Auburn Curls

She was always there, smiling. No matter what happened, she always found a way to be happy. Her giggle was intoxicating, and no one could help but feel at ease when around her.

That’s probably why I was drawn to her in the first place, during the second grade. I was new, fresh out of Colorado, thrust into the warm and sunny beaches of Florida halfway through the semester. I remember how my shoes squeaked against the tile as I walked up to the teacher’s desk at the heel of the school counselor, who explained the pretenses to my late arrival. Peering over her glasses, the teacher smiled with crooked teeth, and announced to the class my name, and that I would be joining them for the remainder of the year. Never one for attention, I remember feeling my face flush as I stared blankly at the shoe’s grass-stained laces. A few girls giggled at my embarrassment, pointing and chortling to themselves in the corner… which only caused the color in my cheeks to intensify against the pallid of my face. Eyes never wandering from my untied shoes, I found my way to the seat assigned to me. I set my Crayolas and pencils in the cubbyhole under my desk, determined not to meet the stares I knew were being shot my way. That was how I remained, frozen to the spot, until I felt a warm hand on my shoulder. Startled, I lifted my head to meet her amber gaze. Then she gave me that smile—that soft, genuine smile—and welcomed me to Silent Springs. Her honeydew voice told me that she had moved here from Wyoming just a few months ago. I was fascinated. I couldn’t find words to say, so I sat there, open-mouthed, until she laughed, whispering that she was shy as well. And so I sat next to her for the rest of the year, locating what voice I never knew I had, chatting more than I ever had in my life.

She was my best friend.

We were inseparable all the way through junior high. Her auburn hair now fell in gentle curls, framing her perfect face and wicked smile. It was a small town, and on weekends she’d hang with her girlfriends, but always found the time to call or meet with me. I was still hooked, a helpless fish on her line. Guys often called me her lapdog, and other immature playground names like that, but I’d just laugh.

They were jealous—I was the best friend of the prettiest girl in school.

It wasn’t until our sophomore year in high school when it first hit me. I realized, little by little, how I began getting jealous when she’d talk to other guys. I was always cool with it—we were only friends. But when she got her first boyfriend, she suddenly wasn’t around anymore. It was like someone had draped my sun in a cloak of black, leaving me to whither away. I was alone, in a sense. She’d smile at me in the hallway, her arm wrapped around another: one the boys who had called me a lapdog years ago. He smiled too, but it wasn’t a happy smile. It was triumphant, as if he had won something.

A trophy—he had won my best friend.

I got a call from her in the middle of the night one Friday. She was excited, rambling on blissfully for what seemed like hours… but really, time had only slowed for me.

She had gotten her first kiss.

I feigned enthusiasm for her, telling how great it was, letting her bask in her own joy. But I was shattered. Broken. It felt like that guy had ripped my heart out and ran, my best friend at his heel, now his loyal spaniel.

And I was angry.

They were together for months, spanning over the summer and into junior year. I had held several girlfriends myself… but all of the relationships crumbled, one after another, in only a few weeks. Whenever I was with a girl, and whenever I kissed, it was her face that would play against my eyes. I’d imagine it was her lips pressed against mine, her hand on my neck, her auburn curls brushing my face.

She was the wrecking ball to every last relationship.

But it was one night that changed everything. I wandered along old Main Street, choosing to walk home from the late movie instead of driving in attempt to clear my head. As I sipped on my diluted soda, her smile danced across my mind over and over. It was as if someone was rewinding every frame to the beginning, and letting it roll again. I gripped my cup tighter, my frustration and anger threatening to burst. But still, I continued my trek home—coping with the constant barrage in my head. It was then, in the humid silence, that I heard a scream. Convinced it was my mind toying with me again, I walked on, shaking my head in annoyance. But the screech cracked through the air again. I stopped this time, now unsure that I had in fact invented it. At the third, I burst into a run down the alley in the direction of the panicked plea. Around a bend and behind the pharmacy, I froze. Forced against the cool brick, elastic curls falling against her bruised lip and ashen face, was my best friend. She was pinned by him—her boyfriend; his wild, intoxicated stare fixed on her, hungry for something that made me scream with rage. He turned, feral and barely human, in my direction, letting her fall to the ground. He had no time to duck from my fist, knocked off balance as I made contact with his jaw. My right hand caught him under his chin, sending him reeling yet again, this time to the hard pavement. As he struggled to stand, I towered over him and grabbed his collar, growling that if he ever came close to her again, I wouldn’t be so merciful. Shocked and terrified in a drunken stupor, he scrambled backwards, found his feet, and retreated into the dark.

I was shaking.

Rage, disgust and adrenaline all pumped through my veins as I bent down to her broken figure. I pulled her head from the damp ground, cradling her against my shoulder. I shared my warmth, her fragile body finally against mine. Her closed eyes slowly regained sight, lids blinking into focus.

And she smiled.

She said with taunting scarlet-stained lips that she fought hard, even though she knew she was no match. How she knew I’d find her… how she knew she’d be saved. She said that I was always there for her. I wanted to kiss her, there and then. And I wanted her to return it, to show the same passion that I had felt for what seemed like an eternity.

But she collapsed before I had the chance.

Her heart fluttered as I carried her the few blocks home, one arm around her waist, the other wrapped behind her knees. And every time the wind would kiss my face, the sweet, warm scent of vanilla would spin up from her hair, joining hands with the air in torment. I kicked her back door open, unlocked as it always was, and softly made my way to the back hallway and to her room, careful to not stir her mother down the hall. She slid soundlessly from my arms and onto her unmade bed, and I covered her with her favorite fleece blanket. She didn’t stir, but could I swear I saw her smile.

And with that, we were inseparable again.

After that night, she broke it off with her boyfriend while sitting on my bathroom sink. I could make out his hopeless pleas from my bedroom, but without avail. She was on fire, fury blazing in those amber eyes. When she emerged, tossing the cordless phone onto the bed, she began to laugh… that exhilarating giggle that I couldn’t rip my gaze from. I was hooked again. And I wish I could tell you that she leapt into my arms… that she tangled her rouge fingers into my hair… and pulled me closer to her.

No.

All she did was all I expected. I got yet another hug.

And time… passed.

Before I knew it, graduation had come. Her hair bounced underneath her cap, flowing over her gown in golden spirals. Valedictorian. Her smile lit up the stage as she flew to the podium, the crowd of crying parents and eager seniors cheering as she soared. Her speech was identical to her smile—invigorating. I wanted to leap from my aisle-side chair. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run onto that stage as she spoke. But I kept my fingers wrapped underneath the cool metal. I kept my tongue in my mouth. And I kept my feet rooted to the spot. She thanked so many people in her words. Tears shone in her eyes as she spoke of fond memories, our teachers, our town… and all we had to look forward to in our lives.

But it was then that she caught me off guard.

At the end of her words, after all of the talk of memories, teachers, the town… she fell silent. One lone tear ran along her perfect cheek. She struggled for her voice for a moment, staring at her black shoes from under her satin gown. And when she broke the silence, it was with such diction and determination that is made us jump. She told us how she remembered. How she remembered a little brunette boy with squeaky shoes. How she remembered the way he stared at his undone laces. How she remembered the way his face flushed when his name was announced to the class. How he took his seat next to her, and put his Crayolas and pencils away without ever looking up. How remembered the way she tapped him on the shoulder and welcomed him to the town. She remembered. She remembered how this boy was her best friend, how he was always there, when she felt so alone. How this little boy grew up to save her, in more ways than one.

How he was the best friend she ever had.

The faucet in her eyes was running freely now. She shook, and laughed to herself like she so often did, auburn curls swaying with her happiness. And she looked to me with sparkling eyes, unaware that tears were now wrapping around my own. And in a hushed tone, she almost whispered to the audience that she has never looked at someone this way before.

And she knew she never would.

With that conclusion, she broke into a run across the stage and down the flight of steps, skipping stairs as she went. The cap blew from her head, landing in her wake as she made her way down the isle. Knees shaking, I stood from my seat, gaze swimming in my head. I was convinced I was dreaming, my mind playing its cruelest trick yet.  But when I felt her body meld with mine… when I felt her tremble in my arms… when I smelled her warm vanilla and let it fill my senses…

I knew it was real.

I buried my face into her neck, feeling the gentle coils brush against my skin. Her lukewarm tears made a path down my back… and I couldn’t resist it anymore. After ten years of watching her… of standing idly while she was with someone else… After ten long, torturing years of wishing that the girl in my arms was her… Longing for her touch, her warmth, her kiss…

I pulled back those auburn curls and brought her lips to mine.