The worst part is the othering; wherein the cute story you used to tell together–that you created together–turns into the dreary conclusion you’re telling alone.
Not a lot of people know what I went through with Mikey, the same way that not a lot of people know what Mikey went through with me. Even fewer people know about what happened with Baki, but I won’t get into that. The same way that things change, things happen; and in the glimpse of a lifetime we can come up with different narratives from the same plot. Either way, I’m not too surprised at the mixed reactions when Mikey and I got back together.
For some time, we were just characters in each other’s stories. Everything that happened was just a device. And as with all plot devices, there are some that make your hair stand on end and give you trouble catching your breath, whereas there are others that just make you go “uh, right. and then?”
I don’t know what kind of story he told or how I was portrayed, so I don’t know how to feel about it unless I manage to zap myself back to the time when it was still unfolding and listen to him while he was telling it. And even then, there are no guarantees that he’d tell it the same way. Until now I don’t know what Mikey went through, and he can always tell me about it but all the same it’s his story, not mine. I’m just a character in it, and as with all stories you have to read or listen to, there are twists and an ending beyond your control; an ending that you may or may not like, but you are in no position to change.
We all have our own stories to tell because in telling them–in listening to ourselves tell them– we have an easier time making sense of what happened to us.