A Fictionalized Story.
Golden hour was the indication that everything was fine despite the inevitable drama that came in and out of my life. I was running out of old journals to reread and messages that ended with the dreaded read receipts. I pined after the past as if it were that one boy with the name I couldn’t pronounce in middle school that moved back to Bolivia. There was no way to go back and redo the moments I could’ve made so much better being the person I have become. I convinced myself I’ve lived my life out of chronological order. I was meant to live through some moments that already happened with the brain I have now. My mom’s repeated phrase, “everything happens for a reason” rung in my ears as I turned my music up a bit louder.
I walked down the halls sweeping bangs out of my eyes. I always wore sound cancelling headphones in between classes. It communicated to my peers that I had no interest in small talk about the Kardashians and also to set a realistic exception for myself that nobody would ever try to talk to me for any reason other than necessity. Opening my sketchbook, I realized I wouldn’t have enough pages to last me through the day and would have to experiment with drawing over old notes again. Page after page was filled with portraits of boys with luscious hair and body modifications. They occasionally brought me back to the memory of my art teacher strangely watching over my shoulder in class, questioning my taste in boys. The authority figures that typically hit me with judgmental comments were either hitting on girls with sterling grades and creepy stares or braless transparent-shirt blondies having affairs with other teachers. It was entertaining enough to get me through the hours of catching up for credits that didn’t transfer from the last five schools I attended.
I dreamt about a rose gold sky, listening to ethereal songs thinking about a boy named Max that I knew would ultimately break my heart. The simplicity of a ride to the local Starbucks to get a late night dark roast was enough to keep me going through my adolescence. I had no obligations to money, responsibilities, relationships, or identity. I could be anything I wanted to be. I knew one day, I would live the dream life in New York City, but inevitably face bills at my doorstep and a job that would keep me on my toes. The only person I had a responsibility to today was my younger sister waiting at home after school to grab our regular canned cold brew at the local Target. We had this thing about capturing the last hour of sun in the parking lot.
In the middle of that thought on my way to my next class, I shared a passing moment with that one boy. The mysterious boy that occasionally spared an evening with me at the lake away from his girlfriend to show me the view. I held his gaze, and it shattered me feeling the “could’ve been”. He looked at me without the slightest bit of distress and caught me in a moment of vulnerability. I don’t miss them – our drives together – it just brings me comfort knowing that it happened. Being held by the unknown; a forbidden unknown entity. There was always danger around the corner when I was with him. I remember hearing whispered commands under his breath and capturing glances of his hungry eyes.
Adjusting my headphones, I looked up and smiled at him only he didn’t smile back. The other boy – the one that lived on the corner of my block with that beautiful flower garden and stone porch that reflected the sun in the morning. I remember the dewy air of the sunset walks with him before we both grew out of our friendship. His hair grew long enough to curl around his soft neck, sweatshirts a bit oversized and pants a bit too fitted. He always showed up at my doorstep asking Mom if I was around for a walk, and interrupted my afternoon naps for video games downstairs in my Parents’ room. We talked about laughable moments at school and made fun of everyone that didn’t appreciate the outcasts. I couldn’t keep track of how many years we went to parties and played games together, only for me to shove you away when the other boy drove his car in my driveway. I should’ve known at that time he was something important to me and years later I would be seeking out his online profile to message him, only to run into another dead end wondering what would’ve happened if I went on that last walk with him. He texted me that evening, telling me he had something to tell me. All this time, I always knew what he was going to say, I was just too afraid to face him.
I turned up my music walking past the glass walls of the office and into the next building. I repeated that one song that always brought me back to my old house in Austin, waking up to the sight of birds in my window. I heard his voice over the song transition, glancing over and noticing him leaning against the wall. I remembered all the simple talks with him and late night talks in bed. He was hung up on that other girl with the fake lashes and singing career, so we could never really go further than a talk over coffee at the bookstore downtown. I sent him that voice message in Mom’s car, trying to hide my tears and denying the support and advice of my older sister right before she left home to study in Boston. Then that girl turned him down and he turned back to me, but I had already moved on. He had his band and everyone else; groupies and girlfriends with stars in their eyes as he flaunted his talent and vanity. He never spoke to me at school, and later I would lie in bed waiting for his 2 AM phone calls where he would admit nobody could watch him play at his shows the way I did.
That night after school, sipping my coffee and sitting in the car with my sister, she told me that relationships are like elastic bands. Sometimes you are close, and other times you either break apart or just simply don’t need each other. She began a story about one of her many heartbreaks, reminding me to view these people as if they were moments we can appreciate even if something happened to split us apart. You don’t have to view them as the status of your relationship, but as a character-shaping period of your life that was meant to happen to make you who you are. We can still look back on those beautiful moments and treasure them, even if the only thing we share in the present is a glance in the hallway and quiet moment grieving the moments we once shared.