a peter pan resurgence

the past is never really the past. and i'm not really mad about it.

Oh my friends.

It’s a Thursday morning, and we’re back in our little Roma. I always use “our little” - because after almost two years officially of being here, I’ve realized that My Roma is, in fact, very small, and never, ever changes. And maybe that’s why I love coming back so much. The characters, the neighbourhoods, the familiarity of it all. It feels like Disneyworld, really. But it’s home.

I’ll give you a little life update. I’m fighting a UTI and am hopped up on antibiotics. Ugh. TMI, but we’re all friends. Aren’t they the actual worst? I feel like my body always does something whenever I have to move spaces. Anyways, if my writing and storytelling skills aren’t up to par - I blame it on the bloatedness.

I love having friends who travel for months at a time. I love being the designated house sitter. There’s something about feeling at home in a space that’s pre-loved by someone you also love. The way the sunlight hits her coffee table in the afternoon, the rows and rows of travel guides that line the bookshelves, the bright yellow Moka pot.

I inhale, and it feels like home.

I’m having an Americano (probably not the greatest for a UTI but whatever). Curled up on the sofa with a blanket. And I want to tell you something.

This very couch that I’m writing from, this very apartment that I’m staying in, was the setting of me and PN’s moments in time, which is almost two years ago to the date. A springtime in Rome.

It’s the smell of sunscreen that overpowers the smell of yesterday’s cigarettes, and I wonder if we made a mistake by opening the windows. I think of you and the apartment and the rain on that Sunday afternoon, and how our best decisions never come from thinking. 

Do you want to know something? I think about that memory often. But for some reason, it doesn’t hurt me as much anymore. I don’t long for him in the way that I once did. Instead, if I long for anything - it’s to have that instantaneous and indescribable connection with someone again.

I think spring was the perfect season for us. The beginning of something. Something unpredictable. The unexpected thunderstorms that roll in on a perfectly sunny day. Changes. What happened here? You step outside, place your hand on the railing and immediately pull it back. You watch as the leftover raindrops roll down the palm of your hand.

It’s all moments in time, really.

Anyways. Do you remember our friend, Peter Pan? Sorry for the lack of smooth transitions - it’s the bloatedness, remember?

For those of us who need the refresher - Peter Pan was, my longest FWB (I know, I hate that term, too - but what’s the alternative?) from January - June of last year. 6 months. Can you believe it?

Yes, he was PN’s right-hand man at the bar. Which made it all…so much more exciting. The sneaking around, and how he’d always swear me to secrecy.

“Whatever happens. No one can know that I’m here, okay?”

I’d play dumb and roll my eyes. “I don’t talk to anyone at your bar. You’re the one who works there, not me.” Which is true. But honestly? I think working there might have been the most fun job I could ever have.

The energy at the bar during that time was lighter back then. PN was rarely there, which was perfect for me. Out of sight, out of mind. I wasn’t living around the corner, so I wasn’t popping in as frequently. I’d see Peter Pan at least once a week. We’d play the liking each other’s stories game until one of us eventually caved and messaged. We’d play the jealousy game of me Instagram-stalking each girl he posted in his stories, and him asking me a million and one questions of my nights out, when my Saturday nights weren’t spent at his bar.

You see, Peter Pan has this toxic trait - where, no matter how many months it’s been, he still feels the need to check in and see if I’m still in Rome. And when I’m not (which has been often since August), he’ll ask when I’m coming back and then proceed to always message me on the date I arrive.

“Did you back?”

I never have the heart to correct him.

And my toxic trait is this - I really love attention. But specifically, only from the men at this bar it seems.

Anyways. I laugh. It’s a predictable routine. It’s Disneyworld, we can’t take any of it seriously, remember?

Now, the thing is. The sex is…I mean something kept me around for 6 months. And maybe it was heightened by the sneaking around, and the secrecy of it all.

I think we’re always going to want what we can’t have.

The last time I hooked up with Peter Pan was last June. A week before my birthday, coupled with a pregnancy scare, coupled with the fact that I found out he was in a relationship with the hostesses at the bar (her dad came in to meet him, and I was sitting right beside them. You can just imagine the look on Peter’s face). And that very evening was the same exact evening I met the Man At the Front. The same very evening we made out in front of the bar (my attempt to piss off Peter Pan, but I ended up pissing off PN instead. And we all know how that story went.)

Anyways. Angels in the form of strangers. I really believe that The Man at the Front was sent to me that night.

It’s been 9 months (lol) since I last had Peter Pan sitting across from me on my sofa. And low and behold, here he is.

“I think you owe me an apology.”

“Emily. She was just a friend. I think everyone got confused because I kept posting her in my stories!”

Are we shocked by the lack of the accountability? Nope.

“Did she know she was just a friend?”

He rolls his eyes. “Emilyyyyy.” He throws his hands in the air.

The exaggerated “y” makes me laugh. But this whole situation makes me laugh.

“I don’t care who you were dating. But what I do care about is being lied to. I asked you, and you said no. And then, ONCE AGAIN, I am involved in something that I didn’t want to be a part of in the first place.”

“She was a friend! She was just a friend! I have lots of friends!”

It’s really too bad that the sex is what it is. And the days where he’d always bring over 2 Perronis but never drink his, and say “it’s for next time” were always cute.

But there’s something nostalgic, and something silly about Peter Pan. He doesn’t take himself seriously, which is always the draw. He has these cute glasses, which, suit his face more than when he takes them off. He’s not someone who broke my heart. He’s not someone that I need to block and delete from my memory.

Peter kind of just, is who he is. A goof, who, just is an extension of freedom. Of choice. Of being able to have and enjoy frivolous sex, because we can, and we should.

Anyways. My point is this: don’t judge yourself for moments like these. The resurrections. The resurgences.

It’s all just moments in time, really.