Still Being Written
Dear Shaggy, Thank you for throwing that volleyball twelve years ago. By a stroke of fate, or perhaps you meant to hit my friend, I'm glad either way. You told me tonight why it was so awkward when we did finally date and why it didn't magically fit how we assumed it would after eight years. I had no idea you suffered from clincal anxiety. And, found it more suprising you didn't either. It just seemed there was unnecessary levels of tension at all times. I appreciate you explaining to me what exactly it was you were going through for so many years. You called our friendship a story and that this "story book will have it's ending..." You said that our break up was just the end of an act, or perhaps a chapter. I couldn't help remembering all those nights as a young teenager dreaming about the boy I met on the boardwalk. But it was tonight, for the first time, I really saw you. You were so honest with me tonight. I could hear your voice and the sincere regret, apologetic tone and longing to turn back time. So, I want to share with you our story from my point of view. The blossoming of our friendship was one of the most innocent, natural, hormonal packed evenings of my life. I remember passing the volleyball net. Your shirts were off and you had on a backwards hat with dark shaggy hair; streaks of blonde from the sun. As the three of us girls tried to keep our composure, we whispered back and forth, "Don't stare! Just wave and keep walking!" As we turned our backs, I felt a ball hit me. My friend nervously, like a young girl who doesn't know what the fuck to do when a smokin' hot, older boy approaches her whispered, "Just hand it back, let's go!" Clearly, I remember you running up to us calling out, "Hey girls! Hey stop, that's my ball. Sorry we hit it a little too hard. Didn't mean to get you." Check-and-mate. "Oh, you mean this ball? Here!" I threw the ball right at you. "Whoa, hey! Ha-ha," with a mischievous smile, "Wanna join in?" After a bit of persuasion and reminding my friends that this is what we went out to do, we continued our "boardwalk empire" playing in the sand. You and I had an instant chemistry. You seemed so effortless as if you had done this for years. And, you had. You reminded us constantly that this was your guys idea of fun during the summer; snagging up cute tourist girls to get your kicks. We squealed with nervous laughter. You told me years later you had no idea the girl big brown eyes would become one of your best friends. Do you remember taking us around the boardwalk and into different shops, all barefoot? We felt so beautiful and accepted by these adorable born and raised beach-bum babes. I was in love. As we parted ways you made a joke. Remember what it was? Because, I actually do. It was a rhyme and a really, really fucking stupid one a that, "You're mama's a llama but she looks like a camel." WHAT? I could have left right there but as fate would have it, I laughed at your dumb joke and we exchanged AOL screen names. Fast forward eight years later. That shaggy haired boy and I never lost touch. All those years we had seen each other through personal heart arches, bad break ups, gave advice to each other about good sex...bad sex...family, friends, school and life. Our entire friendship consisted of piles upon piles of internet conversations and pictures sent back and forth. You called me your cyberspace girlfriend and it was so true. Space; there was so much of it. But, through it all we retained an innocence; an innocence of two young people growing up together, asking questions, figuring things out and trying to maintain a boundary chalk full of sexual tension, desires and hope. So, eventually we decided to say, 'what the hell' and dove in feet first. For the first time in eight years (2008), we decided to take a stab at a relationship. It was the most awkward time I can remember. Neither of us knowing how to take the next steps or what to make of this "thing." We visited a few times. About six months later, we broke up. As you know, I have been with another person for three years. And I love him too. It was hard though, hearing that shaggy haired boy I knew talk to me like a man; someone with a career, maturity, honesty, confidence. It made me think. It made me doubt. It made me long for some need that is not being met. As we were saying goodnight like we always do, I felt fourteen again; all those giddy butterflies resurfaced. You said to me something that many girls have heard thousands of times, although this time it struck a sharper chord: "You're every bit the woman I wanted. But, I couldn't handle it. My sister still gives me shit. She thinks I should have "wifed-you-up" and that I was dumb to let you go. This book is still being written after what, 12 years?" In that moment, I felt love, lust, longing and loss all in one, swift punch. Are we holding onto a fantasy home-grown out of teenage angst? Are we feeling a love that many people dream of? Is this the kind of relationship, the epic, that exists in the movies? I don't know what will happen to our friendship. We have always been candid. This time I felt a dedication in your words; a good fight. Who knows, it may abruptly fall to the wayside after finally getting some closure or it made stay strong for years to come. Perhaps it will twindle away slowly and become a gentle memory I share with my kids and you with yours. Whatever it is and whatever happens, life is strangely beautiful. I met you on the beach during a humid east coast night. The chapters we create are not written in stone, but sand. Love, Me.
Background:
There were three of us; myself, my best friend, her little sister and one boardwalk. Every year I took a beach trip with my friend's family which consisted of her, a sister, her mom and whatever boyfriend her mom had at the time. One night we started getting ready to go out on the town. What normally took me fifteen minutes, turned into an hour. The sister's insisted on doing my make up and hair so we could all "look hot" for the unsuspecting boys we prayed to meet. It was finally the moment we had been waiting for. We weren't fourteen today, oh no, we were "sixteen" and without adult supervision! The boardwalk was our empire. After her mom dropped us off, probably to go drink and smoke herself silly with said boyfriend, we filed out of the car and began our own version of fun; boys, beach and boardwalk.
