The streetlights changed colors as I became the one waiting this time. Red. Green. Yellow. Red again. Green again. Sigh. I hated looking at the lights, and I also hated to be the one waiting. It
felt wrong. Not only was he not there waiting for me, but I had to stare at the colors change in the way I hate. Red, green, yellow. I don’t like that order. I showed up as soon as it started at
Red. If I could change the universe the way I wanted, I would have wanted to show up when it was green, then red, then yellow. It’s an odd combination, but I like my colors that way. Instead, I was
looking at the usual streetlight order, sitting on the log, tapping my foot. I stared at the clock on my cell phone, jittery as all get out. Despite this, there was still a calm feeling brought on
by the familiar settings, giving way to automatic thoughts of memories. We sat here everyday our senior year. I was always late, he always worried. But now that the tables have turned, I guess I
understand why he was so worried. Still, I find it to be so annoying, being worried. He was always worried, always asking if something was wrong, and then so happy when I told everything was fine.
His emotions always changed so quickly, it must give him whiplash. Lucky for me, I didn’t do that. I stayed constant, either happy, sad, or bored. But there were no in-betweens. Except when
It might just be because his haywireness rubbed off on me. Or it could be I just spent too much time with him. I bet it’s both. The memories, and all the things I learned about him, are just affecting me too much. There was that time on St. Patty’s day where he gave me that stupid green cell phone charm, and I threw it because he knew I hated Honeydew. I had just told him the other day it was the one food I despise due to it’s sweetness. Yet still, he just bought and gave it to me with this big toothy grin. I figured throwing it would show my distain, but in a funny way. Instead, he just got upset, all of a sudden, turning his back on me and saying silly things like “I got it just for you!” and “Not everything I do is just to bother you!” What a kid. A crazy kid. If only he hadn’t had been so odd. Then maybe I wouldn’t have looked for that stupid green charm in the vast field of lush grass that was the same exact color. And maybe it wouldn’t still be on my cell phone.
He’s still not here, and I needed to go home and shower. From where I was sitting on our usual log, I could see the playground was clearing out from beyond the field I resided in. Little girls and boys were holding hands as they searched for their mommies, chatting away in a loud tone. The girl’s hair was as long as mine was, but not as thick. I remember the first time he told me he liked a woman’s hair short, laughing at how my bangs went to my chin and “It’s like your head is an octopus!”. I pushed him down the small hill for that. “I am officially keeping my hair like this so long as I am associated with you.” I calmly told him, and went home.
How on earth did we become friends, let alone a couple?
A strong wind passed, and almost knocked my journal off of my lap. That journal was also due to him. Then again, everything in that field had to do with him. Under the tree where he told me he liked me. A journal to chronicle all my “adventures” that he gave me, and one at home he writes in. the patch of bare land on my right where we ate lunch during high school. And the log I’m sitting on, where we talked about everything, where he told me that I don’t express much but “When you get angry about the silly things I do, it makes me happy.” and I for some reason agreed to go out with him. It all had to do with him, and I remembered every single detail from the place it occurred to what he and I were wearing. I’m apparently very good at chronicling these adventures of ours. But at 21, working part time and going to school, I barely had time to see him, let alone write in a journal. Much of that time spent was sleeping instead of chronicling, but because of that I remember all the little things I didn’t write down. Like when our first kiss was. The days his hair looked exceptional. Or the moments he was staring at me.
Why do I remember so much? How is it that all the important moments were with him? I told him before, I have no understanding what this love thing is. And I didn’t have much interest on investigating it either. Yet still, it was “But you’re still saying yes, right? We can go on romantic walks, and I can serenade you at night, and. . .” On and on he went, completely forgetting I said that hormonal imbalances don’t work for me. How he managed to ignore my pessimism I’ll never know, but I said yes didn’t I?
I’m starting to get the sense that he’s changed me a little bit. Maybe it was all the love letters, maybe it was all the hugging. Maybe it was the spaghetti western’s he forced me to watch that did it. But what’s the big deal about changing anyway? It’s not like other things haven’t changed me also. I’ve gotten into wearing scarves. And I learned to use cover-up to hide some acne scars. But I think that’s different from what he’s done.
Much like when the rain pours down on this field, he came and took my eyes and washed the cover that dulled the world. I’m giving him too much credit again though. I must have changed him too somehow. Right?
It’s been an hour. I’ve waited an hour. I’ve never done that before in my entire life! Oh geez. No no, oh no. Why did I wait an hour? How is it possible that I didn’t notice and did notice at the same time? The sun was setting, I was worrying and looking back and forth for his figure to show up in the horizon. Yet I was also thinking of him. How is it possible? How can he enter my thoughts so much in such a little time? It’s illogical. All of it is illogical. The wind passed again, and I saw the clouds pass over the sun, as I knew it was time for me to give up waiting. I still stayed, another hour, just writing away in my journal, all the things unspoken and un-chronicled. By the time it was seven, I had managed five pages of absolute nonsense involving what we had for lunch some random day, the miles between our apartments, and what movies we watched on the weekends. Dribble, complete dribble, but I liked my words none the less. It seemed to get the right description of him always. The one thing I can say confidently is that I can portray him in the way he truly is. The happiness he had and open heart that took in emotions without abandon, I can show that in my journal. But is that the only place I should admit it in?
Maybe I should tell him that’s how I feel. I don’t think I’ve ever told him that I think these things. I’ve never told him I remember all these little details that might not be so irrelevant to him. Maybe he would like to know that I think of him from time to time. And just maybe, only maybe, I might know why I said yes all those years ago. Even if I didn’t know it at the time, I guess now I realized there was some sort of attraction at the beginning that he started but I reinforced. This weird awkward guy might have charmed me in his own goofy way. Go figure, I would be one to be charmed. Especially by him, a silly mess that makes me smile in a way I’m starting to understand. I’ve cherished all these memories for a reason I never understood before, but now am starting to get. I don’t just think he’s stupid and confusing and odd and illogical and happy. I think he’s great and exciting and bright and weird. I think. . .
Hey. I love him
I love him.
I really love him.
Wow. I never knew. My heart is racing at this, my world is brightening even if it’s getting dark. If he’s not coming, I’ll just call. If he doesn’t answer, I’ll go to him, because he’s the one who told me it’s ok to depend on him, I’m finally going to depend on him by going to find him. I think I’ve realized I actually do need him. And for some reason, it feels nice, because he’s told me for so long that he needs me, I can finally say it to him now. Wow, this feels amazing. Like a new day is coming, where we can finally tell each other we love each other with open eyes. I’m happy, so very happy, and I don’t want this feeling to stop. I may not remember when this started, and I don’t know how it grew without me realizing it, but all I do know is that I love him. And I don’t want to let this go. I’m going to find him beyond this field of memories, to tell him something I’ve never said before but have heard from him a million times. I’m going to watch his smile grow and his eyes gleam, and it’ll fill my heart even more than it already is.
I dashed from the log, going for my car. I had to see him. Before I calmed down, I needed to tell him how I felt. Because he needed to know I realized I always felt the same way as he did. It started raining right before I got to my car, but I didn’t car. I was in love, and even wet, it couldn’t stop the overflowing feelings in my heart. I thought nothing could.
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