The Hardest Thing

I once wrote a story about an impressionable young man and his fight to find true love, but now that story seems irrelevant. Nearly a year later and all it has done is gather dust in the back warehouse of my mind; but, the sad part is, it was nowhere near fiction.
Every good writer brings in their own life experiences into their work; they mold it and improve the truth to make it more appealing for the readers. That is what stands between me, and greatness. This certain story lacked a creative lease on life; there was no expansion on the truth. There was the boy, sadly modeled after myself; and there was the girl. She never saw him, at least not in the light he wished to be seen. It wasn’t a terrible story, but it’s hard to please a reader when there is no ending. I left the page without punctuation and said it was to be left up to the reader what happened. In my head I knew that that meant it was up to her. When she wanted to see me, she’d see me. When she wanted me gone, I’d be gone. My pathetic attempt at existing at her altitude dwindled helplessly beneath me. There was no ending, until now. Now, there is more.

I have five nights left here in this town. As of Monday, Labor Day, I am going to be a resident of Encino, CA. Just another kid following his dreams of stardom to Hollywood, just to be upset when he realizes that he is nothing unique. Don't get me wrong, I really want to succeed out there, but look at every person that says "Oh I'm moving to LA to become famous", that's me, except I'm going expecting disappointment.
A big part of me does kind of wish failure upon myself because then I'd have to come back here, to everything I know and love but at the same time despise. It's funny, I've spent so many years dreaming I was off somewhere else, doing something better in a more exciting town, and now that I'm leaving I'm thinking of everything that I am going to miss while I'm not here. All of the faces that are going to come and go, all of the memories and inside jokes that when, if, I come back I won’t get. It's all of this that is going to make me come home, or keep me away.
The hardest part of leaving is saying goodbye. It's so final. It means that after these words, I may never see or speak to this person again. I've said that compound word more times in the last week then anybody should ever have to say. I've cried so many tears, knowing that this may be the last time me and a certain someone shake hands, or hug, or kiss.
The hardest goodbye is to that one person that you will spend your life thinking of if you never see them again. Friends, distant family members, they all mean something but this person will haunt your every move.
This is where I’m at right now. In less than a week I’ll be airborne heading to the City of Angels, and if I don’t talk to her I am going to regret it every second of every day that I live. I am going to hate the waves of the beach, the smell of the ocean as the sun hits the horizon. I am going to hate every blonde haired, big-breasted California girl I meet because she will not smell that comforting smell.

The drive the Janine’s house was the longest five minutes of my life. I recited my scripted statement over and over again, trying to pick out what sounded good and what sounded pathetic. Tucked safely in the passenger seat was the flower I had been aging in the sunlight of my window since the day I met her. You can’t assign symbolism - it just falls into place. My shitty old car was shaking on the dirt road leading towards her house, or maybe it was just my hands. I was stepping closer and closer to either a certain death or a rise to a new life. I always have this tendency to play really depressing music when I’m in a really depressed mood, and it doesn’t seem to help me.
Note to the wise: do not listen to The Ataris when you’re upset.
Additional note: do not listen to Saves The Day, either.
Both will kill your heart even more in a rough time, you don’t need that. But, sometimes, you really want to have your heart stepped on to exploit this feeling. There is no stronger emotion then the one you feel when you think you’re going to be deserted. Love, hatred – neither amount to the feeling of failing and being left alone.
I could already feel my heart sinking as I turned off the car and walked to her front door. Two knocks, it seemed less anxious and not too short. Oh god, the car ride was nothing compared to how long it took for her to answer the door.
Nothing is sweeter than a hug - nothing is more intimate than a kiss; her touch pulled me in and held me tight. I don’t always mind feeling like time is stopped, I wish I could stay in this moment forever because once those words fly out of my mouth, nothing stays the same. As of now I’m a great friend, no more. In 5 minutes I’d like to be a lover.
“So why the house call?” She was so gorgeous. Every word floated off her lips with grace and hit me and held me high.
“I,” I gasped for breath and held my chest, hoping my heart didn’t jump out and onto the floor, “I needed to talk to you.”
So many times I’ve talked with her for hours on end, we could talk for eternity about nothing, but right now I wanted to say the words that had been boiling under my tongue for the last year and I couldn’t find the balls to do it. Irony is such a bitch.
“Okay,” her smile glistening in the early September light, “Let’s sit.”
We walked to the end of her porch and she sat on the top step of the short flight of stairs. I paced behind her, working up the courage to blurt out the most important words I would ever say. I fumbled my way down to the steps and sat next to her. Our legs rubbed closely together, like they had so many times before on late nights, and I couldn’t help but think I would never be doing that again.
“So, what’s up?”
What is up? What is the transition into the ‘I Love You’ speech? Should it even be a speech, or just the words and then an attempt at a kiss? I could see in her eyes she knew exactly what I was going to say, I had gotten close before but the whole ‘she has a boyfriend’ thing had always made me shy away. But, now, it was do or die. If I didn’t open up my heart so that she could take it our drop it then I would regret every further step I took away from this porch.

My original story told of how we met; it showed how I fell in love with her in one glimpse and how the last year of my life was torture seeing her and hell being away. The whole situation fucked with my brain and left the story at ‘does he or doesn’t he’, and now we’re at the judgment stage. Will he or won’t he. Will she, or won’t she.

“Jeanine, I just wanted to let you know,” breathe, just breathe, “The reason for me asking to come over today…”
She must hate me. I hate me, why am I so pathetic?
“Sam, it’s okay … go on.”
My name has never stung so much as when she says it. It makes me feel so close to her and then I realize how terribly far apart we really are.
“The ride here, I was shaking so much knowing that this is going to be one of the last times that I see you.” She started to speak, “Jeanine, let me finish this. It’s hard enough trying to get it started so, please, let me say it and then you can tell me anything you want … just, promise not to slap me when I’m through.”
She giggled, and I couldn’t help but smirk back.
“Okay… The last year has been the worst year of my life. Since the day I met you I have done nothing but wish that I were more than just Sam, the shoulder you cry on. Don’t get me wrong, I love that we’re friends … but, just once, I want to be the one you go home with. Just once, I want to be the guy who sweeps you off your feet and holds you close and promises you that, even though we may not always be on top of the world, I will never let there be a bad day. I will never let the day end with us not side by side, and you not holding my heart. I want you to know that I would stay, if you asked me, and only for that. I’m sorry to throw this on you, but I can’t leave and live my life without letting you know this. Jeanine, I wish you would love me because I have spent every day for the last year realizing over and over again that I do love you and I do not want to lose out on the greatest thing anyone could ever have. So, please, ask me to stay.”
My stomach turned and knotted itself time and time again. The tears that had formed in the ducts started to swell up in my eyes, and I looked right at her. I didn’t think she was breathing, her eyes were staring at her shoes and then I saw a tear. I stood up and went to the bottom of the stairs and looked back at her.
She didn’t say a word. She didn’t even look at me.
“I’m sorry,” I turned and walked to my car, wishing every step would bring my speech further and further home for her. Wishing that this would be the last step, and she would be right behind me with a waiting kiss. I got to my car and breathed in deep. My key slipped right into the door and I slowly let it unlock, and then I felt her standing right behind me. Looking into the window I saw her reflection but I was unable to read any emotion. I slowly turned and she stared deep into my eyes.
“You love me?” she asked, “You honestly, truly love me, Sam?”
“If I didn’t I wouldn’t have stuck around for so long. I wouldn’t have bothered with a goodbye.”
“And you waited until now to tell me?”
What did that mean? Should I have told her earlier, or not at all? God damn it. Her tears lined neatly under her eyes, running over her lips and down her chin. She wiped them away, and continued to look deeply inside my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I looked at the ground, kicked around the dirt trying to think of some way to further this conversation. “Listen, I know that I love you. If I didn’t, this feeling would’ve gone away once you started dating Jon. But, Jeanine, it didn’t. It stuck around. I stuck around, for you,” I was doing it, I was telling the love of my life who she was, “Every pathetic attempt this far has ended out with a cute hug or a peck on the cheek, and it stings so badly knowing that he was getting a better hug and he was getting the real kiss. And every time that I was there to help you through a fight with him and you asked me what the answer was, I wanted so badly to tell you ‘Look up, I’m right here. Just open your eyes.’ But, I couldn’t. Out of fear or whatever, I just couldn’t muster up the courage to tell you that you are all I want. So, yeah, now I’m telling you. I know my timing couldn’t be any worse.”
The pause that followed my remark seemed to last an eternity. Everything moves slower when it’s meaningful, but nothing good stays. I couldn’t stand to look at her, but I couldn’t help but stare. I probably just fucked up the greatest friendship I ever had.
I turned and opened the car door and reached across to the passenger seat and picked up the sunburst rose. I let it slide between my fingers, the thorns now turned to a crisp, and I looked into her eyes:
“I want you to have this. Take it to school with you, put it wherever you want. I bought this flower the day I met you, and I’ve had it ever since. As long as this flower is there just know that I am an option. As long as this flower is in your possession, I am an answer. I don’t care if I’m in Los Angeles or Guam or any other place on this Earth, if you need me, I am right here.”
I handed her the rose and she held between her hands and looked at it. Her tears were no longer linear; they were rushing down like a waterworks display. She threw herself at me and held me tightly. I kissed her head, like I had so many times before that, and we just held for ten minutes. No words were spoken, and I didn’t want there to be for this was the closest thing to perfect I would get with her. This was the closest I would feel to love. I never wanted to let go, I just wanted her to hold me and let her tears soak in through my t-shirt and just hold close through the foliage and into the snow. I wish she never let me go because that was the sign of my defeat.
I know what she’d say if she were reading this, ‘Sam, it was not a defeat. You have me, nobody will ever have me the way you have me.’
All I want is to have her the way I deserve to have her, to have her heart and soul and to give her all that I can give her every day of every week for the rest of my life.
She let go, and smiled through her tears:
“Sam, you will always be right here,” she held the rose to her heart and I knew that I would have to leave with that.
For me, Sam, there was no goodbye kiss; there wasn’t even a goodbye. There were just those words that I have played over and over in my head for the last 3 months of living in Los Angeles. Nothing out here has made my life feel any greater than it felt when Jeanine held me that early September morning.
Who knows what will happen, and I hate to leave yet another story with a true ending, but this is as much as I can give right now. I gave her my heart, and she took the flower. I gave her my heart, and she gave me hope.