For The Best

I steadied my sight, with hands placed upon my chin, so I wouldn't miss any light. I had to collect all I could. I didn't want dark dulling her expressions. I never enjoy rooms absent of life, my most important sense useless. Especially with her involved. What a waste. As much as I enjoy the linguistic sounds she makes and the soft human compassion from her hands, it's all the better with the image of a moving mouth and curved lips and river bed palms and reflecting fingernails.

We sat adjacent to each other, inside the student union, I on a contemporary couch placed against the glass wall which overlooks the courtyard, her on a seat very similar to mine, except with only room for one. Fellow students sat comfortably around us, not too close, not too far, on the furniture that lines the long, wide hall. The chatter which rapidly floated down this hall did not bother me. My ears were keyed in on only her voice, nothing more.

She looked away while she gathered her thoughts. I waited patiently for her eyes to grace me, and I was briefly rewarded for my devotion, but only for a vanishing moment, for when I blinked, her temple replaced the former position of her eyes. Her voice began to sound, "I don't know what to say. It's all been said. What more do you want?"

You. A year ago. Well, to somehow go back a year and experience that love again.

"I just want to talk to you," I say. "About what? Like I told you, it's all been said," she answers, too quick for comfort, as she turns her head towards me. I lean back, buying me enough time to figure out what to say, "What's been going on with you in the last four months?"

"Why do you want to know? You don't care."
"I do care, that's why I'm asking. I wouldn't waste your time."
"Oh, you wouldn't? Hm."

She looks away again, my eyes following the hair on the side of her head flow down behind her ear. I remember kissing her there and I'm reminded that I've forgotten how it feels. I can feel my body reaching out, leaning over, my lips meeting skin and hair, my wet lips matting the brown threads against her head, so close to her skull, the shield to what controls her.

For the first time, a silence between us has matured into awkwardness. My mind is racing with every single syllable I want to say, but none of it will come out. I'm attempting to push them out the door but they resist so strongly, with unsurpassed purpose, and I cannot create enough force to dispel them. She looks back at me for a moment, then to some other object again. Tension building, with words waiting to be used, I panic and spit out, "I'll walk you to your car."

She silently agrees as I stand up, and for a brief moment she stares up at me, and I can feel pressure piling on my face, the weight almost drilling through my thick skull. I quickly look away and down the hall, the students deep inside their own minds unaware of the massive friction that occurred so close to them. I move my legs and she follows. It feels strange to walk beside her as instinct instructs me to reach out and hold her hand. I try not to listen but his whispers build up, so I begin thinking of tired thoughts, hoping they can obscure my habit induced ways.

We walk out of the hall and into the food court, passing patrons and tables and chairs and books and cups and food and backpacks huddled near their owners and the pseudo-smiles stamped on the most obedient employees, and the smell of Chinese food mixed with pizza fills the air. We pass into another hall, where at the end lies four automatic sliding doors.

As they slide open and let the chilled air breach the building for a moment, the cold kiss of winter smacks me on my face and memories flood but I hastily reconstruct the levees and force myself to focus on the present moment.

We get to the parking lot and I grow tired of no voices being used so I start to build another conversation. I begin, "you know, you should get your mom to get you a parking pass so you can park here. That'd be so convenient." She replies,

"Yeah, I've talked to her about it already."
"And?"
"She said, 'no.'"
"Oh."
"Yeah, ‘you'll get in trouble, Tiffany..’ blah blah."
"Oh, well."

Silences walks with us again. Another conversation, if you can even call it that, comes to an end. We pace towards the intersection, out of the parking-lot and away from campus, my mind freckled with indecision. Nothing new.

We stop at the edge of the sidewalk as the bright orange hand across the way forbids crossing. Her once flirtatious fingers roughly apply pressure to the button on the metal pole next to us. Cars pass by, and I look down the road. It starts to seem more like a river and less like a street:  A polluted river of dark asphalt and metal two-ton fish. She looks ahead, eyes fixated on the orange hand, waiting for a change. I stand still staring at her.

Walk. She leads the way and I follow. My hands stop enjoying the fresh cold air and make their way into my coat pockets. Her hands stay at her sides, moving with her body. We walk on, down Harmon and towards Escondido.

"Where did you park?" she asks. Finally, her voice breaks the tension. "Um, over there...” I reveal my hand back to the world and point to the right, towards Ascot, "...but I want to walk you all the way to your car, something could happen to you, you know." I know she'll be fine but that's the best excuse I could come up with. I need more time with her. I've used this reasoning before. It always works.

"I'll be fine. I walk down this street at night sometimes, nothing ever happens," she says, still walking ahead of me as she turns left on Escondido. "You never know. I must protect you in case someone attacks, I have to prove my worth," I spit out jokingly. She can read my tone and she shrugs. We walk on.

I recall now, as we turn right on some street I don't know the name to, her scent mixed with her sweat and my sweat and the music blaring from her laptop and the premium cotton rubbing against my skin as she lay atop of me, the warmth from her body more caring than an ecstasied friend, her teeth sometimes nibbling my lips as she came too, our vessels climaxing in unison, an event unrivaled in life.

The memory fades as her car appears in front of me. I stand for a moment, planning words and an action to embrace, but she cuts off my thoughts as she unlocks her Rabbit, "Okay, get in. I'll drop you off at your car." I didn't expect her t- "I didn't expect you to take me, I swear." "Yeah, sure. Come on," she replies quickly, the last word being swallowed by the Rabbit's interior as her head disappears into the car. I grip the familiar handle and place myself in the seat that has held me before, many times before.

She starts the car and she asks me where I parked. I tell her to turn around and lead her with finger and voice. Unrecognizable music plays at a comfortable volume and I drift into thoughts again and before I find something meaningful, she stops the car and to our left is my traveling machine. I open my door, but turn my body back towards her before I leave.

That look, it's that look again stamped on her face so obviously, she can't hide it, she couldn't if her life depended on it. She loves me. I think I love her. But, therein lies the problem. My young mind leads me astray when I try and settle it into submission and yell at it to love her forever. He doesn't listen as he skips off, so goddamn complacent, and I have to follow or I'll die.

"Well, thanks. I'll see you soon, maybe?"
"Maybe," her lips twitch.
"Okay," I say.

I lean over and embrace. I have to. I had to. She's warm. My arms feel at home. My nose revels in sweet ecstasy as that dreamlike scent rises from her, like blood floating in water. I can't see her face but I know what it's emoting. I want to say sorry, for hugging her, for everything, again, but she hates that word, so I don't. I disattach my body and stare again. She looks frail, my fault.

"Bye-bye," I say.
"Bye."

I exit her vehicle and look onto mine. I hear her back out quickly, tires spitting gravel, and I turn to watch her leave. I forgot to tell her. I forgot to tell her everything. I chose to forget to tell her. If I had a spine and some guts to nurture such a thing I would have told it all, all of these feelings encased. But, I'll let my diary listen again:

(I'm sorry, Tiffany. If I let you in again I know I would only let you down again. I'm nineteen and undecided in everything I do and anything I think about. I miss you, every day, but I'm content with missing as long as it means you'll be fine. And you will be, with me away from your pure body, with time on your side. I've been where you are now. I have. It burns and stabs and clasps so harshly. Drying your eyes out, tying your stomach into knots. The gravity of the world adding pressure, the gravity of the situation pushing too hard. Sorry. I say, maybe someday, as I hope, hopelessly, that my brain will mature and I can love relentlessly. But, you'll be gone then, if that even comes to pass, and that's okay and that's expected. What you did for me will remain unsurpassed by anyone that ever has and ever will walk into my life with a pleasant appearance and a sharp mind. I was dismal. Depressed and in the gutter, the muck starting to feel like home. Broken down to my foundation by young love, or lust, or whatever the f**k it was. You appeared, suddenly, and held me close and kept me warm and pulled me out of the rain and cleaned me up and licked my wounds. I will always remember that. I will always feel that. It will always beckon wet eyes. I now stand straight as I walk, because of you. I now have a new sort of pride burning inside of me. Thank you, Tiffany. I wish I had some kind of positive influence upon you. You say I don't. I hope that's not true. There has to be something. Maybe, it'll be revealed in time, when you look back, if you look back. Not to be overly dramatic, I just think it's best if we stay far apart. I know you agree. I'll see you when we're both not so emotional.)