Hungover as all hell from the night before, Jack, Leo and I all went to eat at The House of Breakfast Sunday morning.
We did the usual banter, trying to piece together the events from the night, and eventually the conversation came over to me.
Jack: So what's going on with Beth? What are you doing about that?
I shoved a forkful of cheese omelet in my mouth. "I don't know what I'm going to do yet."
Silence. Then the sound of silverware scraping breakfast plates.
I took a moment to think about what I was going to do: she was actually the one who suggested we "get all our feelings out", so my visiting her in Portland wouldn't have been some sneak attack out of a cliche' romance movie. We discussed me taking a trip up there, but my gut feeling told me that getting everything out in on paper would be better than me nervously trying to remember everything I have been wanting to say for all these years.
Besides. I'm broke. And I'm not a patient man.
"Leo. I need your computer for about an hour."
"I can accommodate that."
So at approximately 11:10 PM, I cracked my knuckles, Leo closed the door and proceeded to type the biggest free write I've ever experienced (my freshman English teachers would be proud).
After about an hour and a half and seven pages later, I stretched and sighed. That's it. That's everything I've ever wanted to say starting from day one. Six years of history all in one Word document. Everything was out on the table. And let me tell you, it felt damn good and liberating. And at the end I wrote, "I think we've hit a crossroads. If we're just friends, we need to be just friends like normal people. No more of these weird signals we both keep sending. We've allowed it to go on for years and we need to figure out what we want to do now."
And honestly, the outcome could go either way and I'm satisfied. Ignorance is certainly not bliss in this case. I've been in the dark for too long now.
I bought a book of stamps this morning, licked the envelope and tossed it in the "outgoing" mail before I wussed out.