Still Missing You

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         It's so cliche. You, the beach, the sunset, and your iPod. Listening to all your cheesy love songs that you're embarrassed to even have on your iPod but love all the same, letting the waves lap up to your ankles but not go any higher, thinking life over. I don't really care if it's cliche, though. I mean, things are cliche for a reason, right? Maybe it's overused, but it's nice. I know that no one's on the beach to see me but I want to feel pretty all the same. In the movie that is my life, I always have to look good.

         The breeze whips my hair across my face and it sticks to my chapstick. I brush it away, wishing Ryan could see me now. I wonder what he's doing. Is he thinking about me? Maybe not at this moment, but I bet he is. Whenever I listen to these kind of songs I think about him. It's kind of dumb, really. It was only one stupid night. I turn my iPod onto Mayday Parade, the band that makes me think of him the most. I feel tears start to prickle the backs of my eyes but forcefully hold them back. I've lost count of the number of times I've cried over him, I really have. I walk over to the rock at the point of the beach and climb up onto it, careful not to let my iPod drop. I sit on the smoothest part, at the tip, hugging my knees to my chest and being blinded by the sun setting across the water. I look at the orange-pink reflections of the sunset dancing on the water and wonder if Ryan's watching the same sunset as I am. Or maybe it's nighttime now in West Virginia, I don't know. I wish he wasn't so far away. Maybe then I'd have a better chance of seeing him again, bump into him on the subway or something.

         I really am being stupid. It was only one night, one impulsive night. I didn't have sex with him, all we did was kiss until five in the morning and then fall asleep together, but in my opinion that's just as good as sex. I'm not a slut, either, I don't do those sort of things on a regular basis. Even if I did, I usually don't get so attached to boys I kiss. But this was different... I don't know what it was about him. I miss the way his black hair fell just on the tips of his eyelashes, the way he smiled at me, how soft his lips felt. If those descriptions were someone else's words and I was reading them, I would probably laugh. I would probably say, Ha, how cheesy, how overused, they're just making themselves sound stupid. But I don't care if I'm making myself sound stupid, because all I'm doing is being honest.

         It's getting colder. I put on my grey cardigan and resume my position of arms wrapped around my legs, pulling my knees tight to my chest. Why does Mayday Parade have to write such sad sounding songs? They're not just sad, either. They have a kind of sense of longing. Maybe that's why they remind me of Danny so much. They kind of seem like a band he would listen to, too.

         It's so sad, really. I know that he's thinking of me, I know that he misses me, I know that he wants to see me. I know that he's searched me on Myspace and Facebook and I know that he couldn't call me for a while after what I did, but it's been two months now... and I've done the same for him. I couldn't put his number in my phone, I didn't have my phone and I didn't have a pen, but I trusted him to call me. Waiting for maybe a month, tops, was the smart thing to do, because god knows he aftermath of what I did was pretty terrible, and I wouldn't want him to get involved. But it's been so long. I'm tired of whenever I see an unknown number thinking it's Ryan. It'll never happen.

          I know that if we saw each other again I'd cry, I almost cry just thinking about it. It'll never happen, though. Sometimes I wonder if he even existed, but then I look at his bracelet on my arm and go through my phone to find the picture I took of us and realize he did. Maybe he questions the same thing, then looks at the drawing I did for him and the picture of us on his phone and realizes that yes, I exist. I wonder what he's doing now? I wonder if he's ever cried over me. He isn't the type of guy to be scared of crying, like some boys. I wish he did cry over me, god knows I've cried over him.

         It's ridiculous. There's plenty of guys in New York, who I could add on Facebook and Myspace and get their cellphone number and see on a regular basis. I fall for one in West Virginia who I'm probably never going to see again? This is ridiculous. I've tried so many times to forget about him, but then some lyric or  little thing like that reminds me of him and my efforts are useless. It's been getting a little better, though. I don't think about him as much now. The only reason I'm so riled up about it tonight is because I had a weird kind of dream about him the night before.

         I check my phone for the time. 8.15, I should be getting back now. I climb down from the rock and walk along the sandy part of the beach, back up to the path back the to the house. My thoughts turn to happier things than Ryan as I walk in the soft, dew-covered grass down the path. As I'm about to walk up to the house, my phone starts vibrating in my pocket. I think it's a text, but it keeps on vibrating so I pull it out and glance at the caller I.D. It's a weird area code, one I've never seen before. But I'm not the kind of person to ignore calls just because I don't know the number, so I flip it open.

         "Hello?" I say, curious as to who it is.
         "Um, hi," says a guys voice on the other end.
         "Who is this?"
         "Is this... Lila?" he asks.
         "Uh, yes, it is, who's this?"
         There's a pause, then the guy clears his throat and answers.
         "It's, um, Ryan."
         My stomach does backflips and I feel faint. I've always thought it was stupid when in the movies or on TV, someone is just silent on the phone for a long time, like after they've heard some surprising news or something. But for pretty much the first time in my life, I am speechless. My mind fumbles, trying to find the words, but the only thing that comes out of my mouth is,
         "Wow."
         "Yeah... I know." He seems just as speechless as I am.
         "You finally called me..." I trail off.
         "I was thinking about you. Are you mad?"
         "No, why would I be mad? Well, I wish you would've called sooner, but I'm not really mad."
         "I didn't want to call you because I was afraid you'd be really mad."
         "Well it'd be better if you did call!" I say. I am so surprised I can't even cry and I wonder if it's a trick.
         "Lila, I'm sorry," he says. "I missed you."
         "I miss you too."
         "I was thinking about you so I called you."
         "I know, you said. I was thinking about you too."
         He laughs, and sounds surprised and happy. "Really?"
         "Yeah." I walk up towards the house. Our conversation continues on as I sit down on the front porch. We talk like normal, but we can both tell that we're both kind of amazed. After I hang up, I go to bed happy and shocked.

         I'm jolted awake by my phone playing my ringtone, Mama by My Chemical Romance on full volume. I sleepily pull it out of my pocket and flip it open.
         "Hello?"
         "Lila! Where are you! Get back to the house right now! This is about the millionth time I've called you!"
         "Wha--What? I am at the house!" I say, confused. Then I sit up a little more and look around at my surroundings. My back is cramped and my head hurts. I look down and see it's because I fell asleep on rock. I look up and see the beach below me, water in front of me, the white moon contrasting against the black velvet sky and reflecting in the water, just like the sunset had done.
         Ryan didn't call me. It was all a dream. I hang up the phone, jump down from the rock, and walk as quickly as I can towards the house. I hold back my tears until I get to my room, and fall face-first onto my bed. I let my pillow soak up my tears and fall back into sleep, except this time dreamless and black.
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