I pictured everything to be perfect when John came back. I expected the emptiness within me to go away the second I was back in his arms. After almost two years apart, I thought that we would still be the same, that nothing would change between us.

'Sometimes things are too good to be true.' I don't know how many times I've heard that and never acknowledged it. I don't think things could have been better in our relationship. I was his first priority, and he was mine. My days were incomplete until I saw his smiling face looking back at me. He didn't care about anything else but being with me, holding me, talking to me, doing anything he could possibly do with me. As long as I was with him, nothing mattered, and I felt exactly the same for him.

I started out this weekend with the idea that John would run up to me the second he saw me and never let me out of his reach again. I imagined the excitement and the passion sweeping me off of my feet. Only all of this was just a dream. Things are never allowed to be the way I want them to. Once I have something perfect, I can never let it go, because as soon as it comes back to me the perfection will be gone.

Things were good at first. I met him at the Art Institute and we went out to eat Chinese with my mom. They talked and she seemed to be really enjoying his company. I knew she'd love him. I didn't say much. I felt uncomfortable having my mom around, so I kept my mouth shut except for a complaint here and there. After lunch, my mom dropped us off at his apartment and loaded us with dishes and other odds and ends she had for him. When we got there, his new roommate was just unpacking. I expected the guy to be a complete dork, but he ended up being exactly the opposite. With bright pink hair, an eyebrow piercing, and stylish clothes, he was the perfect person to be living with John. They started relating right away on all kinds of things, and I just kind of sat there throwing a sentence or two in. After they were all unpacked we started watching movies. John cuddled with me and kept telling me he loved me over and over, just like we did when we ran away. I was convinced everything was perfect. Then his roommate (Chris) did what I wished he'd never done. He pulled out a bag of weed and asked us if we wanted to smoke some. I told him no, but I really wanted to. I hadn't done it in such a long time, and I never had gotten high with John before. After a lot of fighting with myself, I told him I would do it. Since I agreed to do it, John agreed and before I knew it we were all sitting around stoned, acting like idiots and laughing at stupid parts in the movie. John was still cuddling with me and I was lavishing the dizziness and contentment. Then he started bugging me to go in the bathroom and have sex with him. Even though I was high, I knew what I wanted and I told him no. I told him how I wanted the first time after so long to be special. I didn't want to have any drugs in my system, and I definitely didn't want it to be a quickie in the bathroom. But I gave in. I followed him to the bathroom and we did it. It wasn't long and it wasn't short. I couldn't think. My head was spinning and I kept looking into his eyes and feeling this amazing adoration, so I can't really say it was bad. Afterwards we went back and watched about four more movies, cuddling the whole time. We decided to drag his mattress into the closet/hallway type thing in the bathroom and luckily it was a perfect fit. That's where we slept (among other things). The next day we watched some more movies, and when we ran out John wanted to go find a video rental place. So Chris wanted to stay at the apartment and we went out into the cold rain and trudged downtown. He was walking so fast and I kept telling him to slow down. He complained that it was cold and wet and he wanted to get where he was going. So there we are walking so fast we're almost jogging, looking for a stupid video rental place. We passed the Benedum Center on the way, and there were hundreds of parents with their kids, going to see 'Barney: Live on Broadway' or something like that. Of course, you know I had to do something. So I yelled, "Barney is the DEVIL!!" and all the parents looked at me mean. I was laughing, but John wasn't. He used to crack up when I did things like that. He used to do the same things! Only now he was scolding me and telling me how ignorant that was. I couldn't believe it.

When we finally found a video store, it was closed, and John wasn't too happy. I was already on the brink of tears because the way he was acting was so strange. Any kind of anger or crankiness or impatience is very unusual for John. He's always been so laid back and comfortable and incredibly happy to do anything, as long as he could be with me. Now all he cared about was movies. He didn't even bother to hold my hand or look at me the entire time we were downtown. All that was running through my mind was, "He's not the same. he's not the same. he's changed. I don't mean anything to him anymore." So of course I'm terribly upset and trying really hard not to cry because then he'd get all worried and wouldn't leave me alone until I told him what was wrong. When we were getting ready to go back to the apartment, I told him that I wanted to get some hair dye at Sally Beauty Supply, but I thought it would be closed. He said he'd go anyway because he wanted to get some too. We started walking and I thought the store was on Fifth avenue, but when we were all the way to Smithfield Street, we still hadn't passed it. I told him I was wrong, but I knew it was really close. He just looked at me and gave me a really cold look, then he turned around and started walking back the way we came as fast as he could. I caught up to him and asked him, "What the hell is your problem!?" And he started going off about how he was cold and tired and I said the store was on that street and it wasn't and he just wanted to get where he was going and not waste any time looking for places. I didn't respond, because there were already tears in my eyes and if I'd tried to say even one word everything would come out. He never yelled at me. Not once. Not even when he was angry with me. He just told me very calmly that he was upset and then he was usually just a little depressed the rest of the day. Very few things made him angry. And now we were standing there in the middle of the city feeling emotions for each other that we'd never felt before. I wanted to grab him and yell at him and tell him that what he was doing wasn't right, what he was doing wasn't HIM. But all I could do was look ahead and walk fast beside him, trying desperately not to cry. After about five minutes he made a simple comment about a store or something in the nicest tone of voice, and I looked at him to see that he had a smile on his face and was completely happy. I don't know how he did it. I was burning inside. Everything I imagined was falling down right before my eyes. I could feel the distance between us, and every second more and more of my hope was washing away with the rain that soaked us through. By the time we got back, I was soaking wet, tired, and more depressed than I've ever been in my life. I laid on his bed and stared at the ceiling, not wanting to watch what seemed to be the 30th movie that Chris had on. John grabbed some food, kicked his shoes off, and walked right past me. He sat on the couch next to Chris and was immediately absorbed in the movie, probably forgetting I was even there. I buried my face in his pillow and started crying. I felt myself going into a panic attack so I walked quietly to the bathroom, hiding my tear-stained face. As soon as I locked the door a wave of nausea came over me and I barely had time to lift the toilet seat. I kept throwing up and throwing up until there was nothing left in me. Then I laid down on the bathroom floor and curled myself up, resting my face against the cold porcelain of the bath tub. After I'd cried for ten minutes, I forced myself to stop and stood up, feeling numb, my face red and stinging.

When I came to the living room they were still watching the movie so I went to John's bed and stared at the ceiling some more. Just as I was falling asleep John was waking me up, telling me they had to go to a meeting about the rules for the building. I was torn between wanting John to leave so I could finish crying and wanting him to stay and hold me and make me sure that everything would be all right. Of course, they left. I cried for another fifteen minutes and wrote a few things on a piece of garbage I found. Then I called Leanne and started explaining to her everything that happened. She lamented with me and made me feel somewhat better.

After an hour or so, John and Chris came back. John came over and tried to kiss me. I let him, but I didn't make an effort to kiss him back. I couldn't. He knew something was wrong and started asking me in a woo-ing tone of voice, "What's wrong baby? Please tell me what's wrong. Are you mad? What's wrong baby?" So I told him. I told him that I was terrified of losing him. He assured me that I wouldn't, but I explained that I meant losing 'him' as in the 'him' he used to be...not the physical him, but the emotional him. He couldn't think of anything to say for a minute, but then he started explaining:

"I've been locked up for almost two years," he said, "I'm scared. I mean really scared. I mean I'm scared about this whole 'freedom' thing. I'm not used to this. I need time to get used to it. I promise you, give me a couple weeks and I'll be back to normal. I'll be myself again."

I wanted to believe him, but something was holding me back. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't push the doubt out of my mind. "Once a liar, always a liar, right?" I asked myself. Just the day before he started putting drawings on his wall...drawings that I thought he'd done for me. Over the months while he was gone, he'd send me a drawing or two with his letters. They all had something do to with me. One was a really unique design pattern done in ink. On the top it said, "The best part of life..." and real big in the middle was my name, drawn all fancy and graffiti-like, filled in with bright colors. Another drawing was one of a girl with black hair and clothes like mine, holding a can of spray-paint, with a mischievous grin on her face. Above the girl it said in big letters, "Miss 6," which is his nickname for me. When he started hanging those exact pictures on his wall, I smiled, then I noticed they were missing something. The first one was missing my name, and in it's place it said, "LSD." The second one was missing my nickname, and there was nothing in its place. I was upset, but I pushed it to the back of my mind and decided not to say anything about it.

When John told me he needed time to change, I knew I'd give him that time. I knew I'd give him that time, as well as all the time in the world. I know I'll always stay with him, hoping things will get better, no matter how bad they actually get. That's how I am, in any relationship. I'll hold on until there's nothing left to hold on to, until they leave me.

After I talked with John, I felt somewhat better, but not good enough. When Chris pulled out the weed again, I was going to say no, but John said yes before I could get a word out. I did not want to be the only one in the room that wasn't stoned, because it's terrible watching everyone else acting like drug-induced retards and wanting to punch them into reality. I smoked. I smoked and I smoked and I smoked. But I only got light headed. I wasn't quite as depressed and just like the day before, every time I looked at John I adored everything about him. When I was laid back in his arms, almost completely content again, he started laughing. And he didn't stop. He was laughing so hard he couldn't sit up. He looked like such an idiot and all of a sudden I was fuming with anger. I jumped up and sat on the other side of the room, bitching at him and explaining to him that the way he was acting was the reason why I stopped smoking that crap. He just kept laughing, and I don't think he even heard what I was saying. When he calmed down a little, he got up and went over to me and tried to kiss me. I turned my face away and muttered something like "dork." He just got more determined to kiss me and was pushing me over to his bed. He pushed me down and I was squirming and trying to keep my face away from his. He was laughing and saying, "Come on baby, you know I love you. Come on, let me kiss you." Before I knew what I was doing I started picturing the predicament in my head. I was sprawled sideways on his bed, my head hanging off of the edge, my arms and legs waving underneath him.

I started laughing and I let him kiss me. I felt warm again. I felt whole again. I felt the perfection again. So we went to the bathroom and had sex. Halfway through, the happiness went away. I realized what I was doing. I realized I was letting drugs control me again. I realized that nothing was right. For the first time, I didn't feel right having sex with him. I pretended to enjoy it after that, trying hard not to cry. When we were done we went back to the living room and,'PLOP,' there he was back on the couch again. So I went back to his bed and laid there, waiting for him to come over and hold me, to take away some of the pain.

The next day he was in a much better mood and all three of us headed downtown to do some shopping. We bought our hair dye. Chris bought some more movies. We ate lunch at Denny's. I scared some guy in a restaurant window and they laughed. Things almost felt okay again. When I went to catch my bus, John gave me a big hug and a kiss, then another and yet another. I held on to him and I didn't want to let go. I saw my bus coming and I started crying silently to myself, "I don't care how much he's changed. I still love him. I don't want to go home. I want to stay here in his arms forever." When I got on the bus he waved and I waved back. Then I started crying. I didn't care that all the weirdoes were looking at me and thinking I was on crack. I didn't care that I was sitting in the middle of the aisle on the floor because all the seats were taken. All I wanted to do was go back three years, to the time where everything was perfect, to the time where everything was 'too good to be true.'

Kathy