain more friendships with women, so that by the time they are almost fully convinced I’m gay, I tell them I’m not, tell them I love them, and then move in for the kill.”
“Well Ryan,” Megan said, “You’ve killed me.”
Unfortunately, my confessed love for Megan hadn’t ended her relationship with Chris. It had just made things more complicated. She couldn’t break it off with Chris, she’d told me, because he had done nothing wrong to her; except for introducing her to drugs, having taken her up-until-now salvaged virginity, and creating an alter ego I had never seen before. According to her, it was important; crucial rather, that she deny her personal wants in order to satisfy someone other than herself. It was an act of self-sacrifice that contained innocent casualties.
Things had eventually ended between her and Chris, but the effects of the relationship hadn’t. The characteristics and fatal mannerisms she’d been introduced to by Chris, had been adopted and carried over into the life she lived, now in the absence of Chris.
She had her good days. These were the days that were alcohol-free; the days where I loved her more than anything. But, for every good day, there were two times as many bad days. On these days, I still loved her, but it hurt; sometimes so bad that I prayed for a day in which I could just let go. That day never came, as I soon discovered my inability to live without her. It was in those bad days though, that the outsiders were louder than ever. I told you so they told me.
We were never given the title of ‘boyfriend and girlfriend’, just ‘Ryan and Megan’. A part of me, a small fraction of my inner conscience, wanted that title to be associated with Megan and myself, but not so much for me, as for the people who wondered what the two of us were. We were together more than we weren’t and that’s all I ever really needed to reassure myself of the matter.
“I don’t deserve you,” she’d told me once. “Everything I’ve put you through and you’re still here. You deserve better Ryan.”
I told her, “It’s not so much about what I deserve Meg, it’s about what I need. Okay, fine, maybe I deserve better, but what I need and what I have right now… who cares about what I deserve?”
Looking back, a lot of the time I spent with Megan helped shape me into who I am today. She introduced me to what some might call ‘teenage drama’ and what others, those who became involved in such instances, would call ‘life’.
Like the moon (an object in which I had often compared her eyes to), I was unable to see Megan’s dark side from the distance in which I stood. Only when I drew close, did the part of her which lay in shadows, come to light. At times there had seemed to be a great distance between us, but as it turned out, not everything is what it seems. Especially when it comes to love.
Thank you for reading.
Comments are appreciated!
9/21/2003 2:53:04 AM
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