“See you at two, Sydney,” he said, and he turned to walk away.
“See ya,” I waved, delighted by the little flutter in my belly, the one I’d long forgotten. It was the first touch of sunlight after a long and dreary storm.
But the feeling died away quickly, unwanted reminders surfacing just to make sure I didn’t forget the pain that always trailed behind the joy.
So I didn’t go to the coffee stand. I was tricked out of it by the familiar ache—the one that warns you not to get too close or hope too hard. Because there were consequences now, ones I knew too well.
After the love has gone, something dies inside you, and sometimes you never get it back. It’s not a loud or suddenkind of death. It’s slow and soft but hurts just the same. It’s the sound of your own heart learning how to live without something it never wanted to let go of, and sometimes, that’s not living at all.
Track 10
“Reasons”
-Earth, Wind & Fire, 1975
JAKE DIDN’T ASK for a pencil for the next few weeks. I think he took my absence at the coffee stand as a lack of interest. And it was, but not for the reasons he thought. Still, I was oddly disappointed he didn’t ask, and every time I was greeted with his polite smile in class, I was hit with a pang of guilt in my belly.
One late spring day, I decided I should make it up to him. I called after him after class. “Hey, Jake!”
He turned around, surprised when he realized it was me calling him. I jogged up the few steps he was ahead of me and was once again greeted by his kind, downward smile.
“Hey,” he said when I reached him.
“Hi,” I said with a smile that was far too wide.
“Finally want your pencil back?”
“No,” I shook my head, smile still in place. “I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee. After class, I mean.”
He smiled bigger then, his hands finding his pockets. “Coffee?”
“Yeah, at the coffee stand.” I stood there, waiting, unsure how to read his reluctance.
“I have work after class today…”
“Oh…” It stung a bit, and I was surprised I felt anything at all.
“But I’m free after. We could grab a drink?”
My too-wide smile was back. “That’d be great. Yeah.”
“Great. I’ll see you at eight,” he said with a sexy, downward grin, like he’d won the prize he’d truly been after. And this time, I embraced the little butterflies that flew around in my belly.
He turned to leave, and then I realized something. “Oh, wait!” I called out, and he turned around again. “I’m not twenty-one.”
His brows knit together in feigned confusion. “Who said anything about being twenty-one?”
He turned to leave again, and I smiled, biting my lip as I watched him walk out the door. I was really starting to like him. And it felt like being alive again.
“So, if you’re not twenty-one, how old are you?” Jake asked from across the table.
We were at a bar near campus called The Local Brewery, though it didn’t brew anything, and none of the beers were local.
“I’m nineteen.” I paused, worried whether it was a good enough answer. “Is that… okay?”
He frowned. “Man.” He shook his head. “Sorry, but…” He leaned back and pushed his beer out in front of him. “This will never work. We should just leave now before we get in too deep.”
It took me a second to find the playfulness in his eyes, and then I broke out in another too-wide grin.
