2011. December. Winter had just begun to set in. Slowly but surely the iciness was starting to creep into the wind. But the chill in my heart had already settled in way before the weather. I walked home from college, despite the cold, hoping to calm my mind. The slow pace I was taking along the Carter Road boardwalk, breathing in the air would, I assumed, help clear my head. At 16, I was battling the very problem that every girl my age encounters - boyfriend drama. Except it was a lot more complicated than just wondering whether he thought I was pretty enough for him or not.
Mum broke the news to me that morning. I was packing my bag getting ready for college, when she excitedly came up to me and handed me an envelope. I looked at her quizzically wondering why she was grinning so widely. Upon opening the envelope only did I realize.I felt a flutter of excitement for a second as I read how the US Government had decided to grant us permanent residency. But almost immediately my heart sank as an epiphany dawned and all but one thing evaporated from my brain.
What about us?
A LIST OF THINGS MY BEST FRIEND AND I GET ALONG ON:
Coca-cola
John Mayer
The Beatles
Castle
Chinese
Mc.Donalds
Pizza
Playing the fool
Falling in Love
Falling out of Love
Harry Potter
Books
Blogs
Tumblr
High Heels
Sweat Pants
Singing
FanFiction
Ian Somerhalder
Youtube
Coldplay
Imagine Dragons
It's a Wednesday afternoon, in March 2013, when I get the news. Bored out of my mind from studying for the paper of a subject I don’t really like, I jump at the first ring of my phone hoping it is some kind of distraction. The distraction comes in the form of a suicide. One of my classmates, a childhood friend, has hung herself. My mind races, as everything within me suddenly goes numb. Distinctively I can hear my mother come in and ask me what the matter is. When I don’t respond, but instead fall to my knees, she panics and calls my father. I can feel hands around me, shaking me. As I clutch my stomach I look up at her and open my mouth to tell her what the problem is. All I can manage however, is a blood curdling scream.
THINGS PEOPLE HAVE SAID TO ME THAT I CAN NEVER FORGET:
Hi.
SHUT UP.
I don’t love you.
You have such pretty eyes.
What a beautiful voice!
You probably didn’t know, but I had a huge crush on you back then. Still do.
I hate you.
You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and you’re mine.
WHY ARE YOU SO LOUD?!!
You’re very hyperactive.
You’re short.
I miss you
You’re too much drama
You’re just not good enough.
Always
I love you. Always have. Always will.
2026. I sit on the steps of the church. We do not have spring in India, but it is an equally beautiful day. The sun has chosen to shine through bits and pieces of the clouds passing by instead of coming out in full swing. There are children in the courtyard playing a game called Catch and Go Cook, not cook in the literal sense, of course. At 6 years old, my little girl is just as lively as I was at her age. She’s got Will’s smile, but her eyes, hazel melting into chocolate brown, are wide and mischievous- a trait I was fondly known for all my life. I can hear her screams and the giggles that carry back to me as I sit in quiet thought. Thoughts of how a 6 year old me would play in that very courtyard. Of hanging around with a group of close friends after choir rehearsal or Sunday mass. Of secret hideouts and competitions in the adjoining school auditorium. Of romantic little rendezvous’ on those very steps or in the classrooms. Of jumping about in the hallways or learning about God in Sunday School.
Dreams...
Memories...
Hopes...
Desires...
Sitting in the church pews and looking for strength when all seemed lost. It has been 12 years since I last came home. I expected difference and change. Instead everything seems just the way it was when I left. The memories come- straight and fast- as I move to sit on that corner pew, the one I almost always associated with his presence. It amazes me that a part of my mind remembers him still. The way he walked, the square of his shoulders, the tangled mess in the front that was his hair. His eyes. The love, the laughter, the hurt, the passion, the anger, the indifference in them. And that guitar on his back. So used to him I was, that despite the distance, all these years, I have every inch, every feature of his face commited to memory.
Suddenly I’m 15 again with not a care in the world. All that matters is that boy. That boy and the emotions he could awaken within me.
