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Let Go...

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Regrets? posted Jan 31st 2007, 7:30AM

Mood: Tired

Music: Rythmic Keyboard Clicking

Everybody has her own life story, her own book. Every stranger's passing glance, hardly a word in your own, has a story, a thought, a life behind it we probably will never understand. A whole life is just a word. Even those who are with you longer, who become friends instead of strangers, are never there from beginning to end (or rarely so). Some leave behind only a few chapters, but those pages will always be there within you.
He came with the beginning of freshman year. I was just to the point of becoming overly confident in my new-found powers to sway the opposite sex. It became the norm to me- not even a challenge anymore. This boy, however, this boy was different. He was probably as aware of my sexuality as ever other pubescent boy, but for once I didn't feel good enough- I didn't feel worth. Even in fall, his hair was the honeyed golden-brown of summer. His eyes were a blue I could drown in, and when he looked at me, I just wanted to know him- know the story that lay behind those beautiful eyes. Emotions played across them as evident as clouds trailing across the sky. He was confident and bold, and seemed to know exactly who he was. I envy him that. When he smiled, it was like he'd stolen a piece of the sun. It always lit up his face, and everyone around him. He was beautiful; he still is. He was the first boy in a long time that could really get me like that, and frankly, it scared me. I was falling, fast, and despite my efforts to catch myself, to stop, I couldn't make myself leave him. For once, I didn't feel "up to the challenge." What would someone like that want with a plain little brown-haired girl? The only thing half worth noticing about me was a discolouration in my left eye- far from remarkable. Somehow, though, I caught his attention. To this day I'm not sure whether or not I'm glad of this.
Even now, my favorite memories are the simple ones. I don't know why some stay in my mind so clearly, but I'm glad that I at least have them left. One clear, starry night, I hadn't seen him in about a week. As a junior at Rockhurst, he has been getting a lot of homework. That night, he finished in time to drive over to my house, where Aubree and I were just hanging out. Of course we were talking about him- and no one ever told me anything but good. He showed up at my door, so we grabbed my camera and left- just picked a direction and started walking. As we walked, he took pictures of everything- the sky, the cars, the buildings, and especially the signs we passed. We found a road (and no, it wasn't blocked off) that ran through a construction site. There was enough gap in a fence to allow us into a small, grassy courtyard; a more finished area. We all played and romped in the cool grass like we were little; laughing and running, falling, cart wheeling out of breath, eventually wrestling on the ground. Aubree laughed and watched as I tried desperately to get my hat back from that boy- not succeeding. Our faces were an inch apart, and we rolled over and over, his entire weight above me for a moment, and then the sky flipped over as the tables turned. It was innocent, it was play, and it's more dear to me than any shower of affection. All good things must come to an end, and sooner than we would have liked we had to start heading back,
While we were walking to my house, Aubree had to run ahead and get home sooner. An old lady had been following very, very closely behind us for several blocks. The boy's cell phone rang and we stopped walking so he could answer it. So did the woman, less than a few feet away. I moved even farther from the center of the sidewalk, in case she needed more room to get by. She just stood and stared at us.
Uncertain of what to do, with the boy still talking on the phone, I finally offer a "May I... help you?" She didn't respond, and the night felt less comforting than it had just moments ago- it now felt as though the blackness was creeping up on us. It all faded back to normal again as she snarled an undeniably human response; "Get out of my neighborhood."
"It's my neighborhood too," was the first thing that came to mind. I lived less then 2 blocks from where we were standing. The woman had no reply.
After a long staring contest, the woman finally growled out a reply. "Where do you live?" was her request. Now, I was not telling a stranger, as much of a loveable granny as she may look on the outside, where I lived. But if I didn't, she'd assume I was lying. I usually tell people 52nd Terrace, because that's actually what my street should be called, as opposed to Concord. If she was a local, however, she'd know that there was no 52nd Terrace.
"52nd and Main," I tell her, a block from the truth. She glares a few moments, and walks away. By this time, the phone call was over, and he'd even caught the last of the conversation. "Oh shiiit," he said, and on the rest of the way home he had his arm around me as we reflected on how random and creepy that encounter was. We walked slowly, laughing, just enjoying each other's company, speculating on why the woman wanted us gone. Maybe she assumed we were rowdy teens, up to no good; maybe she had a bad experience in the past with kids wandering through "her" neighborhood at night. Like I'd said, it was my neighborhood too, and I wasn't going to pack up and move because somebody was having a bad day.
That night, on the corner of my street, was the first time he kissed me- he kissed me goodbye. It was a slow, short kiss, but the world held its breath. That night I fell asleep with a smile on my face, not a worry or care about the way things might go for the two of us; just happy in the moment. I had no idea how much I would miss the times before that kiss.
The memories he left will last a lifetime, and I learned so much from him. The pages he gave me will always be a part of my story, the good times and the bad. Once upon a time, before the sexual tension started, back when we could laugh and not worry about impressing one another, were the best days we had together. He won't have anything to do with me, for whatever reason. Now, he only exists in my book through others' stories told to me. They're all stories him being completely and unnecessarily mean. I honestly don't know if it's him that changed or everybody else's opinion of him. It's senseless, pointless drama, and it's wasting paper. It ended abruptly, unlike its gradual beginning. Neither of us did anything "wrong," it was just over. There goes the "Happily Ever After."

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