A Portrait Of A Young Girl Rising

A Story by MackieSwoger

A story about a girl falling out of love with him and falling in love with herself.

Hockey rinks are cold. There’s a bite to the air as soon as you walk in. I’ve never been one to willingly walk into cold places�" that is, until I met him. I spent a lot of time in hockey rinks, hoping to understand his favorite sport. His favorite getaway. Hoping to impress him with my interest and knowledge. For him, it was always worth sitting in the cold.

I don’t go to hockey rinks much anymore, but I still find my way back to him. It’s like my body became immune to the cold because I can’t seem to escape it anymore. And he…he’s colder than any hockey rink, but I can’t seem to escape him either.

There’s something about the way he smiles. It doesn’t fill his face or shine brighter than the stars, no. It’s one of those smiles that make you stop mid-sentence to smile back. It’s a smile you will miss when it is gone, and you that one day it will be gone because, with him, truly nothing lasts forever.

He and I are like a movie. I love him. And he loves me. But it just isn’t that simple. There is distance and people and lies and stories and miscommunications and, mostly, timing. And timing is the biggest b***h of all. We are a movie script full of goodbye’s and hello’s and I miss you’s and I’m sorry’s. There have been plenty of tragedies written before, I just never realized our story would be one of them.

I love him and I hate him. Everyday is a tug-of-war between loving someone who broke me in half and hating someone who gives me so much joy and a sparkle in my eye no one had ever seen before. I battle with myself until I’m reminded that it doesn’t matter because he will never love me the way I love him.

“What’s it like?”, my sister asked me tonight.

“What’s what like?”, I asked only half paying attention.

“Being in love with someone who only breaks your heart.”

I didn’t have an answer. My mind became a mess of wine, memories, words I never said, and words I should have never said. In one quick gulp, I finished my third glass of Pinot Grigio and called him.

Exactly 43 minutes later, he was next to me, flattered that he’s always the person I want when I’m drunk.

Stay strong, Abby, you’re going to end this once and for all tonight… I thought to myself.

He started to pull me in for a kiss, and I pushed him away much to his surprise.

“I can’t do this anymore. I never know what we really are, but I know I’ve never been nothing more than a convenience or a compromise to you.” I said with my eyes closed.

He simply responded, “Let’s go for a walk.”

We walked along the empty streets and I cried and he smiled and told me I was being silly.

“Sweetie, you know you won’t want to be broken up in the morning.”, he said with the cool cockiness that only he could pull off.

And that’s when it hit me. He was not mine, I was not his. We are not each other’s.

“It’s impossible to be broken up with someone who was never even yours to begin with.” I said with the false conviction I wish I actually possessed.

With that, I walked away letting go of every word, every promise, every betrayal. I walked home, defeated, and looked in the mirror at a girl I thought I knew. A girl I can’t wait to rediscover. A girl I know is worth more. For the first time in a long time, I saw myself for me and not as the girl he would never love.

That was nine months ago. We may not hold hands anymore or stay up until four in the morning talking about my favorite reality television shows but I still think about him. He hasn’t tried to come back. I’d be lying if I said that it doesn’t make me sad that he hasn’t tried to come back. I’ve become a cliche�" a sack of a girl who thought I became this better, more independent young women when, in reality, I was still heartbroken and hoping for an “I miss you” text no matter what time of the night it was.

His radar used to always goes off either when I was drunk, alone, or most commonly, when I wasn’t thinking about him. And, just like that, the weakness would seep out and he would seep back in. It’s this cycle that he had figured out. It’s hard for me to admit that he’s figured me out because, in my head, I’m mysterious and complicated and frustrating. But let’s be real, I’m a 5 foot tall girl with blonde hair, blue eyes, and California-kissed skin. I wasn’t bred to be mysterious and brooding.

I don’t know if it was a mistake to fall in love with him. Sometimes I think it was a mistake until I remember who I’ve become since he left. Am I a better person? Probably not. Am I a stronger person? Absolutely At least I think so. I haven’t let anyone in the way I let him in. Whether I keep people at bay out of fear or intelligence, I haven’t really figured out yet.

It’s Friday night girls’ night�" basically an excuse for all the single girls to put on their shortest dresses, get wildly drunk, and find the hottest guy to hook up with…and then when he doesn’t give you the time of day, you settle for whoever looks you way. Girls in relationships are only invited as the designated driver and so they can rid their conscience of not hanging with the girls enough. It’s a beautiful tradition in modern society, really.

Nine out of ten times, I’m the girl in black amongst a sea of gold glitter and red satin. The flashy dresses have always been a little much for me. The little black dress isn’t famous for nothing, right?

I grew up in Los Angeles, California but there’s something about New York that I couldn’t keep myself away from. The New York City lights welcome anyone who can handle them. You see every walk of life here: couples at dinner, families seeing the latest showing on Broadway, tourists in their brand new I NY t-shirts, and, most of all, a pack of girls scouring every bar in hopes of finding love in a city built on workaholics.

The Space Ibiza dance club in New York City is one of my least favorite places to go on a Friday night. Too many people, too many smells, and too many unidentified groping hands. But, of course, that is where we will be tonight.

“Space Ibiza it is, ladies. Now…SHOTS!”, says my effervescent partner in crime, Rachel.

She’s been by my side since college. We were inseparable and anti-social for a couple years but we finally figured out how to be normal young women in our twenties. We’re the most stable in the group, everyone else is either painfully desperate or has an embarrassingly low tolerance with alcohol.

After we are all feeling the wonderful haze provided by heavy liquor, we head out ready for another night of making this city our own. We only bring our phones and IDs. It’s a rule. The only drinks we’ll have are the ones other people pay for�" partially because we think we’re hot commodities, but mainly because we can’t afford drinks anyways. We get into the club with ease and it is just as crowded and lively as it always is. Joy.

It doesn’t take long to get our first drinks. It’s always from some guy who will spend all night trying to make eye contact and us girls avoiding it like the plague. We don’t really show interest in any guy until we’re at least 2 or 3 drinks in, go figure. I usually just make friends with the bartender, trust me that is the only foolproof way to get free shots in this city. My friend Andrew is working tonight. He thinks we have a past due to a night spent together, a past that may or may not be true due to my lack of memory from that night so it could really be left up to interpretation. I’m just saying.

He’s my favorite bartender. We like to people watch in the bar, you can learn a lot about a person based on their drink, what they’re wearing, and who they’re trying to talk to. Or our assumptions are completely false in which, feel free to ignore what I just said. Anyways, he knows about my last romance. He refers to him as “the dude you left under a streetlamp”, but his name is Dallas. I walk over to Andrew and he has a plate of shots ready for us. The expression on his face is full of amusement.

“Why does your face look like that?”, I ask curiously.

“Well, I think I got my eyes from my mom but I definitely got my nose and mouth from my dad.” he responds, smiling.

“Yeah and it looks like you got your eyebrows from your dad’s long-lost gorilla brother.” I say with a laugh.

He feigns offense and hands me a shot saying “you’re gonna need this tonight.”

In one quick gulp, I take the shot and ask him why.

Expressionless, he says “The dude you left under a streetlamp is here.”

My heart sank out of either nervousness or excitement or both. I may look good tonight but that does not mean I’m ready to see him. We take another shot and I decide that needs to be my last shot of the night. I consider looking for Rachel amongst the crowd but I know its useless so I just sit, hoping no one I once knew would see me.

“I’m going outside for a second”, I tell Andrew leaving too quick to hear his response.

I walk fast, hoping not to run into him. I make it outside on the roof, the designated smoking area. I pull out a cigarette, light it, and let my mind be engulfed with every thought I’m having and every emotion I’m feeling.

You probably won’t even see him. He probably went back to his girlfriend and found a new side girl. Maybe he’s changed. Maybe he’s better. Maybe he’s worse. Maybe he’s out burning off steam because he misses you. Maybe he hasn’t thought about you in months.

Then the door opened and, secretly, every piece and part of me hoped it would be Dallas who walked out.

And it was.

He froze.

He smiled.

He walked over.

“You pick up a new habit since you left me?” He says, pulling me in for a hug.

I breathed in every piece of him. It was sad how easy it is for us to pick up as if nothing had happened. I smiled and gestured the pack to him, offering him one.

Denying my offer, he said, “I broke up with Olivia.”

Silence.

“We broke up for good, it’s been months.”

I still haven’t said anything.

“I’ve never known you to be a woman of few words, guess a lot has changed.”

He looked over at me expectantly.

“Yeah, I guess a lot has changed.”

I put my cigarette out and began to walk back to the door towards the sea of sweat and desperation that is Space Ibiza when he grabbed my hand and asked me to stay.

“I can’t, my friends are waiting for me.”

“You won’t find them down there and you know it.”

With a moment of hesitation, I said, “Okay,”

He’s doing really well�" focusing on his friends and family and work. He got a new job. It pays better. His brother moved back to California. Dallas hates that its May and still rainy and cold. He says the weather hasn’t quite caught up with the months. I tell him about my job and how I finally understand why people love to work their lives away. I tell him how much I hate Space Ibiza. I tell him I miss my sister. He tells me he still plays hockey on the weekends and how we should go ice skating soon. I tell him I’m not much for ice skating anymore.

We were up there for an hour before I checked my phone to endless texts from Andrew and Rachel.

The only one that caught my eye was the last one Rachel sent me: Whatever you do, just stay strong, Abby.

Why does it have to be so easy with him? He sits down next to me and then it’s as if nothing ever happened, nothing ever went wrong. But something did happen and everything was wrong. He may still love me. He may be confused, as he usually says he is. It may be too complicated with his endless string of girls coming around. But I was always understanding, I was always there. I was never enough to change the situation for�" its time I accept that for what it means. If I walk away now, all that I will lose is someone who doesn’t love me, right? Why is it so much harder for me to walk away than him.

“It was really nice seeing you, Dallas”, I solemnly say with a kiss on his cheek.

I’m going home. For years, I ran between wanting him and wanting to get over him. Neither were happening successfully, clearly. He put me through hell and I called it love. I tried hating him, I tried forgiving him, I tried ignoring him. But for once, it won’t be about him. This will be about me.

The first person I call when I get home is my mom. She always knows exactly what I need to hear, even if its a little harsh sometimes.

“Hi mom.” I say with a sigh.

“Hi sweetie, everything okay?” I can tell my phone call woke her up.

“Yeah, I ran into Dallas tonight. We talked, it was kind of sad.”

I finally let a tear out.

“Why was it sad?”

“I have a feeling that will be the last time we speak again. I just feel like I lost a friend tonight.”

“I know it’s hard. But look at what you’ve become since he left. Imagine who you’ll be once you actually let him go.”

She’s right. Only good things have ever come from leaving him…or him leaving me, if you want to get technical.

“I think I’m going to go to sleep. Sorry for waking you. Love you, mom.”

“I love you too, Abs, sweet dreams.”

I change into my most comfortable set of sweats and a sweatshirt and pull up an old journal I haven’t written in since I was 17.

I wrote for hours that night. I wrote of everything that happened, everything that changed, how I changed, and how I want to change now.

…I’m sad but it’s a hopeful kind of sad. This is the kind of sadness that makes people great again. This is the kind of sadness Taylor Swift felt with every number 1 hit she wrote. I can feel that this is the moment where my life takes a turn and makes it a dream. I got a taste of a pseudo-amazing love and I never want to try it again�" I want a life where mediocrity isn’t enough. I don’t need him to miss me, I don’t need him to love me, I’m not doing this in hopes that he’ll see me and think, “Damn, I messed up” because that can’t be my drive anymore. His opinion can’t be my source of motivation. It needs to be me. I probably won’t write in this journal for another 5 years again, but by then, the world be mine and he will be nothing more than a distant memory. Here’s to me, myself, and I.