October

There’s something about this month that I love and I can’t really find the words to explain why. This entire season actually is like a time machine taking me back with its powerful vivid memories. But it still grounds me in the present with irreplaceable moments.

October reminds me of the harsh winds of the Inland Empire, blowing as my brothers and I went trick-or-treating with our mom. This is when we were happy, with our own home and not-divorced parents. October was the month we’d huddle downstairs with thick blankets and hot chocolate watching Halloweentown and laughing.

College October was a different kind of happy. We were a bunch of kids trying to relive our childhood but still prove that we were adult enough to live on our own. In the mornings and afternoons, I wore huge Bill Cosby sweaters pretending it got cold in LA. We spent evenings huddled up with thick blankets and hot chocolate watching Halloweentown and laughing. We spent nights downing vodka and party-hopping in the most revealing “costumes” we could find.

College October was when I met Will. Well technically I met him January the year before. But the October of my third year in college was when I really met him. I exposed my deepest thoughts and fears and the past no one was allowed to know. On that extremely uncomfortable wooden excuse for a couch, or on that giant stuffed bear, or in my bed, with soft music in the background, he uncovered parts of me that were always hidden. Good and bad. One October night, we were lying on the giant bear with blue Christmas lights on and Allen Stone playing on Pandora. I read to him some of the poems on my phone, free-verse, spoken word, sonnets, and more. In the midst of the poems I wrote about why I thought love didn’t exist was this

Would you believe it if I said I wanted to live in your arms?

Build a shelter between those biceps

The view from my home could be those huge hazel irises

Perfectly framed by your gorgeous eyelashes

I swear I’d never leave

Fill my heart with the red that flushes your face when we make eye contact

You can be the one who makes me forget the rest

My doorbell can be your voice

Ringing when it says you don’t want me anywhere else

My doorbell can be your voice

Singing as you say, “We can be in love…”

In no one else, I’ll take refuge

Change my point of view

I think I might let you

It wasn’t about him. But it became about him. October was when we started spending every day together. We laughed a lot. And I cried a lot; it was the least alone I had ever felt. And I told him about the harsh winds of my childhood Octobers, when my family had a big house, when we were happy – or at least I like to remember it that way.