So, I need to clearly explain that Kent was the first. The first time that the drug and reality of what love was hit me. He was the first lover that instinct and passion let fly within me. I realized what all of the songs meant and what the pain entailed. I have noticed that when love hits me, I am sure and striking. I do not shrink. I fast forward the waiting and woo-ing in favor of instant trust. What is love without trust? I trusted. I loved. I went for it. I do not explain this well, but Kent was my first love. I felt hexed.
Why is the measure of love loss?
So, he and the Princess of Calabash did not work out. He had moved to Wilmington ostensibly to be close to her and live together and do the creative writing program. She found someone more humble and controllable than him. He was left in a new town to create his new life after college. He delivered newspapers, worked as a waiter, then finally found his fortune in the landscaping company he progressed from laborer (this was before guest workers) to the second tier of management... and this was hi-end landscaping - exclusive almost to the island of Figure 8 (where kim and alec and tipper and al used to stay.)
Mike tried Atlanta with Shayna and I. Then, he moved to Wilmington and shared space with Kent. They were both English majors. Mike's money was made on the late shift at a convenience store. I was still finishing up my internship for the degree I have never employed. Kent was still the love of my life, but I dabbled in Steven whilst in Atlanta and then went into depths of depression living with my mother, no idea what life was supposed to be, being ostracized from anyone who loved Chuck, and working at Rich's for Christmas Holiday help. I packed up the Wagoneer and headed to Wilmington. I told my mum I was going on an indefinite vacation, and I never returned. I was 22.
Kent and I fell back into a sort of love. None of the three of us new anyone in town. We were marooned from the Athens comeraderie. Our merry band in shards. We drank cheap beer and did Robitussin DM once (my life changed). Mike left to go to Texas after I had a talk with him and pretty much told him that he was in love with Kent and that he needed a change and something to jar him. He packed up and went to Texas to live with his sister within the week. (He has bitter feelings about me to this day as it wasn't a success story, but I point out that it was a survival story and happened and was OK. Mike returned within a couple of years and joined the band of Chuck and Steven - who I had convinced to move/try Wilmington).
Kent and I were alone. He awoke at 6am and came home at 8pm. I was lonely, but fucking and my wounded love awakened. I didn't have a job. I had savings. I would drive around all day, read books, think about killing myself, drink. The usual kristen behavior in times of crisis. We were in a writer's group of sorts. We would go downtown. I would find friends for us. He ended up fucking and having a relationship with one of the stupidest girls I'd ever met and a hokey accent to boot, but she was a bartender at the cool bar where REM had sat on the floor (Stemmermans) and had huge tits and didn't think about death and black holes.
Eric visited us and thought shit was fucked up. It was fun to go out with him as Kent left me at home once Billie was discovered. I nearly ripped my mind out during this time. Kent said he loved me. He did different things than that. I got the message. Eric sussed us out. We all moved into a house on Queen Street. I got a job at a cool store downtown - walked to work, treated the bars like my living room. I listened to Tori Amos, cried hysterically, collected admirers (for a time, I was the cat's meow in this little town - whereas in Athens, I had not explored that due to chuck), screamed at Kent.
Why is the measure of love loss?
One day, my dramatic, yearning, broken heart could take no more. I informed Kent that I would have to leech him from my heart if he could not give me his. Basically I screamed at him for tearing my structure out. I called him a coward. I told him that he and I were meant together and that he was a tyrannical asshole who played with me. So, I cried and leeched and distracted myself.
It was pain and shit and depression.
I got over him. I moved on wiser and no-longer having the lucky fate of falling in love and having it blossom. You only get one chance at the first time taking seed and never experiencing doubt in your instincts and heart and "not fair!!!!".
We still lived together. We got another roommate after Eric left. We moved to an apartment. A year or two months went by. Kent left. I was alone. I absorbed it. I met Mark.
Kent showed up at my (formerly our) apartment. He stated that everything I said had been right. He loved me with all of his heart. He had always loved me.
I was dead. No feelings for him. I tried. I wanted to love him. I used my "dye has been cast - damage is done." I conveyed sincerely that no one understood how horrible it was - this situation - than me. No one could.
He went a little nuts. Mark and I moved to New York.
Now, we're all friends, and he has a baby due with his new wife on 12/21 and makes a shitload of money, has a 50's mod house and he talks to mark about fifty times to my one.