(This is a long story, but needs to get out of me.)
My first memory of you was at Battle of the Books, when I was a junior (I think). I think it wasn’t the first time I saw you but it’s the first time I remember. I think we spoke, briefly, about who knows what, and that was it.
There’s a big time jump to Psych, senior year. I know we spoke in between then but I can’t remember anything specific. First day of class, I sat in a different pack of seats but you called me over to sit by you and your friend. Had you any idea how many years of change that one decision made?
You helped me come out of my shell. You just had no hesitation for my reservedness and walked right in. Immediately, I had no resistance. You said once that I’m always good to hang with because I matched your energy. The times we went driving and just talked were probably the most peaceful, fulfilling moments I had in high school, especially after the hell of junior year. I went to your mom’s house with her creepy boyfriend and once went inside your dad’s house. I don’t think I ever had you over. I just followed you.
From the beginning, you acted as though I was yours, and it never occurred to me to deny you. I remember once, we were watching TV in your living room when you insisted on laying on top of me, as I lay on my side. I wasn’t sure how to react, but the contact felt nice, so I let you. Your mom’s creepy boyfriend came in and commented on us. I was nervous and blamed you, but you were silent and never looked away from the TV. A little after, we sat up. Was I supposed to stand up to him? There were many, many points in my life where I recalled that moment and desperately wished I could change what I did. But, looking back, I doubt such a small moment made as big an impact as other things.
After high school, I think there was a period where we barely talked, but it was also when I was in a deep depression so I wasn’t retaining any memories (dissociation does that). I eventually improved enough to move out of my parents’ house, and that’s when I remember talking to you somewhat consistently.
It’s your fault that things changed between us. It was almost as if you were trying to reap something you sowed into me. First, you invite me to a threesome with your unconsenting boyfriend who was right there and refused it. I wasn’t sure what to make of it- you often talked at the top of your head. Normal people would probably have started running in the opposite direction.
And then… I don’t remember how it was brought up, but one day, you sat on my living room couch, legs on my lap and alcohol in hand, that you wanted to try opening up your relationship with your boyfriend and thought about asking me to have sex but thought I’d say no. I don’t remember exactly what I said in response, but I remember being quiet for a moment as I processed that. It was never the same between us after.
(Is that why you got so drunk from a few ounces of vodka? Were you nervous to tell me?)
I think I eventually said that I wouldn’t have agreed to it anyway, and the conversation shifted. Not too long later, your boyfriend came to get you and I walked your stumbling ass to him. He was upset at your condition but it wasn’t like I poured the drink down your throat.
Time passed, maybe a week or two. We see each other again, at Noodles and Company, where I tell you that I was actually interested in having sex. Your reaction is cemented in me. You were looking at your food and slowed to a stop. You set the utensil down and looked at me carefully. What you said sounded rehearsed. Your new boyfriend, Allen, warned you that I could change my mind like this. You told me that you were wrong to ever bring it up.
I don’t remember how the hangout ended. I actually don’t know if we ever hung out again before my last attempt. I think this was the stretch where you had promised to be my best friend but was really struggling to find time for me. We watched Moana once. I think that was the majority of our time spent being best friends. Later, you would apologize for making that promise you couldn’t keep. I didn’t blame you for being busy, but for stringing me along.
My feelings for you were growing. Either I was feeling things I’d always felt (most likely option) or I just started to fall for you. From the first second I knew we were doomed. But I somehow convinced myself that I still needed to be honest and couldn’t keep it inside. I honestly can’t remember anything about my confession- actually, I do now. I drove by after work, dragging you out of your dorm, and told you on the street. It was a short meeting, I think. I started crying on the way out; I remember your face looking so sad after me. At home, I shut myself in my room and got drunk off one drink and an empty stomach.
Work was awkward, but I made it through each day okay. Honestly, the worst was knowing that people were getting told some story (by you- who else?) but not talking to me about it, so I walked in tainted air. Eventually, something inside broke, and I tried to kill myself that April. I didn’t see you for weeks. I had one week in the hospital and then another one or two at my new home. Around then, I met with my old bosses and got my job back.
I don’t think we spoke much at all, but I think I felt a rush of… life? when we did speak. After some months, you and Allen broke up, and you quit shortly after. I think this was the last time we regularly saw each other. For the next five years, we talked sporadically, never consistently. When we did talk, it was so fucking easy. I’ve never had to think around you. Everything, from words to action, was natural in a world where I’m self-conscious about every sound or gesture I make. We might not talk for years but pick things up like it’s only been a week. I think that’s why I keep thinking about you. It’s only nature to follow the path of least resistance and it felt like we connected so innately.
The first time we talked, after that job, was a little tense at first, but very quickly we were chatting. One drink at a coffee shop turned into two hours of talking. You were about to finish school and had a boyfriend. You were never one to mince words (I don’t know if you’re capable of tact) so I was blunt in that I wanted to be friends, but would pull away if I was getting feelings again. You were caught slightly off guard by that, but you accepted it.
The thing is, the most I ever felt for you was that time I confessed. My emotions for you since have been so mired in frustration that I don’t know how I truly feel under all these layers. You manipulated me, intentionally or otherwise. But whatever was between us was undeniable.
I sent you a message last month, when I completely changed my perspective on life. You responded, and we talked for a while, but then you stopped, and now I’m here in my own mess. What do I want from you? Closure? Sex? To keep talking and talking in our own bubble and watch the world race by?
I can’t forget you. I’ll always use you as a metric for how naturally I act around someone. Typing this out, I almost feel like I’m mourning. Our lost opportunities and doomed connection. We would never have lasted. I know it’s true, and it’s probably life preserver I’ll cling to, to get over you.
(Thanks for reading.)
