(no subject)
Title: Stood Up
Date: 03/19/05
Summary: It happens to all of us. But why?
Genre: drama.. thoughts on paper.
Disclaimer: Mine. Based on a true story.
Dedication: To anyone who’s ever been dicked over.
Stood Up
Jeans and a hoodie. My favorite clothes.
Dinner. My favorite meal.
4:00. My favorite time of day.
You. My favorite person.
It was perfect. Everything sounded perfect. Keyword: sounded.
This is why I don’t let you make plans. Actually, not let. I allow you to do whatever you want. This is why I take charge with this kind of stuff. Because when I’m in charge, I know what’s going on. I know where we’ll be and at what time. I know what we’re going to do. I don’t ever have to worry. Or doubt. Or wonder. But this time, you wanted to make the plans. You wanted to be in charge. And, as always, I let you. Because I trust you.
And that’s my downfall.
My day’s halfway over by the time I get up. 2:30 in the afternoon. I just had a dream that I went on vacation, you showed up, and you told me you were gay. Looks like it’s going to be one hell of a day.
I drag myself out of bed and into the shower. Shave my legs, use extra shampoo and conditioner. I want to be squeaky clean tonight. Not that I need to look extravagant when I’m with you. You accept me for who I am. You don’t care what I’m wearing or how I look. I can dress comfortably with you. I know I don’t need to impress you. But I still like to look nice. So I throw on one of my favorite outfits. Comfortable. Simple. But yet, stylish. Not that much thought is put into my appearance, nor my hair. That’s why I simply pull it back. But… with a strategy in the back of my mind. If my hair’s pulled back until it’s almost dry, I can take the hair tie out and locks of curls will sit nicely on my shoulders. I’ll look pretty. I want to look pretty. I want you to think I look pretty. Maybe even say it. But I don’t want it to look planned.
I don’t want it to look like I went out of my way for tonight. We’re best friends and we’re going out to dinner. We’re people and we’re going out to dinner. We’re a guy and a girl. And we’re going out to dinner. Alone. And you’re possibly paying. Sure, looks kind of like a date. And I’m sure we’ll hold hands at one point. Maybe even hold each other. Because we’re like that. We do that. From the outside, it looks like we have an amazing relationship. And really, we do. But it’s not what it looks like. We’re friends. We’re only friends. We may look like a couple. We may act like a couple. We may do couple-ish things. But we’re friends. Or at least… that’s what I keep telling myself. No, this is not a date. This is two friends. Going out to dinner. And then most likely coming back to my place for some hardcore cuddling. Because… well. That’s us.
So it’s not a date. I don’t have to go out of my way to look nice. I don’t have to do anything special, really. But… I’m a girl. And I do, anyway. I dress comfortably, yet nice. I do my hair in a secret way. I don’t wear any makeup, but I make sure my complexion is as good as it’s going to get. I even clean my room. That’s a big step.
I do all of this in under an hour. And then I wait.
And wait.
And… well. I wait.
For you.
Because this is your night. You’re in charge. You made the plans. Therefore, you have to call me when you’re ready. You have to tell me that you’re ready and I can come pick you up now. I know you wish you could drive but… you can’t. So I do. I’ve got the car, I’ve got the license, I drive. Simple as that. That’s how it works. Until you get your license. And your car. And then you’ll be carting my ass around. But anyway, yeah. I’m waiting for your call. You’re in charge. So call.
Or I can call. Because I’m impatient. And nervous. And excited. I love when we hang out. I love being with you. I love how comfortable we are with each other. I love the moments we share. Everything’s perfect when it’s just the two of us. It really is. That’s why I’m looking forward to tonight so much. Because I know it’ll be enjoyable. I know we’ll have a great time. I know it’ll make me happy. And you as well.
Ok, you’re somewhere with loud music and laughing. And it’s 3:30. You can’t hear me, you’ll call me back. Ok. Back to waiting.
4:12. We’re supposed to be at the restaurant by now. Probably in the waiting area, but maybe not. Yeah…
4:34. Uhm… ok. Starting to feel kind of crappy.
5:04. It’s still early, right? Maybe we’re doing something later? Maybe plans got changed and we’re just going to hang here tonight. That’s all I really need. Simple is good. Simple is fine. I like simple.
5:23. And the tears start. It’s been almost two hours and you’ve yet to call back. I’m in bed, blanket up to my neck, knees up to my chest, and old mixed CD filling the otherwise silent room. When I listen to my older mixes, I’m upset. Because the mixes I used to make used to be depressing. They were made so that I could cry. And well… they still work. God, do they work.
Now of course, I could always call you again. But I don’t want to be annoying. And I don’t want to seem stalker-ish. Or obsessed. There’s a feeling in my chest. A tight feeling. And an even worse one in my gut. I’m worried. And afraid. Afraid that I’ve been forgotten. And worried that maybe I’m not forgotten, but maybe I’m purposely being blown off. Which then makes me curious: what did I do wrong?
This is really stupid. You made the plans. Therefore, you wanted to hang out. You wanted to be with me. So, as I hang up the phone with someone else, why are you with the other guys instead of me?
6:02. My eyes hurt. But they’re still full of tears. I don’t get it. I don’t understand. The CD’s been over for a while and I’m just… laying here. Thinking. You hate when I think. Because I think too much. About too much. I analyze everything. You know that. You know everything there is to know about me. Except one thing. And I was actually planning on telling you that tonight. Tonight was going to be a big night. For me, at least. But… it’s looking like this isn’t happening.
I should make other plans. But what if you call me and want to come over and I’m not home? What if I miss my chance?
I give in and make another call. Four rings and then your voicemail. I leave a simple message.
Hey bud, it’s me. I guess we’re not going to dinner anymore but uhm… let me know if we’re still doing something or if you’re just going to stay with the guys, ok? Call me back. Bye.
Defeated, I snuggle into my pillow for comfort. And get nothing.
For the first time all day, I feel something else in my stomach. Hunger. I haven’t eaten all day. And honestly, I don’t feel like eating at all. But… I have to. So I drag myself out of bed and make my way downstairs, clutching my cell phone. You might call. It’s still early.
I busy myself with a few games of pool with my brother. Then my dad. Then my dad’s friend. Then my mom. Almost an hour goes by and I haven’t heard from you at all. When our dinner gets here, I sneak out of the room and dial your number. You’ve only had your cell for about two weeks, but the second night you had it, I knew your number by heart. I’ve dialed it every day of these two weeks. Just like you’ve dialed mine every day of the past four months, almost. Except today. What’s so different about today?
I get your voicemail. And I leave a message in a tone that I don’t think I’ve ever used.
The least you could do is call me and tell me we’re not doing anything.
I go back to my food with a long face. Three days ago you told me that you’d never do this to me. That if you didn’t want to do something, you wouldn’t just dick me over. You’d call me and tell me because you know I went through almost ten months of that last year. You know what that does to me. You constantly tell me that I need to grow some balls. Well maybe you should, too, you fucking… god.
And now I’m angry. And am suffering from a loss of appetite. And am sick of my family. So upstairs I go again.
It’s dark now. I collapse in my bed and immediately start to cry again. It’s almost 7:30. I don’t understand this at all. It’s not like I’ve never been blown off before. But this time just… it’s hitting me hard. Really hard. I’m so sensitive with these kinds of things. And you know that! So what’s your deal!?
Another hour goes by and in that time I’ve managed to listen to both of our songs and then a bunch of other sad ones that only made me feel worse. I’ve been stood up.
I’m still dressed. My hair’s still nice. But my face is bright red. I’m so warm, I want to throw up. And my eyes are bloodshot beyond belief. I need to get out of the house. I can’t lay here any longer. I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of not understanding.
Phone calls are made. As are plans. And I’m out.
I’m in my own little world as I drive to the pool hall with the three other guys. I make it there in record time. And by myself. No one had to tell me one single direction. For the first time. Ever. I made it there by myself. This is a personal accomplishment. And what’s the first thing I think?
I have to call you and tell you. Because I know you’d be as proud of me as I am of myself.
It always comes back to you. Always. No matter what happens, I want you to know about it. Last week I got a good grade on a math test and brought it to lunch to show to you. Because when you’re proud of me, I feel good. When I feel like crap, I call you. Because I know that even if you can’t make me feel better, you’ll try. It’s always you. You’ve become my other half. I miss you when you’re not here. I’m dependant. I’ll admit that. I’m extremely dependant. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You mean the most to me out of everyone I know. And you’ve said the same to me. You told me I came first. That I was the most important.
But… if that’s the case, then… how’d you forget me? And if you didn’t forget me, then you purposely blew me off and if that’s the case… why’d you do it? You’ve claimed to enjoy my company so like… where’s this going?
I park and they get out to go smoke a blunt. I’m not in the mood, so I lock the doors as they walk away and glance at the phone. Last time I talked to someone, they said that you felt sick and went home. Which means you’re home. Which means that if I called, you’d have no choice but to talk to me. So I dial your house number, talk to your dad, and hear you tell him to tell me that you’re sleeping. So he does, in a very sarcastic way. I make my disappointment known and call your cell phone. I know you won’t answer. So I leave another voicemail.
You’re incredible. You really are.
Incredible in a negative way. My tone says that for me, though. I hang up, throw my phone in the spot where I put my CDs, and stare at the fast food restaurant across the parking lot. My eyes glaze over and I fight tears. The last thing I need is to be crying while in the car with three other guys, who, speaking of, are nearly at the car. I unlock the doors and they climb in. The smell of weed completely overpowers me, but I don’t say anything. The one to the side of me seems to read my mind, though, and takes out the spray I keep in the glove compartment for occasions such as these. The cigarette smoke from last night and the smell of pot from tonight is immediately dismissed when the overwhelming fragrance of sparkling pear is released into the air.
As I take the back roads back down to a friend’s house - all the while not being told where to go, again - the CD in my player is changed and the guys lose themselves in conversation while I simply keep my eyes on the road. My grip on the steering wheel is non-existent. My hands slide as we hit the ever familiar pot holes of our city. But the bumping doesn’t phase me. My eyes are glossy and my mouth is shut. I pull into a parking lot of a convenience store so they could get drinks and food for their case of munchies. The music’s playing, but I don’t hear it.
Until it plays a song that reminds me of you.
A week or two ago, we were in my room. And I had what I call my good mood cd in. And this song came on. It’s about falling in love. It’s about hanging by a moment with a person. You climbed onto the bed next to me. Lay with me, you said in the cutest voice I’ve ever heard you use. I laughed and accepted you into my arms. And we laid there through not only that song, but the following three. I played with your hair and kissed your head. And you held onto me as tight as you possibly could. And I loved every second of it.
The first one out breaks my stare and brings me a drink. He knows what I like. He knows how I’m feeling. He tells me we’ll talk about it later. And we do. Our group of four splits into two after I park around the block from our destination. On the way to the house, I spill what I can to him. And he understands immediately. He knows what it’s like to be best friends with someone and have it evolve to another level. You’re so close to someone and then suddenly one day, they’re not with you, and you find yourself missing them, he says. I couldn’t have said it better, myself. I love this kid. But even though he’s trying really hard to improve my mood, it really doesn’t help. It’s just making me think more.
We go inside and two out of the five other people in my presence seem to care that I’m obviously in a shitty mood. But that’s ok. Because I don’t care about those other three, either. They sit down and talk to me, tell me not to worry about it. And then they dance. And I can’t help but laugh. Half forced, half real. They’re trying, I know they are. I want them to feel somewhat satisfied. So I laugh again. But that’s enough for tonight.
I have to be home by 11. I’ve got a junior license and the car has to be in. So about an hour after being here, the two of us leave with the news that one of our peers was just life flighted to a hospital after being thrown off a car and suffering what’s sounding like severe head trauma. It’s not a good night. At all.
As we walk back to the car, he tries to make me feel better, again. But what he tells me only reminds me of you more. He tells me not to think about it. That the worst thing to do would be to think about it. He’s telling me not to think. That’s like… the main thing you say to me. All the time. And that kills me.
I take him to a friend’s house and then go home. Where I converse with my family for a little under two minutes and escape to my room.
It’s 11:12. And I haven’t heard from you. At all.
I lay down on my bed. Pull up the covers. Grab my phone. And dial 123. Voicemail. I listen to the two saved messages on there. And cry. I just want to talk to you. That’s all I want to do. With little hope left, I dial the seven digits in record time and listen to the four rings. And then the voicemail message.
… It’s me. I just uhm… I know you don’t feel good. And I know you’re sleeping… or something. But uhm… I really want to talk to you. So uhm… call me tomorrow, maybe. Or maybe if you wake up and see that you missed the call. Or something. I don’t know. Just… uhm… bye.
I know you’re avoiding me. And that breaks my heart into two.
I’m kneeling on my floor, my head on my bed, hot tears dripping to the floor. I’m scared to death of being on the floor when my lights are off but… I just… don’t care. I really don’t.
I feel foolish. I don’t like that this is affecting me the way it is. I wish I didn’t think so much. Everyone gets stood up once in a while. Everyone gets hurt.
But this is me. This is the way I handle things. You have four messages on your voicemail. This is not obsession, just so you know. This is determination.
I’m determined to talk to you. Because it needs to be done. Five minutes into the conversation and I know I’ll feel better. Because you have that power over me. You know what to say and when to say it. But maybe this time, it’ll take a little longer. Because I still don’t know what’s going on.
Did you forget me? Or did you purposely avoid me? Your friends are dicks, so maybe they made you feel like an idiot and you were too embarrassed to return my call. There’s so many different angles. And my mind is bursting with responses to all of them. If you forgot me, I’m going to be more than crushed. You know one of my biggest fears is being forgotten. How could you possibly forget about me? Why am I so easy to forget? And if I’m not forgotten, how come you blew me off? How come you couldn’t just call me and tell me that I should probably make other plans?
I’m confused. And hurt. And angry. And it’s like… it won’t matter tomorrow.
I know exactly how this is going to go down. We’ll work together tomorrow and it’ll be awkward and I’ll be miserable all day. I’ll get out at 8:30 and call you. And we’ll talk this out. And you’ll apologize and say you’ll make it up to me and that’ll be that. Why you couldn’t just answer your god damn phone in the first place and have this small conversation with me is beyond me, though.
I shouldn’t let you off this easy. But I’m going to.
Because I’m a girl. A girl who cares for you too much.
We’re all alike. No matter how many times you break our hearts, we’ll still come back for more. Because we love you.
And that’s our downfall.
Date: 03/19/05
Summary: It happens to all of us. But why?
Genre: drama.. thoughts on paper.
Disclaimer: Mine. Based on a true story.
Dedication: To anyone who’s ever been dicked over.
Stood Up
Jeans and a hoodie. My favorite clothes.
Dinner. My favorite meal.
4:00. My favorite time of day.
You. My favorite person.
It was perfect. Everything sounded perfect. Keyword: sounded.
This is why I don’t let you make plans. Actually, not let. I allow you to do whatever you want. This is why I take charge with this kind of stuff. Because when I’m in charge, I know what’s going on. I know where we’ll be and at what time. I know what we’re going to do. I don’t ever have to worry. Or doubt. Or wonder. But this time, you wanted to make the plans. You wanted to be in charge. And, as always, I let you. Because I trust you.
And that’s my downfall.
My day’s halfway over by the time I get up. 2:30 in the afternoon. I just had a dream that I went on vacation, you showed up, and you told me you were gay. Looks like it’s going to be one hell of a day.
I drag myself out of bed and into the shower. Shave my legs, use extra shampoo and conditioner. I want to be squeaky clean tonight. Not that I need to look extravagant when I’m with you. You accept me for who I am. You don’t care what I’m wearing or how I look. I can dress comfortably with you. I know I don’t need to impress you. But I still like to look nice. So I throw on one of my favorite outfits. Comfortable. Simple. But yet, stylish. Not that much thought is put into my appearance, nor my hair. That’s why I simply pull it back. But… with a strategy in the back of my mind. If my hair’s pulled back until it’s almost dry, I can take the hair tie out and locks of curls will sit nicely on my shoulders. I’ll look pretty. I want to look pretty. I want you to think I look pretty. Maybe even say it. But I don’t want it to look planned.
I don’t want it to look like I went out of my way for tonight. We’re best friends and we’re going out to dinner. We’re people and we’re going out to dinner. We’re a guy and a girl. And we’re going out to dinner. Alone. And you’re possibly paying. Sure, looks kind of like a date. And I’m sure we’ll hold hands at one point. Maybe even hold each other. Because we’re like that. We do that. From the outside, it looks like we have an amazing relationship. And really, we do. But it’s not what it looks like. We’re friends. We’re only friends. We may look like a couple. We may act like a couple. We may do couple-ish things. But we’re friends. Or at least… that’s what I keep telling myself. No, this is not a date. This is two friends. Going out to dinner. And then most likely coming back to my place for some hardcore cuddling. Because… well. That’s us.
So it’s not a date. I don’t have to go out of my way to look nice. I don’t have to do anything special, really. But… I’m a girl. And I do, anyway. I dress comfortably, yet nice. I do my hair in a secret way. I don’t wear any makeup, but I make sure my complexion is as good as it’s going to get. I even clean my room. That’s a big step.
I do all of this in under an hour. And then I wait.
And wait.
And… well. I wait.
For you.
Because this is your night. You’re in charge. You made the plans. Therefore, you have to call me when you’re ready. You have to tell me that you’re ready and I can come pick you up now. I know you wish you could drive but… you can’t. So I do. I’ve got the car, I’ve got the license, I drive. Simple as that. That’s how it works. Until you get your license. And your car. And then you’ll be carting my ass around. But anyway, yeah. I’m waiting for your call. You’re in charge. So call.
Or I can call. Because I’m impatient. And nervous. And excited. I love when we hang out. I love being with you. I love how comfortable we are with each other. I love the moments we share. Everything’s perfect when it’s just the two of us. It really is. That’s why I’m looking forward to tonight so much. Because I know it’ll be enjoyable. I know we’ll have a great time. I know it’ll make me happy. And you as well.
Ok, you’re somewhere with loud music and laughing. And it’s 3:30. You can’t hear me, you’ll call me back. Ok. Back to waiting.
4:12. We’re supposed to be at the restaurant by now. Probably in the waiting area, but maybe not. Yeah…
4:34. Uhm… ok. Starting to feel kind of crappy.
5:04. It’s still early, right? Maybe we’re doing something later? Maybe plans got changed and we’re just going to hang here tonight. That’s all I really need. Simple is good. Simple is fine. I like simple.
5:23. And the tears start. It’s been almost two hours and you’ve yet to call back. I’m in bed, blanket up to my neck, knees up to my chest, and old mixed CD filling the otherwise silent room. When I listen to my older mixes, I’m upset. Because the mixes I used to make used to be depressing. They were made so that I could cry. And well… they still work. God, do they work.
Now of course, I could always call you again. But I don’t want to be annoying. And I don’t want to seem stalker-ish. Or obsessed. There’s a feeling in my chest. A tight feeling. And an even worse one in my gut. I’m worried. And afraid. Afraid that I’ve been forgotten. And worried that maybe I’m not forgotten, but maybe I’m purposely being blown off. Which then makes me curious: what did I do wrong?
This is really stupid. You made the plans. Therefore, you wanted to hang out. You wanted to be with me. So, as I hang up the phone with someone else, why are you with the other guys instead of me?
6:02. My eyes hurt. But they’re still full of tears. I don’t get it. I don’t understand. The CD’s been over for a while and I’m just… laying here. Thinking. You hate when I think. Because I think too much. About too much. I analyze everything. You know that. You know everything there is to know about me. Except one thing. And I was actually planning on telling you that tonight. Tonight was going to be a big night. For me, at least. But… it’s looking like this isn’t happening.
I should make other plans. But what if you call me and want to come over and I’m not home? What if I miss my chance?
I give in and make another call. Four rings and then your voicemail. I leave a simple message.
Hey bud, it’s me. I guess we’re not going to dinner anymore but uhm… let me know if we’re still doing something or if you’re just going to stay with the guys, ok? Call me back. Bye.
Defeated, I snuggle into my pillow for comfort. And get nothing.
For the first time all day, I feel something else in my stomach. Hunger. I haven’t eaten all day. And honestly, I don’t feel like eating at all. But… I have to. So I drag myself out of bed and make my way downstairs, clutching my cell phone. You might call. It’s still early.
I busy myself with a few games of pool with my brother. Then my dad. Then my dad’s friend. Then my mom. Almost an hour goes by and I haven’t heard from you at all. When our dinner gets here, I sneak out of the room and dial your number. You’ve only had your cell for about two weeks, but the second night you had it, I knew your number by heart. I’ve dialed it every day of these two weeks. Just like you’ve dialed mine every day of the past four months, almost. Except today. What’s so different about today?
I get your voicemail. And I leave a message in a tone that I don’t think I’ve ever used.
The least you could do is call me and tell me we’re not doing anything.
I go back to my food with a long face. Three days ago you told me that you’d never do this to me. That if you didn’t want to do something, you wouldn’t just dick me over. You’d call me and tell me because you know I went through almost ten months of that last year. You know what that does to me. You constantly tell me that I need to grow some balls. Well maybe you should, too, you fucking… god.
And now I’m angry. And am suffering from a loss of appetite. And am sick of my family. So upstairs I go again.
It’s dark now. I collapse in my bed and immediately start to cry again. It’s almost 7:30. I don’t understand this at all. It’s not like I’ve never been blown off before. But this time just… it’s hitting me hard. Really hard. I’m so sensitive with these kinds of things. And you know that! So what’s your deal!?
Another hour goes by and in that time I’ve managed to listen to both of our songs and then a bunch of other sad ones that only made me feel worse. I’ve been stood up.
I’m still dressed. My hair’s still nice. But my face is bright red. I’m so warm, I want to throw up. And my eyes are bloodshot beyond belief. I need to get out of the house. I can’t lay here any longer. I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of not understanding.
Phone calls are made. As are plans. And I’m out.
I’m in my own little world as I drive to the pool hall with the three other guys. I make it there in record time. And by myself. No one had to tell me one single direction. For the first time. Ever. I made it there by myself. This is a personal accomplishment. And what’s the first thing I think?
I have to call you and tell you. Because I know you’d be as proud of me as I am of myself.
It always comes back to you. Always. No matter what happens, I want you to know about it. Last week I got a good grade on a math test and brought it to lunch to show to you. Because when you’re proud of me, I feel good. When I feel like crap, I call you. Because I know that even if you can’t make me feel better, you’ll try. It’s always you. You’ve become my other half. I miss you when you’re not here. I’m dependant. I’ll admit that. I’m extremely dependant. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You mean the most to me out of everyone I know. And you’ve said the same to me. You told me I came first. That I was the most important.
But… if that’s the case, then… how’d you forget me? And if you didn’t forget me, then you purposely blew me off and if that’s the case… why’d you do it? You’ve claimed to enjoy my company so like… where’s this going?
I park and they get out to go smoke a blunt. I’m not in the mood, so I lock the doors as they walk away and glance at the phone. Last time I talked to someone, they said that you felt sick and went home. Which means you’re home. Which means that if I called, you’d have no choice but to talk to me. So I dial your house number, talk to your dad, and hear you tell him to tell me that you’re sleeping. So he does, in a very sarcastic way. I make my disappointment known and call your cell phone. I know you won’t answer. So I leave another voicemail.
You’re incredible. You really are.
Incredible in a negative way. My tone says that for me, though. I hang up, throw my phone in the spot where I put my CDs, and stare at the fast food restaurant across the parking lot. My eyes glaze over and I fight tears. The last thing I need is to be crying while in the car with three other guys, who, speaking of, are nearly at the car. I unlock the doors and they climb in. The smell of weed completely overpowers me, but I don’t say anything. The one to the side of me seems to read my mind, though, and takes out the spray I keep in the glove compartment for occasions such as these. The cigarette smoke from last night and the smell of pot from tonight is immediately dismissed when the overwhelming fragrance of sparkling pear is released into the air.
As I take the back roads back down to a friend’s house - all the while not being told where to go, again - the CD in my player is changed and the guys lose themselves in conversation while I simply keep my eyes on the road. My grip on the steering wheel is non-existent. My hands slide as we hit the ever familiar pot holes of our city. But the bumping doesn’t phase me. My eyes are glossy and my mouth is shut. I pull into a parking lot of a convenience store so they could get drinks and food for their case of munchies. The music’s playing, but I don’t hear it.
Until it plays a song that reminds me of you.
A week or two ago, we were in my room. And I had what I call my good mood cd in. And this song came on. It’s about falling in love. It’s about hanging by a moment with a person. You climbed onto the bed next to me. Lay with me, you said in the cutest voice I’ve ever heard you use. I laughed and accepted you into my arms. And we laid there through not only that song, but the following three. I played with your hair and kissed your head. And you held onto me as tight as you possibly could. And I loved every second of it.
The first one out breaks my stare and brings me a drink. He knows what I like. He knows how I’m feeling. He tells me we’ll talk about it later. And we do. Our group of four splits into two after I park around the block from our destination. On the way to the house, I spill what I can to him. And he understands immediately. He knows what it’s like to be best friends with someone and have it evolve to another level. You’re so close to someone and then suddenly one day, they’re not with you, and you find yourself missing them, he says. I couldn’t have said it better, myself. I love this kid. But even though he’s trying really hard to improve my mood, it really doesn’t help. It’s just making me think more.
We go inside and two out of the five other people in my presence seem to care that I’m obviously in a shitty mood. But that’s ok. Because I don’t care about those other three, either. They sit down and talk to me, tell me not to worry about it. And then they dance. And I can’t help but laugh. Half forced, half real. They’re trying, I know they are. I want them to feel somewhat satisfied. So I laugh again. But that’s enough for tonight.
I have to be home by 11. I’ve got a junior license and the car has to be in. So about an hour after being here, the two of us leave with the news that one of our peers was just life flighted to a hospital after being thrown off a car and suffering what’s sounding like severe head trauma. It’s not a good night. At all.
As we walk back to the car, he tries to make me feel better, again. But what he tells me only reminds me of you more. He tells me not to think about it. That the worst thing to do would be to think about it. He’s telling me not to think. That’s like… the main thing you say to me. All the time. And that kills me.
I take him to a friend’s house and then go home. Where I converse with my family for a little under two minutes and escape to my room.
It’s 11:12. And I haven’t heard from you. At all.
I lay down on my bed. Pull up the covers. Grab my phone. And dial 123. Voicemail. I listen to the two saved messages on there. And cry. I just want to talk to you. That’s all I want to do. With little hope left, I dial the seven digits in record time and listen to the four rings. And then the voicemail message.
… It’s me. I just uhm… I know you don’t feel good. And I know you’re sleeping… or something. But uhm… I really want to talk to you. So uhm… call me tomorrow, maybe. Or maybe if you wake up and see that you missed the call. Or something. I don’t know. Just… uhm… bye.
I know you’re avoiding me. And that breaks my heart into two.
I’m kneeling on my floor, my head on my bed, hot tears dripping to the floor. I’m scared to death of being on the floor when my lights are off but… I just… don’t care. I really don’t.
I feel foolish. I don’t like that this is affecting me the way it is. I wish I didn’t think so much. Everyone gets stood up once in a while. Everyone gets hurt.
But this is me. This is the way I handle things. You have four messages on your voicemail. This is not obsession, just so you know. This is determination.
I’m determined to talk to you. Because it needs to be done. Five minutes into the conversation and I know I’ll feel better. Because you have that power over me. You know what to say and when to say it. But maybe this time, it’ll take a little longer. Because I still don’t know what’s going on.
Did you forget me? Or did you purposely avoid me? Your friends are dicks, so maybe they made you feel like an idiot and you were too embarrassed to return my call. There’s so many different angles. And my mind is bursting with responses to all of them. If you forgot me, I’m going to be more than crushed. You know one of my biggest fears is being forgotten. How could you possibly forget about me? Why am I so easy to forget? And if I’m not forgotten, how come you blew me off? How come you couldn’t just call me and tell me that I should probably make other plans?
I’m confused. And hurt. And angry. And it’s like… it won’t matter tomorrow.
I know exactly how this is going to go down. We’ll work together tomorrow and it’ll be awkward and I’ll be miserable all day. I’ll get out at 8:30 and call you. And we’ll talk this out. And you’ll apologize and say you’ll make it up to me and that’ll be that. Why you couldn’t just answer your god damn phone in the first place and have this small conversation with me is beyond me, though.
I shouldn’t let you off this easy. But I’m going to.
Because I’m a girl. A girl who cares for you too much.
We’re all alike. No matter how many times you break our hearts, we’ll still come back for more. Because we love you.
And that’s our downfall.