Memories # 2: then the shit hits the fan

“I think I like your best friend.”

Such innocent words spoken over the gentle brush of the water slapping the cold tilesof the swimming pool– all eyes were on me, most of which averted when those words left your mouth.

I’ve written you countless letters, none of which you will ever be able to see. I prepared my heart for this, of course. Someone like her, who doesn’t realize the beauty she has and isn’t too loud, isn’t too quiet; she listens, she cares, she puts other people before her.

She isn’t me.

I’m brash, I think and talk too much, I’m too much of a wildcard for someone like you. 

I’ve also forced myself to keep going as if everything was alright– even if I broke down that night in the hotel room, head in my hands and letting you know everything: how often I thought of you, how I couldn’t get you out of my head, how I would disappear. I had never cried so much. 

I’ve been left and humiliated, torn apart and beaten; but there was nothing that could compare to those alcohol-infused moments where I could barely see you beyond a thin film of tears, trying to get words out through sobs. I saw it coming.

I hated you so much.

I hated it when you put your hand on my head, you forced me to look at you even though I didn’t want you to see the way I looked: ugly and red and swollen. I hated the way you told me I shouldn’t disappear because I meant so much to you– as that friend you could always count on. 

Do you remember when I tried to leave?

Do you remember asking me where I was going?

“Away.” I answered you, do you remember that? Trying not to look at you and hand on the knob, lingering. I asked you to break my heart just a few minutes earlier, to set things straight and rid me of any hope. I turned the knob, ready to take on this new feeling of emptiness.

Then you spoke, knocking over one of the empty bottles of beer as your toe nudged it; maybe you were walking toward me.

“I’ll find you, you know.”

I hate you so much.

I hate you for being so nice to me, for picking me up whenever I was down.

I hate you for being the one who brought me home that night, keeping the door open for me while I trudged in home.

I hate you for trying to stay in my life.


Memories # 1: the calm before the storm

I noticed you, but I didn’t.

Everyone else recalls the time when I first started talking to you, I don’t. Even you reminded me once. I didn’t know anything about you, and slowly, after a little bit of texting; I forgot who you were.

You probably did the same.

But then prom season came along, and you know how it goes for gender-exclusive schools. We girls are awarded with the pains of looking for a prom date. After much, much ado; someone suggested you. My thoughts were pretty much: why not, it’s only a night, right? So I asked you at your school fair, you said yes; but I felt like I forced you into it somehow…

Everything between me asking you and prom caught me by surprise; I was paying more attention to you, finding myself remembering you at the strangest times. It was only one night, right? Even when you got piss drunk at my classmate’s party and ralphed all over everyone, I found myself having the time of my life– I was beginning to wonder if it was because you were around.

Then prom night came, a full month later.

I remember my stomach turning into a black hole when they told me you were coming; a film of sweat forming between my skin and the PS3 controller than I clung to for dear life– my heart couldn’t take it. It was only one night, right? Only one night and you wouldn’t have a reason to talk to me anymore. We arrived, finally, and proceeded to be given the nickname “the disappearing act of the night”. I’m sure you remember, the unwinding away from the prom venue, where you pretended you were walking on the ceiling?

And in that darkness, with both of our backs to the warm marble, I wondered something. You spoke about everything, and I found myself comfortable settling in the dark, just listening to your voice. I had always been the talkative one, but with you? I could’ve never spoken again if it meant you never leaving.

….I guess it’s safe to assume that right then and there, you melted my heart. Your words were poetry, everything you did was poetry.

You told me stories about this girl you used to like; you said you were over her…. But I didn’t believe you for one second. You used to be the guy I didn’t give a second thought to, and now I was hurting over you because I had already lost the battle before I realized it was mine.

….But what can I say now?

Our talks by the bookstore, that one time at your place, even just over text…? They’ve kept me going. Even if I know this ‘you and I’ won’t happen… Just the fact that you’re around, H, keeps me going as the sun settles elsewhere.

It’s been a month since I’ve heard your voice, but I’ll keep waiting here in the dark until I do.