Friday, May 18, 2012

Your mom was calling my cell phone one evening. I was busy procrastinating on writing a paper for my english class. I knew all the details then, I forget now of course. I thought to myself, "Should I answer? Alright...she's never called before unless to ask where her son (my boyfriend) I'll just pick up."
You and I met, or I should say reconnected, in a very 2,000's sort of way. You went to my middle school and were popular amongst the girls. Boys didn't know I was there and I can't blame them because I was so shy. You didn't know me then, but I knew you. I saw you, I heard about you. I quietly noted your qualities. You were that brooding attractive boy who was taller than most boys waiting for their growth spurt. You were smart, but in a dark way. I mean that you knew things about the world, things just because you knew them-not from a source of shining curiosity but as if you were cursed with knowledge, the heavy burden of thoughts. You were cunning. You had a sharp tongue. You could make me feel idiotic. Yet behind this prickly nature, there was a pained need for approval, for love, support. I can hear him respond to this in my head-"Bullshit. I know that you can only rely on yourself." Oh shut up. You need people as much as anyone.
        You were a bully who I wanted to tend to. Let me love you, you beast! And I will make you love me. I hadn't even had my first kiss yet, but you had done much more advanced things than that in middle school. It frightened me, it thrilled me....from afar. You went to a different high school than me after that, but I still knew who you were, still heard of you and you still had no idea who I was. The internet was the only way you would get to know me. When I was 17 I used to stay up late, really late, mindlessly browsing what the internet had to offer. Myspace was my universe. At 1 am I'd be lost in its comments, pictures, music- stalking people at my fingertips! I was always searching for something. My first boyfriend broke my heart so I tried to find something, someone, to fill my time, the wound, the sad thoughts. And there you were. I found your page, attractive brooding bully from middle school. I found you. There. You've been friend requested. Why not? I guess you must've liked my pictures and the brief description I cast myself out to be because soon after you began to talk to me online. "Hi" you said one day, and even though this was just a box of font it made me gasp inside my head "Oh my god he found my screen name and wants to talk to me??"
       I debated whether talking to you was a good idea. But I knew in my head, "This is a guy who you have seen prey upon much weaker people. He is a known bully." Whatever, he's hot. End of dilemma.
       It alarmed me how blunt you were at first. You told me you had a girlfriend and proceeded to tell me why it wasn't working out that well. Sure, you supplied her with orgasms, but something didn't seem right. I knew too many intimate details without even telling you a word of my business, but I listened and shared my honest opinions. You laid everything out for me and I reflected carefully and responded. I would go online to avoid my duties and you would be there doing the same. Looking for something. I knew you had homework too, and would never do it even though I knew you were smarter than you seemed. I knew you must have had a troubled mind if you were up as late as me. So we talked about everything, about dumb things. About horny teenage things. High school Philosophical things. Your harsh view of the world made me angry a couple times, but I wouldnt really tell you because I thought you were so handsome and maybe one day I could tell people that you were mine. That I was the girl who made you openly say I love you, who made you go to prom. We talked online for a long time. Here and there, after school, on the weekends. The months collected until one day you told me you broke up with your girlfriend. "Oh." I said, "I'm sorry. Are you okay?" You said something like "it was for the best" or along those cliche lines. While I offered my sympathy, I was undeniably, and a little shamefully, excited that you were sharing this news with me. You don't tell a girl you think is ugly that you're single. Then you said to me "I've had an epiphany." ( I was impressed you knew that word). "What?" I asked
"You're a girl." you said
"Well, yeah. Took you awhile to notice that."
"All of this time I've been talking to you like you're a guy, my friend. But you're a girl."
Of course I smirked at this. It was odd for you to be so open with a girl, to talk about things you actually wanted to talk about, with a girl. I laughed at you and told you you were silly. You asked when we we're going to hang out. I blew you off more than once. I still remember the bully from middle school. I was cautious...but tempted, obviously, as a horny 17 year old girl is most of the time. So we did finally hang out one day. We talked for a long time, this time in person, in your truck, in the Safeway parking lot. It got dark, I got nervous. I knew you were more experienced. A friend called your phone and I took this as an opportunity to slide out of your truck and leave, but you held the phone away for a moment and stopped me to tell me what a good time you had. The next time we saw each other, I wasn't nearly as restrained. We had beer we werent supposed to, we stayed at your dad's house when he wasnt there, we had sex. It felt so good to be with someone else. I felt stupid for letting go so much, but I had been so hurt and heavy with heartache that I didn't care. Fuck it. The next day though, I avoided you. It was too sensitive. I was too sensitive. I know where your moles are now. I know how big your dick is! You saw me naked! You know how I kiss now. You know where I live now. I know where you do too. It was a rush. It was a quick jump. Not like my last love- where months passed before I let him be that close. We had been talking online everyday but I kept my distance. You were, after all, that asshole from middle school so how was I supposed to know if you would treat me fairly after being so vulnerable? Bullies prey on the vulnerable don't they? But you knew what I was doing and I guess you liked me enough to point it out and address it. "Hey! Don't avoid me, I know you're there." the little box on my computer said to me from you. And from then on we would meet and have sex in your truck in some off road, nobody goes over there location. We would do this until I finally met your mom and you finally came over to my house. We would do this until we said I love you, until we had seen each other cry. We were looking for ways to ease our pain and confusion about life. We talked online, we had sex. I could tell though, after some time that something weighed on you that I would never be able to lift. I made you laugh, I made you cum, but I also made you jealous of my optimism. You told me one time you were jealous of other peoples happiness. I didn't think about it, but that included my own. I had to be happy for the both of us and it was tiring. You told me that the world was cold and unforgiving, that it was ultimately disappointing. You listened to the kind of music that would make someone believe that. Rather than be repelled by your depression I was actually intrigued by it. I was 17, I had never known anyone that sad. I mistook it as deep emotions for me, dramatic love. I confused genuine apathy as an inability to communicate well and felt compelled to affectionately squeeze the words out of you. But this couldn't work. You were broken and didn't want to work. You were your own world ending in your head. When I ran out of things to say to you I tried to make you forget physically. My tongue couldn't change your perspective though. Oh well. It's hard enough to be 17, let alone a depressed 17.
       One night this was all too much for you, and your mom called my cell phone. You wouldn't come out of your room. It was locked. You wouldn't come out because you were unconscious, but your mom didn't know that and neither did I. I drove over there, in a panic, because I heard your mom trying to open your door with a bobby pin & asking if I could somehow say something to you to lure you out. Some desperately lonely thoughts you had shared with me crept into my head. When I got there, you were crumpled on the carpet floor, slumped against your bed. I was such a hysterical sobbing site that I remember someone saying "Get her out of here." The paramedics forced the charcoal down your throat so when you did finally look up at me with red scratched eyes and black lips, I didn't recognize you. One of the paramedics made a joke about this being a prelude to the next day, Cinco de Mayo, and I thought I'm standing right here you assholes. So is his mother and sister. Cant you see how upset we are? Fuck you. But this was just another day to them, just another statistic on a stretcher. And as much as I wanted you to be alive and okay, I hated you for that.
You had been out of school for a week, checking in and checking out of the hospital. Being poked and prodded, analyzed. Monitored. Medicated. No one knew where you were. People just assumed you were sick. I mean you were, but no one had any idea what had happened. After this absence it was our prom. I had already found my perfect dress some time before all this. A long wine red gown with a deep neckline to show what I had been hiding for all the years and a slit at the thigh. We probably should have taken time away to repair, to really talk. We shouldn't have rushed back to high school reality so soon. We probably shouldn't have gone, but damn it, I had never been in a limousine before and you're only 17 once.
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