seattle

Us

Didn’t think it’d be any good, but I’m actually really happy with the way this turned out.

It used to be that we would all sit around in a lopsided circle around your room - Sarah spread out on the shag carpet, Anna perched on the window seat, Brandon in the swiveling desk chair, Jack with his arm around Sarah on the floor, and me and you, cross-legged beside each other on the bed. Never anything sexual, just two friends sitting beside each other on a bed, knees barely touching and hands crusted with sweat.

We all liked to pretend we were mature grown-ups, but at fifteen we were anything but. Sarah would sneak in a pack of cigarettes in her bag, and as soon as your parents left one of us would dart to the kitchen and get the matches; we’d open all the windows and close the door and all crowd around the window, trying as hard as we could not to cough our lungs, our brains, our hearts out because then we wouldn’t be cool any more. Then we’d hear a noise from somewhere else in the house and we’d all freeze, pulses thumping loud and steady as we hoped that your parents hadn’t come home. And they hadn’t; it was the sound of the washing machine in the basement, and we were all tense and jumpy enough to freak out about it.

Do you remember all those times?

Do you remember how one time, after we had smoked and disposed of the evidence, after we’d found your parents’ alcohol and downed a few choking cans of beer and shots of vodka, after we had prank-called every phone number we could think of, after we had played a few rounds of truth or dare and Brandon licked Jack’s face and I made out with Anna and Sarah flashed us and you just sat back and watched us all make sexual fools of ourselves, it was just me and you left?

Just me and you, sitting on the bed, knees barely touching and my heart thumping so loud as I waited for you to say something. Anything. I wasn’t even sure why I was still there - after everyone had left it had seemed natural to stay, but it didn’t feel natural anymore and there was this awkward silence enveloping us, crawling in through my ears and mouth and nose and choking me until I could no longer stand it.

I remember, I cleared my throat and the sound seemed so loud in the silence.

“I guess I’ll go,” I told you, and it was then that you looked at me. Stared straight through me with your wide brown eyes, and you told me not to go. Your hand inched towards mine until our fingers were barely touching, and then you took my hand in your sweaty palm. There were no clichés, no sparks or fireworks or electricity when my skin brushed against yours. It was just this huge surge of want flowing up my throat that I tried so hard to control between twitching fingers and a dry, salty mouth.

In a voice so shaky it didn’t even sound like yours, you told me you liked me.

I remember, I didn’t know what to say to that.

Your face fell and I liked you and you didn’t know it, so I kissed your cheek instead. My heart pounding wildly in my chest, I leaned over and I kissed the freckle next to your ear. And then you turned your head, and I got your lips instead.

It was nice, and you tasted like cigarettes.

I don’t know if you remember any of this because it was all back before you changed. Before you started hiding behind bodies of new girls and new boys. Before you started wearing flannel shirts and skinny jeans and 3-D glasses with the lenses popped out to impress people, even though it didn’t impress anyone. Before you started speaking in poetry and ignoring those of us who thought in prose. Before you were no longer you.

I miss the days where you were you and I miss the days where I was me.

I miss the days where we were us.

December 1, 2009

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