I can’t recall how I met her exactly. You’d think a day as special as that would be etched into my memory, but it’s not. I knew her since middle school, back when we were both a little chubbier and awkward. She never called me by my name back then; she always called me by the color of my shirt, things like: Key Lime, Tangerine, or Cherry Pie. My favorite was always Peach Daiquiri. She was pretty quiet and weird; she wasn’t my type at all.  

In high school she was taking advanced physics- who knows why; that girl was hopeless with calculus. I helped her out a lot back then. I took her online quizzes with her. She always liked to say that if it weren’t for me she wouldn’t have gotten a B in that class.

She liked cursive then, told me my name was perfect for a fancy signature. She made one for me but I couldn’t replicate it. I wish I could have. She always wrote my name in cursive after that. Even then we weren’t anything special, just classmates. It wasn’t until senior year that things started to change. She was in my advisement class. She sat between me and our friend; her laughter was contagious. We played Halo on the school computers, she was dreadful but enjoyed it anyway.

I kept convincing her to go to lunch with me. I’m not sure why I only asked her; I mean, I had plenty of other friends. It was on our almost daily lunch dates that I really got to know her. She was shy on the outside but quite brazen in her own head. It was opposite of me. I liked to be loud around her to see her shy away. I’d make idle and sometimes personal small talk with our waiter just to see her shoulders curl forward as she reached for her water. She always complained about it through a wide smile and laughter.

I asked if I could drive her car one day. She asked if I could drive manual, to which I said “Of course,”- when in fact I didn’t understand the question. Needless to say when I got in the driver’s seat and couldn’t turn it on she laughed and laughed and told me to get out. She didn’t let me live that one down for a long time.

We talked about a lot of things. Things we probably shouldn’t have talked about. I wanted to know her better. I wanted to see where the line was. How much could I ask her before she didn’t want to answer? Her family? Those questions came with heavy answers masked by her usual off handed sarcasm. Her future? Those questions came with rehearsed answers: she was on a path for a future she had always wanted. The truth was there was no line. She opened up to me.

It was on our “dates” that I should have realized that things were changing. I was thinking about her. I was writing her constantly. I was telling her things I never would have told others. She was becoming more and more central in my life.

“What are you up to?” I’d write.

“I’m hanging out with my boyfriend, let’s talk later,”

It wasn’t like he was new or anything either. She had been with him for a few years now so I should have known better but there was something about her, something captivating. The way her smile made her eyes squint into moon shapes, the way her laugh changed depending on how funny she thought the joke was, the way she touched me in such natural ways: her arm linked into mine, her light smacks when she was in the throes of laughter. I knew her, I knew her on mental levels that felt impossible, even if she didn’t tell me- I knew and I loved knowing.

For the first time she started talking to me about her relationship, about her boyfriend. I still remember sitting at the deserted playground; the swings creaked as we swayed on them. She didn’t look at me while she spoke, just at the ground where her feet were absentmindedly playing with the decayed wood chips. She was confused and unsure if she wanted to be with him. She said she was lost. She said she didn’t know herself. The next day she told me they broke up.

I still remember how happy I had been, how light my chest felt; I actually thought that we would be together.

I didn’t ask her out right away. She was still heartbroken and was unsure if her decision had been the right one. I just remember it was Christmas time and that I didn’t want her to be alone. So I insisted that she come to a party I was having. She was reluctant. She wasn’t close with anyone else at the party, but at my request she came. I told her to dress nicely, which was something you really had to ask of her, and she did. It was the first time I saw her in a dress and she was stunning. I had never realized how tall she was. Next to me she only came up to my shoulders so I never thought anything of it, but beside all my friends she was taller than most of them, especially the other girls. I knew it was something she was self conscious about; it only made me smile.

It was no surprise that she kept her distance from me. She spoke when she was spoken to and smiled at all of the jokes and played all the games with us, but there was something bothering her. I caught her stealing glances at me, her eyes were distant. I didn’t like seeing her this way.

I prepared for the worst.

The party decided to move upstairs when the pizza arrived. She was lingering; I lingered with her.

“Listen I-” I started but she cut me off quickly.

“This is a nice party...” she looked around as she made her way closer to me.

“Oh...yea. Are you enjoying yourself?”

She nodded her head, “Mhm, it’s fun,” she was right in front of me. Her deep brown eyes stared up into mine for a moment before she stood on her tiptoes and kissed me. I was shocked, my mind was racing and then it was empty.

She rolled back down from her toes and smiled at me. I wrapped my hands around her waist and spun her around the room, we both laughed like mad. I was happy. I was truly happy.

I walked her to her car that night; my large hand practically engulfed hers. As she turned on the car I was about to walk away when she pulled me back and kissed me one more time, “You should at least kiss me goodnight,” she smiled before pulling away, leaving me breathless on the curb.

I thought things were going great; I thought that we were actually going to be together.

What I didn’t know is that she had gone home and cried herself to sleep that night; her mind was full of doubts and she was lost. She didn’t know what she wanted; she didn’t want to hurt me. She didn’t understand her own heart. Later she would tell me that I had pushed her; I had pulled her away from her boyfriend. I was happy by myself.

We went to the park on a day where it was lightly misting instead of the heavy rain we were used to. We walked and walked until we were soaked from the mist and then she suddenly ran over to a small puddle, “Look at this, look at this!” She whisper-yelled to me, “Tadpoles,” she pointed to the small amphibians that swam in tiny circles. We stood there and watched for a long time; her cold hands were wrapped tightly in mine as I hummed in her ear; I told her I loved her that day.

It didn’t take very long, maybe a week, maybe two, for her to cut it off. It was the first time I had ever seen her cry and I didn’t understand. I thought she wanted to be with me. I thought she loved me. I hated her after that. I hated everything about her. I told myself I would hate her for the rest of my life. She used me, she took my feelings and threw them away like they meant nothing to her. She tricked me, she deceived me. I was done with her.

I still remember this one night: prom night. I went with a group of friends, she went with her group of friends. I didn’t see her all night; I thought maybe she didn’t go but then the last song played. People were already swarming out to head to after parties but she was pulled back on the dance floor for one last dance. The deepness of her blue dress complemented the shade of red her hair was at the time; I saw only her. She smiled and laughed and as the song ended she saw me. She saw me in my white suit with my peach daiquiri tie. I was happy to see her smile. I hated her happiness.

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Of course that fall we started college: the same college. We ran into each other near the end of my freshman year. She smiled but then caught herself and looked away. I stopped hating her right then and there.

We were instantly friends again. She apologized; I apologized and we left it at that. Of course she asked why I didn’t hate her anymore and I asked why she even wanted me around; we knew the answers were much deeper than how we replied: we wanted things to be different.  She was back with her boyfriend from before though. I couldn’t understand her, how she could leave him for me and then go back to him. I was jealous. I knew she was just afraid of change- I was jealous anyway.

It only took a few short months for me to ruin things. I got drunk one night (I know, the start of every romantic story) and sent her a video via snapchat. I told her how much I wanted her, how badly I wanted to sleep with her. The next morning there was a rock in my stomach. I knew I had done something irrevocable. I knew I had crossed a line that she couldn’t allow herself to tolerate. When I opened up snapchat there was just one plain message from her: Don’t talk to me again.

After that I was alone. Things in my life toppled over one after the other. My grandmother died; it was hard to go into the basement without smelling the peppermint oil she always rubbed on her joints. Several of my friends had left the state and I never heard back from them; people I called my closest friends were suddenly strangers. The hardest blow was my father’s death. We never had a great relationship but the last time I saw him he told me he wished he never had a son like me. I wished I never had him for a father.

Even though it was hard on the entire family, my sisters and mother were so much stronger than I was. I was supposed to be the man of the house now but I was loosing my grip on life.

I started getting help.

Everything felt empty and meaningless like there were only bad things that could happen to me. I talked about my dad and how hard it was to accept my last words to him. I blamed myself for his car accident. I spoke about so much but wouldn’t talk about the real problems, the deeper problems. I didn’t talk about her; I didn’t want to admit that she was still in my thoughts. I had decided to hate her again, it was easier to hate her.

I dated other people of course, but never seriously. We’d go on a date; they would tell me how great of a time they had- but I wouldn’t call again. I never let things get serious. I guess I was waiting for her to come back into my life...deep down I wanted it to be her.

It was 2 years before I saw her again. She was sitting in the lounge of a school building. I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to tell her about my life, about my grandmother, about my father, but I was scared. Was I willing to open that wormhole again? Would things be different this time?

“Hey,”

She looked up startled from what she was doing, “Oh, I- ” she looked away from my eyes.

“Can we talk? Please, I just...I just want to talk,”

She must have seen the seriousness in my face- the shakiness of my tone, “Of course, yea. No, of course,”

We sat on the balcony for the half hour until her class was going to start. Everything I had kept bottled up, everything I couldn’t tell anyone came out so easily to her. She didn’t interrupt and she didn’t try to make it better. She just laid her hand in mine and listened. When I was done everything stood still for a moment. She turned to me and pulled me into a hug. I cried on her shoulder. She didn’t apologize and she didn’t tell me cliches about why bad things happen. She just held me and told me that she was here for me.

We stayed in each other’s lives for much longer that time. I had learned my lesson from before and knew to keep it plutonic. She taught me how to drive a manual; she laughed and got aggravated as every good teacher does. I asked if I could drive out on the street and she laughed at me saying I would need more lessons before I was ready for the open road. She got smoothies with me in between classes. She teased me for tipping two bucks on a six dollar smoothie. She knew I hated spending money; it was one of the many things we had in common. We made plans to watch my favorite movies and to go see the symphony...she told me that she hoped this time we wouldn’t go our separate ways- she wanted me to stay in her life.

One day we played chess together. I figured I’d go easy on her and make her feel good, but I wasn’t expecting her to actually play well. She was strong right off the bat; she was aggressive but methodical. She planned out her moves and sometimes she actually caught me in her trap. Her favorite piece was the knight- just like me. But as the game started to drag on, she got impatient. She made thoughtless decisions and ultimately left herself defenseless. I was slow, patient, and watchful so when she left herself open, I was ready to win. She told me later it was after that chess game that she realized her feelings were more.

I believe her.   

Having her in my life made things easy. I smiled more, I laughed more, and I relaxed more. She was supportive, always encouraging me to pursue bigger things. She was going to graduate in a few months and then she was going to leave the country; that was always her plan. I was going to an internship just months before her graduation. I was going to leave the state first. It wouldn’t make sense to fall in love again, so we pretended that we didn’t for a while.

We were just friends.

But we couldn’t be just friends. The two of us could never be just friends. We crossed that line long ago and neither of us wanted to go back. After a few short months she told me she was being selfish. She didn’t want to leave her boyfriend; she was already heartbroken knowing they would break up when she left the country, but she didn’t want to let go of me either. She loved him. She loved me.

She told me her feelings for me were making things hard on her. She didn’t want me to like her, she talked down on herself. She didn’t want to hurt me again.

It was too late for that, I never stopped loving her. Things were hard on me. She already hurt me.

Eventually she told me she didn’t want to be with me.

It was like a cold knife through the chest but it melted away; finally I knew she didn’t want me the way I wanted her. I think I knew she was lying; I knew her better than that- but I want to believe this lie.

I thought maybe we could go back, maybe we could pretend we never had feelings for eachother. I didn’t want to lose her even as a friend. I was scared of what my life was without her. I didn’t want to be that low again.

She agreed half heartedly, “Whatever choice you make I will follow. I’m the one that’s hurting you,”

I didn’t like that. It was like she was doing everything she knew I hated to steer me away. She knew me better than she would have admitted to. She was leaving; what was the point of leaving someone she loved to be with me (someone who stirred her heart) only to break up in a few months when we go our separate ways?  She said the word love made her feel guilty; I kept asking her if she loved me anyway.

Still, I insisted to keep her in my life.

At first we fought. I blamed her; I made sure she knew it was her fault. I tried to tell her that we needed to change; they were words she feared the most. She was meek through the first argument, only agreeing with the blame, telling me that I was right and that she was wrong. She eventually got mad at me too, but she didn’t blame me- she didn’t call me a bad person. I yelled at her and called her names; I even made her cry...but I got past the anger.

This wasn’t healthy.

I was sad. I was upset. I wanted to hate her but I knew better.  I realized then how toxic we had become. Maybe in another time or another place we could have made it work. I know she was lying when she said she didn’t think we would be a good couple. She had called us soul mates once before. I couldn’t help but wonder where we would be if I had held onto her all those years ago, if I had just helped her through her heartbreak...would things be different?

I knew she was afraid and lost; but she wasn’t willing to find herself yet. She wasn’t willing to change. I wrote her a long message, telling her how I needed to get over her. I knew that I needed to move on from her. Her reply? “I think that’s for the best,”

I haven’t spoken to her since then; I haven’t bumped into her since then. I try not to look for her when I walk around campus, I try not to search when I hear her name.

My mom told me to write it all out, which is what I am doing. Writing a letter to no one to vent out my feelings. So now that I’ve written it all the only thing left is to burn these few sheets of paper. To let my love for her burn in  flame and smoke and to move on from her.

Maybe if I burn this paper, I won’t be waiting for the right time and place to meet her.

Maybe if I burn these pages, I won’t hope for things to be different.

Maybe if I burn our story, it won’t mean anything to me anymore.