A Place to Write

Stopped at a red light on a rainy Tuesday.

My mind wanders back to his bed.

The first time I gave in and begged him to let me… and then stretching to bring him in.

My hand immediately goes to my forehead, as if I could massage the memory away like a headache.

But I can’t. The memories never go away.

And then I remember the chilly woosh of air that raised the hairs on the back of my neck as he rushed to the door behind me at school, without even a glance in my direction.

I clench my teeth in anger. Rage. Hatred. I want to scream at him. I want to pound my hands on his chest. To feel the electricity of my hand slapping that smug face. That same face that begged me never to regret him. That promised things would never get awkward. That kissed my shoulder as he held me throughout those nights, hand in hand until our feet hit the cold morning floor.

I want to tell him this:

You made me promise not to ever regret what we did together. You never wanted to be another mistake. Another one to add to the pile of all the others you begged me to tell you about. And I did. I promised. Reluctantly. And I told you why I was reluctant. I told you how the story always went. I meet boy. I make friends with boy. I make boy laugh until he wants me. I take boy into my bed. I push boy out of my bed because the one I’ve always been with always wins. Boy and I never speak again. And I lose that friend forever. I told you all the times I should’ve learned from my mistakes.

But I have to say. I will never ever make that mistake again. Thanks to you.

And you said

But I don’t want to be another mistake. We will always be friends.

And somewhere inside I knew better. But I forgot to shut the door all the way, and little wisps of all that smoke you were blowing managed to get inside.

And guess what happened, Mr. Z. Guess what happened when the time came for the sleepovers to stop. You started avoiding me. Made up lies and excuses. We stopped talking. Then stopped making eye contact. And now. Nothing. Again. Another mistake. But bigger than ever, because you convinced me to let the walls down, you convinced me to let you in.

And now I’ve never regretted meeting a person more in my life than I regret even speaking in your direction. I regret everything about any shred of contact I ever had with you. And I will never ever stop being ashamed of having anything to do with you.

You broke your promise. Things did get awkward. You did stop talking to me. You forced me to break my promise too.

It would feel so good to let him know all of that. But here’s the wrinkle: I don’t want him to know he had the power over me to make me feel anything as intense as the anger that I have at a low simmer on the backburner. I want him to think I shoved him in a box and tossed him into the river.

But I also want him to think about me.

And about those nights.

And miss me.

Maybe someday, when my anger has dissipated, and I look back at this whole mess and feel nothing, maybe then we could be friends again. Talk it out. Laugh at how ridiculously we behaved.

But somehow… I don’t think so.

Thank god for running.