A letter to Monika Pohle at the millennium

The other day I was hanging out with my friend and my friend asked just how long it'd been since I had been in a long-term relationship and I stopped. And I thought. And I realized, it's been seven years since I've been in a long-term relationship, and then I thought, Hmm. That's a long time. And then, naturally, my thoughts turned to you.

So, here we are, still living and breathing. Who'd of ever thought that you and I would last the millenium? Back in college it seemed sometimes that none of us would last another six months, much less a decade and a half. They were...very different times. My memories of college are starting to fold in on itself, starting to collapse a bit. My memories of college used to be a blueprint to how I lived the present, a Photoshop-adjusted two-million pixel multimedia experience freshly burned on a brand-new CD-ROM. Now my memories are a little more Luddite. They are a series of black and white photos, slowly yellowing inside dusty albums stacked on a forgotten shelf, next to the Queens Anne lace, right under the good china.

They say the new year is a good time to look back, and so I've been doing some of that lately. And I've realized, I'm an entirely different person than I was then. If you met me now, you might now even recognize me. Not physically, I mean, my face still looks the same, a little narrower, a little more tired, a little more of a person who's seen a little bit more of the world. No. I mean if you met me for the first time you very well might not be attracted to me. Part of that is because of you, part of it just me. I can't tell. I can't say that this period of my life was any better, more valid, more exciting, more hopeful, less regretful, than this part of my life. There is no better or worse. There are only apples and oranges.

So. Looking back. What do I see? I see black-and-white images, snapshots of our life. They don't quite gel like animation, but I can look at the still images and piece together a narrative. That's good. I remember...music being better then than it is now. Is that a sign that I'm getting old? Or am I right about that? I remember making love to you to Sonic Youth, EVOL. I remember doing homework to Pat Metheny, driving real fast to Husker Du, fighting in sync to the Pixies, you know? God, those were the days. Going to Shattered on Industrial Night with our bauhaus t-shirts and the rosarys and Ted and I would slamdance to "Stigmata" and Skinny Puppy and everything was right with the world. I remember pegging our jeans and sneaking kisses during marching band practice, man, they are my memories, carried like an old-fashioned foldout in my wallet that I can flip out and say, "Look at this! Look at what occupied my life for three years!"

Life ain't so bad since Chicago. I've learned that being single isn't such a horrible thing as I always thought it was going to be. You make your own agenda. You don't feel responsible for anyone else. You have sex with a lot more people. Don't get me wrong, that in itself comes with its own system of rewards and punishments. But in general I'm doing pretty well. I'm surviving. I'm alive, I'm generally happy, I own no debt, only been to jail once, have confronted and beaten my depression, have confronted and defined my sexuality. Life without you has been...not magnificent, but not devastating. And I don't think I have anything to complain about with that kind of life.

You know, I just realized that maybe we didn't both survive the milennium. You could've died years ago, out on one of your field missions to Africa, in your home in Germany, and the news could have conceivably never have gotten to me. Hmm, that's an odd thought to have. Well, I hope things are going well. I don't know if you ever get to my website but if you do, here's my declaration that I wish you much love, health, success, and happiness.

Jason.

p.s. Sometimes I'm intensely curious about whether you've had children yet. And then I think, "No, I really don't want to know that."

p.p.s. Maybe one time a year, when no one's around, my mind will drift to thinking about you, and I will cry.

Copyright 2000, Jason Pettus. All rights reserved.