It was dusk and I sat in the passenger seat. She was excited to tell me that the cute guy she was into from that place finally asked her out and they were going to go to La Houangiania. I hadn’t even thought to ask her to go there. I hadn’t even heard of that place, actually, but I could tell it was really cool. Her eyes and teeth shone dazzlingly.
“Oh ooooh look at you!” I intoned and smiled.
I think she continued to drive, but time may as well have frozen. I thought that I always knew that this was possible, but in it actually happening, I felt like I’d been pistol-whipped. She’s more than a catch. She’s surreal. She’s a reverse UV ray. She’s a jaguar’s spots. She’s maple syrup. She’s the feeling of being slung over the edge of the wake on an inner-tube. She’s an Alp and a meadow. She’s the propane burner of a hot air balloon. I felt every fiber of my being stretch as my insides strained to get out.
Was there anything that I could have done to prevent this? Had I simply hit my limit? Our time was finite after all? Things were supposed to remain light. Easy. Nothing labelled. If it ended tomorrow, I’d be glad that it happened at all. Lived and lust, you know?
But that’s if it ended tomorrow. Not today. It was always a step removed from the present, no matter how much I thought I was really living in that present. This isn’t to say that I had regrets. I had questions. I had to wonder if there was something that I could have done differently. I had self-pity. I had hard feelings, but none of them were for her.
A rush of insecurities marred my mind, assailing my recently-vibrant hopes and nourishing my long-dormant fears. I felt ugly and unfortunate, and was upset with myself for being upset. My uvula had either disappeared or become numb, and it didn’t matter, as no words could help this.
She was happy.
I woke feeling hollowed-out and lonely, but looked to see her next to me. What was inside her? Was she feeling full? Will she be pulling the curtains off the window to wrap herself in warmth? And could I blame her? Of course not.
Nor could I shake the truth. It’d been years since a dream meant something to me. This one was a slow motion lightning bolt to my rusted weathervane.
What I could do is breathe. She was happy. And I did have hard feelings. And none of them were for her.