The Cadence of Idealistic Romance

We had something together that was just our own. When we were together, the rest of the world…the outside world…simply did not matter. Believing in one another was freedom.
On Sunday afternoons we would lounge around in his cubic third-story apartment and lay in bed like creatures in hibernation. He would bring me tea in bed and make me peach pancakes every morning. That apartment room housed his entire soul, I swear. Even representatives of my own contributions to his self-concept hung upon the all, which was adorned with several drawings and photographs I had either made with him, for him, or given to him. Speakers, guitar equipment, a fancy audio amplifier home theater system – all black, of course – lined the circumference of his room. A few drawers of his dresser were always left open, along with his closet door, and I wondered if they were even capable of closing completely. His “bed” was composed of an old futon mattress that I had donated to him lined with a few large pillows, a sleeping bag, and a white blanket that always seemed to release fuzzy threads that would get stuck in my hair when I awoke the next morning.
His apartment was essentially in the junky suburban side of town, not far from the city, but it nonetheless conjured fond memories from my childhood every time I visited him. I felt youthful and alive in his side of town. He brought out the daring side of my identity like no one has ever since.
He made me laugh at silly little irrelevancies common to daily living for the modern individual. He had his own character completely, a style which he owned and expressed in all aspects of his being and behavior. I feared for awhile that he was unbreakable in an unhealthy way; he never seemed to smile naturally and instead his smile seemed to be a forced and uncomfortable stretch of the facial muscles. For god’s sakes, the boy didn’t even like cookies or sweets! He had these chocolates laying on his windowsill for months after the holidays, and I would steal them bit by bit every time I came to visit.
There was a lack of honesty, at least in the sense of openness, about Cadence. I yearned for the opportunity to sit across from him, calm, and break through the layers of metal-enforced glass which surrounded him inexorably.
I snuck out to see him one night. I thought I needed an escape. We had decided to cook together that night because for whatever reason I had decided that I wanted to learn to cook at least one of the nine meals that Cadence was capable of concocting. Roaming around the grocery store like two adolescents finding their way through the dark tunnel which leads to adulthood, we brought the cheapest version of all the necessary ingredients.
Cadence usually managed to embarrass me in public. I always assumed that people would look at us and think, “What is such an intelligent, mature, and sophisticated young woman (well, maybe they wouldn’t have a chance to see the ‘intelligent’ part) doing with such an obnoxious young boy?” Thus, I would always try to be romantic with Cadence in public situations to make everyone jealous of our love…sometimes it worked and sometimes not. The total came to eight dollars and five cents. With a subtle hint of blunt enthusiasm, Cadence announced, “Ah, shit, man…now I guess we can buy something else, too” and then he flashed me that fake, tense half-smile of his. I shrugged, uninterested…for I couldn’t really see what more we could buy for three dollars. Flailing about and ferociously digging through his pockets, Cadence droned, “Oh, nevermind – I thought I picked up all the change off the floor.” Waltzing out of the store, I could not hold in my laughter. A few feet from the register, Cadence must have noticed the smirk developing on my face as he mumbled, “I guess that was kind of a bum thing to say, huh?” I nodded as my laughter became louder. By the time we arrived back at his apartment, I still had not resumed my laughter.
Cadence was not a bum, mind you. He wasn’t an idiot, either. Cadence was different, to say the least. He was more of an individual than anyone I have ever met. He stood up for himself, naturally, and overcame everything in his life in ways that I had never before even known that an individual could persevere. Physically, he was golden. All of his features radiated his inner strength in a fierce and intense way, yet his presence was always warm and indescribably comforting.