Familiar with Rejection/Familiar with You by Gabe Carlson

Familiar with Rejection/Familiar with You

Gabe Carlson

I want to say that I’m familiar with rejection.

I’m familiar with that awful feeling, the one that starts tight in my chest and twists, the one that wets my eyes and parches my throat, makes my jaw clench and shake with the effort of keeping composure, the one that makes my voice waver. That heart-sinking, cold, empty feeling.

I’m more than familiar.

I’m familiar with rejection the same way I’m familiar with you. Familiar with the way your eyes aren’t quite green but aren’t quite yellow. Familiar with your hands and the way they move when you’re telling me about something. Familiar with your sturdying presence when I can barely find my own footing.

I’ve told you multiple times that I love you. Every time I have I’ve meant it, but recently, I’ve stopped knowing how I’ve meant it. I've stopped knowing where that line is; I haven’t even noticed it was blurred until now.

I’m selfish.

I’ve picked you apart to learn everything about you; your interests, your hobbies, your life. You’ve told me so many things. You’re happy to just have someone to listen.

You think it’s been an equal exchange. We trade jabs at each other and you think I’ve told you just as much about me as you’ve told me about yourself. But there’s more to it. You don’t know how ugly I can become, how awful I can be, how mean. You barely know who I am. You’ve only seen me when I’m enamored with you.

I’m scared.

I’ve thought about telling you more times than I can count. I may be familiar

Jesse Beck

with rejection, but it still scares the hell out of me. So, I do something awful. I feel like it’s the only thing I can do.

You think nothing of it. You think it’s just me being nice. You don’t notice it, but that’s the point. You won’t know.

You might, eventually.

You’re oblivious to the way I’ve wound my existence into yours. My gifts are just material things, but they’ve become staples in your life. You can’t open your door without thinking of me; the pink reminder of mine hanging from your keyring. Your work may be lines of data stored on USBs, but you can’t get to them without going through me; the fabric of the pouch encasing your files further etches my existence into your routine. You may have had your laptop for years now, but now it serves as another reminder; my stickers sit on its case, the same one you want to keep in the future.

I remind you of my existence every day. I’ve said enough times that you keep walking right past me on the street, the same day, the same time, so now you’re looking for me in the crowd, searching for my presence the same way I crave yours.

I’m a coward.

I fear that my feelings will drive you away from me, that you can’t see me in that light and things will never be the same. I may be familiar with rejection, but the thought of losing you scares me. I want to think that you’re too good to leave me, that even though you can’t love me the same way, you’d never push me away. I want to believe that you’d let me stay by your side, even if it might kill me slowly within. Even so, I don’t want to risk it.

You’ve wound your way into my existence the same way I’ve wound myself into yours. You’re a staple in my routine.

Your nickname in my phone becomes the inspiration for the stuffed animal on my bed, the same one I slide over to you when you come down to watch movies. The sensation of your hand brushing mine is seared into my memory, and so is the feeling of your fingers through my hair. Your voice has a permanent place in my head; I can hear your texts in my mind when I read them now. You’re too nice, too understanding, too bright; you’re better than me in every sense. I don’t deserve your kindness.

You may be dense but I can’t hide forever. Not from you.

I won’t.

I do something awful instead. I make it so you’ll hurt just as much as I will.

I’ll further wind my existence into yours, so much so that you couldn’t possibly fill the gaps I would leave behind.

Maybe then we would both feel the same way.