Love.

I always thought love was a feeling. But it isn’t. Love isn’t even an emotion. Part of the reason love is so indescribable, and so misunderstood, is because love it an action. It’s something you do, is to love. I can tell you that when I’m hungry, my stomach feels like a mountain avalanche is happening inside of it; rumbling and shaking and growling, screaming to be fed. But when I’m driving, it’s so hard to explain that to someone who’s never driven before. I just drive. Start the car, change my gears, accelerate, brakes, turn signal, whatever. I just drive. I can’t explain well enough how I drive. And everyone has different ways that they explain how they drive, but it’s hard to understand until you do it yourself; then you have your own way of explaining it. That’s love. The problem with that is, you can love just about anyone or anything. I love my mom and dad. I love my sisters and brothers. I love my cat and my dog. I love my car, roses, the smell of New York City, chocolate, cheese, being warm in the winter. I love all of these things, but there is no way to really measure that love. Do I love cheese more than I love flowers? Do I love my mom more than my dad or my sisters or brothers? Just because I have any favorites, does that mean I love the color yellow any less than I love my new shoes? Love isn’t less or more. What you’re willing to do for the things and people you love, that’s what matters. I’d be willing to learn to fly using just my own two arms for my mom, I’d be willing to walk the long way home for my brand-new shoes, and I’d be willing to climb 70 feet to save my cats. If these things weigh differently for you, they may weigh the same for someone else, or in different ways. I can tell you, when I’m sad, I want to cry, I want to lock myself away, and I want to be alone. When I love, I want to save the world. Their world. Whatever it is that I love, I want to save it from harm, even from a speck of dirt. When I love, I don’t feel anything inside of me. Love isn’t how romance novels make it out to be. My heart doesn’t flutter, and I don’t lose my breath when I hear someone say, “I love you.” I don’t feel nervous to say it back anymore. I’ve only been nervous to say it to people I date. Because what if I don’t love them. What if I’m only saying it to feel something, to feel what love-story novelists say I’m supposed to feel. What if I force myself to feel that way, what if I’m tricking myself. That was before I knew the feeling doesn’t matter. What would you be willing to do for the people you love? What would you be willing to do for the people you think you love? What would I be willing to do for her? Would I be willing to fly?
My name is a secret. Her name is beautiful. Hearing her name perks me up; I get excited to see if maybe she’s around. It’s a popular name, unfortunately. I’ll be in a grocery store or a school library, and I’d hear “Jessica.” Jessica. Seven letters, three syllables, ten total characteristics; eleven, if you count being beautiful. Her skin isn’t perfect. She’s got acne scars and dry lips, dark circles from not sleeping, and she’s got food in her teeth almost every time I see her. Her brown skin is uneven from head to toe, and sometimes she forgets to lotion her unshaved legs. I’d hate to compare her to chocolate, but she really looks like a Symphony melted all over her, and dried up. She hates wearing bras, so her nipples peek out from under her shirts almost all the time; she thinks it only happens when she’s cold, but it happens more than that. It happens when she laughs, when she gets scared, but yes; especially when she’s cold. But god dammit, she’s almost always cold. The only time I hear her complain about heat, in her Beverly Hills voice, it’s in the summer, outside. She’s the kind of girl who turns off the A/C, and pretends it wasn’t her. Her voice sounds like a stereotype, but she is not a stereotype. And it isn’t her home voice, which is still girlish, but lower. It isn’t smooth, either; it cracks from time to time. But she laughs every time her voice cracks, and says sorry once. She says there’s a reason, but I never really listen to it. Something about the Simpsons. I’m too busy looking at the stray hairs coming from her already unruly hair. Pimples dotting her neck. Plus, she talks a lot. She likes to think she’s shy, quiet, and introverted, and that may be true at first. She doesn’t really like meeting new people, but once she does, they love her and she loves them right back. She doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. It’s very rare someone gets offended by something she says. And if it happens, she immediately apologizes and corrects herself, for their sake. Unless it goes against her own feminist, pro-choice, “if you don’t hurt someone, I don’t care,” beliefs. Her name means “God beholds,” and yes He does. I’m not very religious, but she has to be an angel. There has to be some sort of God out there for her to exist. No one person on Earth has the kind of heart that she has. She wants to be a nurse anesthetist. She wants to help people, and make a lot of money doing it. She also wants to be a teacher, to teach kids how to love learning. She loves kids. Whenever we talk about kids, I swear the amount she wants gets bigger every time. I tell her I want three kids, four kids at the max if the woman I marry wants, but that I could settle with two. She wants “eleventeen” or “four hundred seventy-two” or “as many as my body can biologically handle.” Maybe that’s why she’ll never love me, or at least be in love with me. Which actually makes me think; what does that even mean. You can’t be in driving, or in cooking, or even in sad, or in hungry. What does it mean to be “in love?” I have no explanation for that. And I can explain almost anything. Including the ever-inexplicable “feeling” of love.
“So, which one looked better?” Jessica’s voice. I’m inside of a clothing store. I must have come in a while ago, I’m in the back. I’m so lost in thought. But that was her voice. Should I look around for her? Should I ignore it? She calls my name. “Hey, I didn’t know you were gonna be here! How are you!” She gives me a hug and I hug back.
I laugh a little and say “Yea, I wasn’t really expecting to be here either. I kinda forgot why I came.”
“Maybe you were getting me a Christmas gift. Here, you get me this, and I’ll buy this one!” She starts laughing, almost giggling. There’s nothing wrong with her laugh, it’s adorable. She never snorts, except if something really funny happens. Her smile is bright and wide and when she laughs, she covers it up, but only just enough where people can still tell she’s really laughing. I must have looked confused or upset or something, because she said “I’m kidding! Don’t look like that!” Still laughing, she asks “Wanna shop with us, since you don’t have anything else to do?” She’s not even with anyone. She’s with her dog. A sort of ugly Shih Tzu. Black and white, she can be cute sometimes, but really, her eyes are too big and her white fur browns a lot. She’s a sweet dog, though. I realize that she was asking her dog what looked better on her, so I laughed, and agreed to join them. We start walking towards another rack, and she says, “Ugh, thank you!” She says ‘ugh’ for happy things and sad things. She’s so pleasant. “Pepper is not a great shopping partner.”
“Why didn’t you come with, I dunno, a person?”
“Pssh, people? Overrated. Except you,” she smirks, “you’re way underrated.” I tripped over my own foot, seeing her look up at me with shining eyes and a smirk on her face. “Plus, Pepper keeps me company. Even if she sucks at fashion.” She starts putting down one of the dresses she had. Its long, flowy and sheer, size XL. She’s been gaining weight, and she says she wants to lose weight, and she tries for about a week before getting back into old habits. The dress is black with a floral pattern on it. I picked it up, and turns out it’s not even a dress. Its shorts, with a train running behind it. The other one in her hands is the same style, but black with shimmering stars.
“I never said I wouldn’t get this for you.” The price tag catches my eye right after I said that. $40. I have about $57 in my bank account right now. As much as I want to take back my words, Jessica looks up at me with wide, deep brown eyes. Her eyelashes never look very long, but they do when she gets this excited and her eyes open so wide her eyelashes touch her brows.
“You’d really get that for me? I told you I was kidding!”
“Yea, but deep down, you were wishing I’d say yes. And don’t worry about Christmas. I already got you something anyway!”
“You’re the absolute best, have I told you that already?”
“Hm, what did you say?”
“I said you’re the—wait, you heard me!” We laugh together, and it feels so nice. Laughing is always fun, laughing with friends is always better. Laughing with Jessica is probably the best feeling in the world. We get to the checkout line, and she is beaming. I wait in line behind her, she’s wearing shorts in winter. I don’t think she expected it to be cold today; it’s Florida after all. She’s got some razor bumps on the back of her thighs, and a cut just above her ankle. That maybe explains why she hasn’t shaved in a few days; she’s too scared to cut the one single cut. So instead of looking like she has an uneven shave, she’d rather be hairy all over. So simple. So perfect. I’m next.
“Will this be all for you?” I nod. “Would you like a bag, or do you just want it in your girlfriend’s bag?” She gestures towards Jessica, who’s standing and waiting for me.
Stumbling, “Uh, I’ll just put it in her bag. Thanks.”
“Your total is $42.40.” I swiped, and with that I have $14.60 in my bank account. My pin is the day we met. Something she’d never remember, something she’d never ask about. I could easily just say it’s just some random numbers I thought up and decided to keep up with. It’s also the pin to my phone, and my laptop. We met September 14, 2013. Middle school, just a month after we started. She hasn’t changed much, except the weight gain, and other developments. She isn’t round. She’s not the kind of fat where people might get disgusted. Not to say being fat is disgusting, but people do think that. But she’s the kind of fat where you can’t tell she’s actually fat if you look at her from the front, when she’s standing. You see it most when she sits, from her side, or from behind. She doesn’t have a lot of jelly rolls, but she does have stretch marks. Under her arms, on her thighs, under her butt.
“Wanna get some pretzels? We’re about to pass Auntie Anne’s.” I was trailing behind, and didn’t notice I was actually looking at her butt when she turned around and asked. If she noticed, she won’t say anything.
“Sure! What do you want? I can pay.”
“No way. You already got me that bomber romper, you’re not getting me food, too. I’ll buy your food!” I already know she can’t afford to do that.
“How about this, you order what you want, and I’ll let you know whether or not I can pay for you or not?” I know if she gets cinnamon pretzel bites with icing, and her medium lemonade, I can get myself a regular pretzel with a medium lemonade. Usually comes up to about twelve or thirteen dollars. Depending on if the cashier charges us for the icing or not.
“That sounds fair.” She goes ahead and orders her usual, I nod and I order what I can afford. She smiles and laughs when she can’t pick up a pretzel bite, stabbing it a thousand times with a plastic toothpick. “Thanks so much, by the way!! Let’s sit down to eat. I miss you! You work way too much!”
“You could always come visit me. I know how much you’d love being around bugs and worms and the smell of fish.” I work in a bait shop. Not the best job I could ask for, but not the worst. I make money, I just spend a lot of it. I would’ve had more today if I hadn’t gotten Jessica a gift.
“Ugh, gross,” she laughs. “Just visit me at work instead!!” She doesn’t work. Can’t keep a job. She’s really driven, but she always finds something to complain about, whether its pay, distance, managers, coworkers, or the schedule. The longest she’s kept a job was for about 7 months. I think it’s because she’s not built for starter jobs, though. She’s so motivated and so headstrong, I think the only time she’ll keep a job is when she’s finally got a reason to work, besides living paycheck to paycheck. When she has students, or patients, then she’ll be working towards something. Stocking aisles and topping off pizzas just aren’t her niche. “Maybe I could be a hair model?” She shakes her barely moving hair, a curly afro about five inches up and all around her head. Today, she’s got it in two buns up front, like Disney ears, and the rest out on the back of her head. She says her texture is a 4b/4c, 4c leaning, which I don’t really understand. All I see is that it’s gorgeous. “Or maybe I could advertise for fitness that works? Some new company can pay me to use their products and follow their diet, and I’d be the advertisement of it really working!” She wants to believe she could do it; and she might for the money. “Let’s go to the gym!” Hearing her say that with cinnamon all over her mouth makes me laugh. “Why are you laughing?”
“No, I’m sorry, I’m not laughing because—sorry.” I stop laughing, but I can’t take this smile off of my face. “I’m laughing because you look kinda cute. Saying ‘let’s go to the gym’ and you have cinnamon all over your face. It’s just kinda funny, I guess, the situation. But yea, we can go. I still have the black card membership.”
“You still have that? You’re amazing.” We used to go to the gym together. We both got a black card membership so that if either of us couldn’t make it, then we could bring someone else with us, and they’d really have no excuse unless they were doing something. She made really great progress, actually. She ended up losing about 15 pounds. I think she’s gained 20 back. “Meet me at my place? I can drive us to the gym!”
“The gym is maybe a ten-minute walk, you sure you don’t wanna walk there?”
“First of all, it’s hot. Second of all, that means we have to walk back, and that’s after we’d be exercising and stuff, and it’ll still be hot. So, yea, I’m sure.”
“Jessica.”
She says my name. She’s got a fiery look in her eyes.
“Okay, we’ll drive. I guess a little air conditioning never killed anyone.” They fire is immediately replaced, like I’m looking at a totally different person, now with sparkles in place of the flames.
“Okay, awesome! I just have to get changed. You too, right? Let me know when you’re outside my house!” We walk to her car together, talking about nonsense, probably. I just can’t help but smile at her, looking down at her stumbling over her words, and taking a thousand turns before finishing her stories. “So, I’ll see you in a bit!” She hugs me, and I hug her back. Why is she hugging me goodbye if I’ll be at her place in 20, 30 minutes? She loves hugs. Probably because they help her stay warm.
My ten-minute drive home was between me and my thoughts. Radio music is shit, and my phone actually died. So, no music for me. Just thinking of how Jessica is just going to end up on the treadmill for about 10-15 minutes, out of breath and ready to go. She might do some ab workouts, which won’t really do anything for her figure, since she’s just too chubby. I think she’s beautiful, but all of her motivation goes towards her schooling and her personal relationships. Not much towards her weight loss goals or side jobs or even charging her phone or keeping people updated. If we flew her out to Japan for a month, we’d hear from her maybe twice. She gets so caught up in herself, and her own life, she just forgets to tell us how she’s doing. She takes a thousand pictures a day, of anything, but never shares. When she calls, she asks about us. She really cares about the people in her life; I think she has a hard time believing other people care about her, too. She’s absolutely beautiful, kind, caring, and just bubbly. She cries a lot, but mostly when she watches children’s movies. She cries when she realizes the people she loves are growing up. She’s one of seven children, and while she loves them all, she’s happy they don’t all live together. She really does love all of her siblings. One of her older sisters abandoned the family, so she doesn’t talk about her much, but whenever she does, its good memories of her. Her oldest sister is the one she’s closest with, they’re whole-blooded sisters. Same parents the whole way through, they even look alike despite being ten years apart. Jessica has a hard time telling her she loves her, though. I still haven’t figured out why. It’s not that she doesn’t love her sister, the words just don’t like to come out. The last four, two girls, two boys, different years apart. She watched her youngest sister graduate middle school, she helped teach her younger brother how to drive. The youngest is still in middle school, so he’s still a baby in her eyes. Her other sister is only one year younger, so they grew up at about the same rate. She’s jealous of her, though, because she’s thinner. I want to tell her “it’s okay, you’re beautiful and she’s gaining weight.” But she doesn’t care. She’d never admit that she’s jealous anyway, so it would be uncalled for. She just wants to lose the weight herself.
I’ve been parked in my driveway for a while, I guess. My roommate comes out, screaming. She’s always grumpy. “You’re getting oil on the driveway, can you either leave or stop your car and get inside? Jesus!” She walks around to the driver’s side of her own car, slam the door, and leave. We used to be close until we moved in together. But she’s my ex-girlfriend. We moved in together when we were a “happy” couple. We were never happy. Or at least I wasn’t. She’s not Jessica. We only still live together now because there’s two extra rooms, and we can’t afford to move out anyway. She brings boys over a lot, screws them loudly in the room closest to mine. I think she tries to make me jealous. She fakes it; I already know. I’ve always known. I know a lot of things, and it annoys a lot of people; hell, it annoys me. Jessica, though, never seems to be unimpressed by my knowledge. She probably knows I know everything about her, too. Or maybe she thinks she’s just mysterious enough, that she’s a code even I can’t crack. I like to believe it’s the latter, and I pretend it’s true. I would never let her know I know so much about her. I probably know her better than she does. If she cries because she’s sad, she just wants to be held. She doesn’t want to be comforted; it won’t work. She cries a lot, for children’s movies, mostly, and when she realizes the people she loves are growing up, but the only other times she cries are from fear or agony. She cries for one song. Jessica is so strong, but she thinks she’s weak because she cries so much. I cry when I can’t find my phone. She just looks for hers everywhere she’s been, and eventually calls the police about a potentially stolen phone. She keeps her calm. She’s worked as a waitress; they have to deal with so much more stress than we’re left to believe. She’s told me stories of rushes, getting orders wrong, and mixing up tables, the occasional rude customer. She’s handled it all. She once told me she cried at work, not because she was stressed out, but because the couple she was serving apologized for being rude after they understood her circumstance. She cried out of gratitude. I love her for that. She really is very gracious.
When did I get changed.
Back out the door, about to head out to Jessica’s house. I get a text from her. “Where are you???? I’m falling asleep on the couch. Just come in when you get here. We’ll see if I’m asleep or not.” I laugh and shake my head. She’s gonna find a way to get out of going to the gym. I can tell.
She’s perfect, either way.
After about fifteen minutes, I make it to her house. The traffic isn’t so bad before 3:30pm. I walk up to her door and my heart skips a beat when I reach for the door. Why? I open the door, and there she is, reaching for the handle herself. She laughs and says, “I heard the car, and I wasn’t asleep, so I figured I’d open the door!” She gives me a quick hug and welcomes me inside. “What took you so long! I was waiting!” I just laugh and apologize.
“I’m here now! Gym ready?” I turn to look at her, and she looks more beach ready.
“Actually…” I knew it. She laughs nervously, continuing, “I was thinking we could just use my pool? That’s still a workout!” It’s a workout if you swim, and she doesn’t know how to.
“That’s true! I guess it is hot enough where we could take a swim! Why didn’t you text me?”
“Because if I did I thought you’d maybe disagree. But since you’re here already…”
“I wouldn’t have disagreed if it’s something you want to do.”
“You’re amazing, tbh.” She says things like ‘tbh’ out loud. It started as an ironic thing, to make fun of people who do it, we used to mock them together. But now, she does it regularly; it just comes out, like it’s natural. “I absolutely love you.”
My heart doesn’t stop to hear that, but it stopped to open her door. “I love you, too, curly.” No hesitation, no heart fluttering. No nervous feeling. Is it because we’re saying it as friends? Do I even want more? She takes off her top and bottoms, since she’s already wearing her bathing suit. At home, she feels perfectly fine in a bikini. In public pools, or beaches, she’d keep her top clothes on.
“I’ll get towels! Get pool ready!” As she walks away, I just take off my shirt. It’s that easy to get ‘pool ready’ for me. She can’t just go in her regular underwear. That’d be different, somehow. I walk over to the pool and sit at the edge, towards the door, so I know she wouldn’t surprise me and push me in. She comes out, and I notice her legs are shaved, now. Except the little patch just above her ankle. She walks slowly into the pool, complaining and appreciating the cold at the same time. “This pool is so lucky it’s hot outside, or I’d hate how cold it is. Hey, I forgot to bring the speaker! Could you go in and get it for me? It’s in the bathroom. I know your feet are wet, but I’m wet all over.” I must have made a face or laughed or something, because she yelled “From pool water, you pervert!” We both start laughing. She never really gets angry. About anything. Her patience with people seems endless. I know when to quit, though. She’d never let me know when she’s upset or angry; she’d just brush it off. When I say she never really gets angry, I mean she never shows it. She’s too sweet and patient for that. She just wants people to know that about her. I see past it. In the bathroom, she has her clothes she was wearing at the mall. Her underwear probably hidden in the pile, but her bra is right on top. C-cups. She thinks it’s from drinking soy milk; I know it’s from her weight gain, but I’d never tell her that. I know she secretly knows. I grab the speaker and go back to the pool.
“So, what did you wanna listen to?” I grab her phone and put her pin in; the birthday of a One Direction band member. They’ve broken up now, she insists still that it’s just a hiatus. She supports all of them, except the one who started it; Zayn. She has her reasons, but they’re too much to explain. I don’t think they matter that much anyway. They matter, because it’s something she cares about, but for right now, they don’t matter.
“Either playlist ‘working out’ or ‘feeling sexy’. That’s what I dance to and go to the gym with and whatever.” She Has about four hundred playlists, all very specific to whatever mood she’s in. They almost all feature One Direction or twentyone pilots. Little Mix, Lorde, Melanie Martinez, The 1975, and Beyoncé make their way into her playlists as well. She’s got a wide range of music interests; I guess that’s what makes her playlists the best. Even if a song is playing that you hate, there’s a chance a song you love is next. She’s eternal. I hit shuffle on “Feeling Sexy” and the first song to come on is “Somebody Else-The 1975.” She starts singing and bouncing to the music immediately. I could watch her in this state forever. She looks carefree and happy, and she’s so beautiful. A lot of girls I know would hate to get their hair wet in a pool, especially the black girls. Jessica doesn’t give a shit. She likes her hair when it’s wet. “Are you gonna come back in the pool, or are you just gonna sit there?”
I jumped right in.
“So, how’s living with your ex?”
“I hate it. She’s always so upset about everything. And she’s still bringing guys over all the time, it’s kind of trashy.”
“Melissa never seemed trashy to you before?” I die a little bit on the inside hearing her name. I like to avoid it.
“You know as well as I do, Melissa can be a snake. Meaning she gets what she wants. And she wanted me. So she made me feel like I wanted her. But I got out of it! Kinda…”
“After like 4 years, yea, you really got out of that one.” Her sarcastic tone is clear as daylight.
“Okay, you’re right. I screwed up. But hey, I’m single now.”
“And you’ll be single for a while! Everyone knows you live with your crazy, trashy, ex-girlfriend. You know what I say?”
“What do you say?”
“I say just leave. You can move in with me, I have extra rooms. My mom practically pays for the place, so it’s not like you can’t afford it.”
“Well, I don’t wanna— “
“You don’t wanna what? You don’t wanna do that to Mel? Screw her, she made it so we weren’t talking for almost the entirety of your relationship.”
“She was jealous.”
“Jealous of what? That you had a genuine friend, who cared about you a lot more than she ever did?”
“She thought that I liked you.”
“Well, of course you did! You’re my friend, we’re not supposed to hate each other! She’s such a— “
“I did like you.” She stopped in the middle of her sentence. I can’t believe what I just said, but I continue on anyway. “I… I do like you. Still.” I’m such a god damned idiot. I say one thing, once, and I can’t stop. I’ve been holding this in for years, but now it’s come out. And now I can’t stop talking.
“…O-oh.” She’s stopped splashing around. Lowlife by Poppy is playing in the background. She’s looking down, and it’s silent for what feels like a whole minute, when it was probably only a few seconds. Not even ten of them, at that. She looks back up at me, and smiles, “Well— “
“You don’t have to say anything.”
“No, listen— “
“I know we’re just friends.”
“Okay, yes, but— “
“I just can’t keep this a secret anymore, and—”
“Kyle! Enough!” My name sounds so beautiful coming out of her mouth. I’ve always hated my name, but god damn, even when she’s angry, it sounds like an angel is calling to me. “Just shut up for a minute, okay? Damn!” So, I shut up. And I wait. “Kyle. I love you, okay? You’re my absolute closest friend. I wouldn’t trade you for the world, but I can’t date you. I’m sorry. And no, before you start, it’s not because I’m worried about ruining our friendship. I don’t believe in that shit.” Even foul words sound like bells coming from her. “Our friendship is strong enough that we could handle it. I feel like if someone doesn’t think their friendship is that strong, they should rethink their friends. Dating is just advanced friendship, after all!” She laughs, and looks down again, playing with her thumbs. “I’m interested in someone else. That’s why. A-and you shouldn’t date someone if you’re into someone else, by the way! What if I was into you back then?”
“Were you?”
“Shut up!”
“Sorry.”
“Shut up!” I raise my hand, apologetically. “I…I did. But you were with Melissa, and she knew I liked you. That’s why she was jealous. She knew. She was a close friend at some point, too, but now she’s lost both of us, for being such a snake. But, I’m sorry, we haven’t talked in so long, and I started hanging out with other people, and now I’m into someone else.”
“It’s okay. Don’t apologize.”
“But—”
“Shh. Come here.” I open my arms out to her. She comes to give me a hug. She isn’t crying, but I’m close. “I would be so happy if it meant I could stay friends with you. I don’t want to have this tear us apart. I know you said our friendship is strong, and I think so, too. I don’t have any doubts. I just wanted to let you know, that even a rejection won’t get rid of me.” I laugh, then she laughs. I hug her tighter. We both take a deep breath. “Hey, wanna say screw the workout and get some ice cream or something?”
“Ice cream is a break up food. Did I just break up with you?” We laugh together again.
“Yea, you did. Now, let’s go, alright?” We laugh together, but I don’t feel like laughing. I feel like crying. So badly. We both go to take a shower and change clothes; I let her drive her own car. She plays ‘If I Believe You’ from The 1975.
A silence with tension is the worst kind of silence. Whether it’s an angry tension or an awkward tension, or even an excited tension, that silence is the worst kind. There’s music on, and Jessica is humming along, but it still feels silent. I glance over at her, and she has her eyes fixed on the road. I would take back what I said if I could. But I can’t.
“Oh, we could go to Wendy’s! I have the little keychain, remember? BOGO Frosty’s!” Her whole mood’s changed, so quickly. The shine in her eyes is coming back. She doesn’t eat fast food often, but sweets and sob stories are kind of her thing. Those keychains get donated to some sort of adoption charity or something. Free Frosty’s for a year, with a purchase. Any purchase. I wanted somewhere we could get scoops and a cone, but—
“That sounds great, yea! Paying less is always better!” But I always do what she wants. She smiles wide and makes her turn. Wendy’s is also closer, anyway. Less gas to waste.
“Chocolate Frosty’s are the best. Agree?”
“Disagree.”
“Vanilla?” I laugh, because I know how she’s about to react.
“Nope.”
“Strawberry?!” I tap my nose and grin. She hates strawberry flavored things. “You’re disgusting. Strawberry cakes and ice creams need to be gotten rid of, but because of people like you, those things will continue to exist.”
“I think it tastes good!”
“Please don’t eat it around me, I can’t stand the smell.”
“Now I have to!”
“I thought you liked me, why would you do that!”
I can’t help but burst out in laughter. “You’re gonna use that against me now?” She’s laughing, too.
“Yea, I have to get something out of this!” The tension is gone. We just laugh. I couldn’t be happier than I am in this moment. It would be impossible.
Love is so god damn weird. You face rejection, but all you want is to be right there with them anyway. And as much as it hurts to know that we could have been together, we could have been happy as a couple, and we could have lived together by now if I hadn’t dated that witch, I’m so happy that I can still be around her. I just hope things don’t change. I’d do anything for her. Even if that means I have to be in this sort of weird emotional pain the entire time. Plus, maybe if I stay close to her, and if I’m here by her side, then maybe she’ll want me again. She liked me once. I don’t expect it. I don’t want to force it. I’m not going to keep asking her out. I’ll even try to be supportive if she gets in a relationship with this new guy. I’m going to enjoy our time together, and I’m going to continue to be what I have been: a great friend. Because I love her. I might even be in love. Whatever that means. If I had to, I know I’d fly for her. I’ve already fallen, after all.