My relationship with my boyfriend was on the rocks. Black, jagged rocks that many nights left us bleeding. We both clung to our individual retreats in those days. Matthew found escape in his job, putting in unnecessary hours, and afterwards he would drive to his favorite bar and keep from dwelling on our problems with the help of booze and a clown's mask of laughter. Me, I found myself wandering the campus slums at two in the morning. Like a hungry orphan I rode the adventure of it recklessly, hiding myself among the homeless children and the junkies. They all seemed to breathe poetry, and their eyes seemed to hold centuries of sadness and genius, in those days.
Addiction and nightmares had frightened the both of us into a stretch of sobriety that spanned years, but since my campus adventures I'd been dabbling in chemical bliss once again. It scared Matthew terribly, and I didn't quite understand why. Yet when I pleaded with him, he eventually caved in and agreed to break his abstinence for the sake of an experiment that he assumed would either shatter or save us.
I bought the roll off one of my newfound campus friends, an intriguing girl named Kristen with a shaved head and a beautiful smile. She worked at a pizza joint by day and sold ecstacy by night. I paid her fifty dollars for two pills, which seemed an obscene amount of money until I thought of how even a hundred dollars a hit would not be too much if it saved my relationship.
The pill was called an X-phile. "Spelled with a P-H," Kristen had added, with a knowing grin. Before meeting up with Matthew I'd spent a long time studying the two small, pale green triangle-shaped mysteries I held in my palm. Each bore a raised bump on one side that was slashed through with an X. And just a few hours later I was clenching my hope and fear in one hand, and placing the roll on my boyfriend's tongue with the other.
I remember spring was maturing into a lush summer, and it was one of our better days. Still there were silences that stretched between us, bleak reminders of the distance that had grown where there used to be only connection and empathy. As we walked to Woodside Green park, he held my hand as though it were as fragile as the moment.
There was this playground in Woodside Green that I used to visit as a little girl. It was a jungle of blue bars and rust, with metallic slides that seared the backs of my legs on hot July afternoons, and a squeaky tire swing that had made me throw up on two occasions. I loved it dearly. It was gone now, replaced with a plastic wonder of shiny red and green, plastic spiral slides, winding tunnels, and padding to keep the clumsy from bruises if they should fall. It was erected in the memory of a four year old child who'd died of cancer. Her name was Allison, and she'd been a gentle pixie of a girl who had lived on my street, wore only dresses, and had once invited me to one of her tea parties. As I walked alongside my boyfriend I confided all of this. It was like a floodgate had been lifted. I quietly poured out these colorful memories and emotions that rose within me as I crossed the barren earth that had been my playland, and lead us to Allison's memorial where we chose swingsets side by side. I kept a loose grip on the silver chain with one hand, but the other was extended to keep my fingers loosely tangled with Matthew's.
He stayed quiet for the most part, but somehow I could sense that he was listening intently as I shyly chattered on. But as we sat together on the swingset he finally spoke up and said how he'd never known any of this about me, and how well he could picture the images I was painting, Allison with her lace dresses and porceline teacups, and especially my own childhood image, complete with tangled hair and skinned knees.
Hearing his praise, and especially the fondness in his voice as he gently probed for more about the little girl I'd been, it was almost as though his appreciation filled me with that same unjaded joy I'd carried with me so easily in my early youth. I remember at one point I announced Little Whitney's long ago dream of being the very first kid to swing high enough to do a full loop around the swingset, and he demanded that I give it a try. Next thing I knew I was swinging as high as I could, toes pointed towards the sky, long hair whipping around my face. And below me Matthew was doubled over with helpless laughter.
After awhile I gave up as I had so many times long ago, grinding the heels of my boots into the mulch and coming to a breathless halt beside him. He gave me a beautiful grin, and I let myself get lost in his eyes. My boyfriend has beautiful mood ring eyes. I named them thus long ago, because the color is always shifting with his mood; ranging from a stormy silver-grey when he is troubled, sad, or angry, to a striking green that emerges in moments bright with laughter and cheer. Both shades are beautiful to me, but I had been seeing silver far too often lately, and I can't express how refreshing it was to look up and meet green in his gaze.
Some children arrived, making a mad, hollering dash for Allison's playground, while parents trailed them looking weary yet affectionate at the display of youthful exuberance. Matt and I retreated to allow for their happy play, moving far enough away that the young voices reached us only in brief, vague bursts carried in on the light breeze. It made a pleasant background for our intimate talk.
And talk we did. At first we admitted to each other that we were feeling the roll, and explored together through exchanged words and caresses the unfamiliar rush and the heightened sensations. His touch was tentative at first, but grew bolder with time, and he surprised me by voicing my own thoughts when he announced that touching me felt exhilarating and new. He was right. I couldn't help but be reminded of how it had felt to make out with him when our relationship was just beginning. And more importantly, I was reminded of how badly I'd missed him.
After the thorough exploration of our enhanced sensations left us breathless and worried that we'd wind up making an obscene display for the children playing in the distance, we steeled ourselves to relax and the topic shifted hesitantly towards another effect the roll was having on both of us. For me it was the most pronounced effect I had noticed, but also the most difficult to approach. Quietly we began to speak of how the drug was effecting us emotionally; how easy it was suddenly to talk, and how with each new revelation we felt more empathy, until were were both full to bursting with forgiveness and understanding. We'd both been inflicting such cruelty, harboring such fierce and bitter resentments... But now we understood. Of course he had avoided me. Of course he'd been searching for appreciation among friends and coworkers, and found warmth at the bottom of a bottle -- nothing he could have gotten from me, because I was only cold with him. Of course I had sought danger and excitement -- what I was really looking for was freedom, when he had been angry and smothering. I could have wept, the connection was so heady and strong, but instead I found myself unable to douse my smile.
We dug deeper, venturing into topics that had previously terrified the both of us. Our pasts were riddled with angst, addiction, and ancient mistakes that we had been afraid to admit to eachother until that moment. Shame and fear of rejection had kept us silent, but now we spilled out these secrets and afterwards rejoiced in the obvious truth: that neither of us would have loved the other any less because of the sharing.
Matthew and I sat under that tree in Woodside Green park for hours. As the effects of the roll began to fade, the intense dialogue relaxed in favor of simpler exchanges. We agreed that the tree above us was one of the most beautiful sights we'd ever seen, marvelling at the way the wind ruffled it. The dark green surface of the leaves would turn over to reveal a much paler underside, and all together it looked as though the entire tree shimmered. We agreed that it must be magic.
The sun was setting and the children had been ushered home, so before we left we slowly made our way back to the playground. I showed him the elegant plaque that announced Allison's name, year of birth and death, and the quote from her mother: "Yes, Allison, there are swings in heaven." Matt's eyes shone and he said it was one of the most touching things he'd ever read.
We walked home together, again hand in hand. Again we didn't speak, but it was a silence that was full of warmth and deep comfort, as though we needed a moment of appreciation and respect for the miracle of all we'd experienced that day. I was so afraid that as the drug left me completely, my old bitterness and resentment might return. But since I have learned that the magic of that late spring afternoon wasn't born of the pill itself. Ecstacy only opened me up emotionally and mentally to what was already there, tore down walls my pain had built, and helped me bridge stagnant resentment to reach honest understanding. It helped save my relationship with a boy who means the world to me.
People talk about the dangers of drugs, but I've known the dangers of grudges and cold silence. I will be forever grateful to ecstacy for helping me make ammends and preserve my relationship with my sweet friend and lover, Matthew Lynskey.
[This message has been edited by Ashke (edited 29 November 1999).]
Addiction and nightmares had frightened the both of us into a stretch of sobriety that spanned years, but since my campus adventures I'd been dabbling in chemical bliss once again. It scared Matthew terribly, and I didn't quite understand why. Yet when I pleaded with him, he eventually caved in and agreed to break his abstinence for the sake of an experiment that he assumed would either shatter or save us.
I bought the roll off one of my newfound campus friends, an intriguing girl named Kristen with a shaved head and a beautiful smile. She worked at a pizza joint by day and sold ecstacy by night. I paid her fifty dollars for two pills, which seemed an obscene amount of money until I thought of how even a hundred dollars a hit would not be too much if it saved my relationship.
The pill was called an X-phile. "Spelled with a P-H," Kristen had added, with a knowing grin. Before meeting up with Matthew I'd spent a long time studying the two small, pale green triangle-shaped mysteries I held in my palm. Each bore a raised bump on one side that was slashed through with an X. And just a few hours later I was clenching my hope and fear in one hand, and placing the roll on my boyfriend's tongue with the other.
I remember spring was maturing into a lush summer, and it was one of our better days. Still there were silences that stretched between us, bleak reminders of the distance that had grown where there used to be only connection and empathy. As we walked to Woodside Green park, he held my hand as though it were as fragile as the moment.
There was this playground in Woodside Green that I used to visit as a little girl. It was a jungle of blue bars and rust, with metallic slides that seared the backs of my legs on hot July afternoons, and a squeaky tire swing that had made me throw up on two occasions. I loved it dearly. It was gone now, replaced with a plastic wonder of shiny red and green, plastic spiral slides, winding tunnels, and padding to keep the clumsy from bruises if they should fall. It was erected in the memory of a four year old child who'd died of cancer. Her name was Allison, and she'd been a gentle pixie of a girl who had lived on my street, wore only dresses, and had once invited me to one of her tea parties. As I walked alongside my boyfriend I confided all of this. It was like a floodgate had been lifted. I quietly poured out these colorful memories and emotions that rose within me as I crossed the barren earth that had been my playland, and lead us to Allison's memorial where we chose swingsets side by side. I kept a loose grip on the silver chain with one hand, but the other was extended to keep my fingers loosely tangled with Matthew's.
He stayed quiet for the most part, but somehow I could sense that he was listening intently as I shyly chattered on. But as we sat together on the swingset he finally spoke up and said how he'd never known any of this about me, and how well he could picture the images I was painting, Allison with her lace dresses and porceline teacups, and especially my own childhood image, complete with tangled hair and skinned knees.
Hearing his praise, and especially the fondness in his voice as he gently probed for more about the little girl I'd been, it was almost as though his appreciation filled me with that same unjaded joy I'd carried with me so easily in my early youth. I remember at one point I announced Little Whitney's long ago dream of being the very first kid to swing high enough to do a full loop around the swingset, and he demanded that I give it a try. Next thing I knew I was swinging as high as I could, toes pointed towards the sky, long hair whipping around my face. And below me Matthew was doubled over with helpless laughter.
After awhile I gave up as I had so many times long ago, grinding the heels of my boots into the mulch and coming to a breathless halt beside him. He gave me a beautiful grin, and I let myself get lost in his eyes. My boyfriend has beautiful mood ring eyes. I named them thus long ago, because the color is always shifting with his mood; ranging from a stormy silver-grey when he is troubled, sad, or angry, to a striking green that emerges in moments bright with laughter and cheer. Both shades are beautiful to me, but I had been seeing silver far too often lately, and I can't express how refreshing it was to look up and meet green in his gaze.
Some children arrived, making a mad, hollering dash for Allison's playground, while parents trailed them looking weary yet affectionate at the display of youthful exuberance. Matt and I retreated to allow for their happy play, moving far enough away that the young voices reached us only in brief, vague bursts carried in on the light breeze. It made a pleasant background for our intimate talk.
And talk we did. At first we admitted to each other that we were feeling the roll, and explored together through exchanged words and caresses the unfamiliar rush and the heightened sensations. His touch was tentative at first, but grew bolder with time, and he surprised me by voicing my own thoughts when he announced that touching me felt exhilarating and new. He was right. I couldn't help but be reminded of how it had felt to make out with him when our relationship was just beginning. And more importantly, I was reminded of how badly I'd missed him.
After the thorough exploration of our enhanced sensations left us breathless and worried that we'd wind up making an obscene display for the children playing in the distance, we steeled ourselves to relax and the topic shifted hesitantly towards another effect the roll was having on both of us. For me it was the most pronounced effect I had noticed, but also the most difficult to approach. Quietly we began to speak of how the drug was effecting us emotionally; how easy it was suddenly to talk, and how with each new revelation we felt more empathy, until were were both full to bursting with forgiveness and understanding. We'd both been inflicting such cruelty, harboring such fierce and bitter resentments... But now we understood. Of course he had avoided me. Of course he'd been searching for appreciation among friends and coworkers, and found warmth at the bottom of a bottle -- nothing he could have gotten from me, because I was only cold with him. Of course I had sought danger and excitement -- what I was really looking for was freedom, when he had been angry and smothering. I could have wept, the connection was so heady and strong, but instead I found myself unable to douse my smile.
We dug deeper, venturing into topics that had previously terrified the both of us. Our pasts were riddled with angst, addiction, and ancient mistakes that we had been afraid to admit to eachother until that moment. Shame and fear of rejection had kept us silent, but now we spilled out these secrets and afterwards rejoiced in the obvious truth: that neither of us would have loved the other any less because of the sharing.
Matthew and I sat under that tree in Woodside Green park for hours. As the effects of the roll began to fade, the intense dialogue relaxed in favor of simpler exchanges. We agreed that the tree above us was one of the most beautiful sights we'd ever seen, marvelling at the way the wind ruffled it. The dark green surface of the leaves would turn over to reveal a much paler underside, and all together it looked as though the entire tree shimmered. We agreed that it must be magic.
The sun was setting and the children had been ushered home, so before we left we slowly made our way back to the playground. I showed him the elegant plaque that announced Allison's name, year of birth and death, and the quote from her mother: "Yes, Allison, there are swings in heaven." Matt's eyes shone and he said it was one of the most touching things he'd ever read.
We walked home together, again hand in hand. Again we didn't speak, but it was a silence that was full of warmth and deep comfort, as though we needed a moment of appreciation and respect for the miracle of all we'd experienced that day. I was so afraid that as the drug left me completely, my old bitterness and resentment might return. But since I have learned that the magic of that late spring afternoon wasn't born of the pill itself. Ecstacy only opened me up emotionally and mentally to what was already there, tore down walls my pain had built, and helped me bridge stagnant resentment to reach honest understanding. It helped save my relationship with a boy who means the world to me.
People talk about the dangers of drugs, but I've known the dangers of grudges and cold silence. I will be forever grateful to ecstacy for helping me make ammends and preserve my relationship with my sweet friend and lover, Matthew Lynskey.
[This message has been edited by Ashke (edited 29 November 1999).]