Loss

...continued from Ten Years Gone

Summer came and went and I eagerly waited to see her again. But I never did. High School was not Junior High. I barely saw her anymore and we never talked. I wanted to, but I just couldn't face her. A lot had happened since Virginia. During the summer between 9th and 10th grades my face broke out with a vengeance and I found out I had to wear a back brace at night because my spine curved too much. Even though there was never any indication that she would feel any different towards me, I felt like a monster and hid from her. Of course, she never made any effort to talk to me, either. The longer we didn't talk, the harder it became to start up again. It got so that I was even afraid to look at her. I wasn't good enough.

Also, I was in the Voc. One thing they don't tell you when you sign up for the Vocational School is that regular High School kids hate the Voc kids. That's not in the pamphlet. I lost most of my friends, including my best friend since kindergarten. Oddly, it didn't bother me as much as losing her, even though I knew him since I was six and I'd only known her for a few months. A few days, really.

I got by. I made new friends. Nick, Jose, Jim, Mike and Wah-Kee. Good old Wah-Kee. They were a little weird at first; Nick had about thirty people living at his house at any given time, and Mike is the personification of the word "spaz," but they stuck by me when the people who where supposed to be my friends bailed. I was really lucky to have friends like them.

I still thought about her all the time, even if I was too afraid to actually talk to her. Seeing her in the hallways caused my throat to dry up and my heart to start pounding in my chest so fast I thought it was going to burst. As time went on, in my mind I just kept replaying what little time we'd spent together and building her up until she became this untouchable goddess. She was like the Ark of the Covenant; one look and I'd melt like a Nazi.

Even so, in the back of my mind I imagined scenarios where we'd have some chance meeting one day and everything would go back to the way it was before. I just needed that one moment. And it kept almost happening.

Sophomore year I had Mr. Welsh for honors English first period. She had Mr. Welsh for honors English...third period. For me, third period was Principles of Technology with Mr. Soule. Mr. Soule wore glasses with one tinted lens. He explained his unique eyewear on the first day of class.

"You're probably wondering about my eye," he said as he removed his glasses to reveal one eye that looked straight at us and the other facing Mecca. As if he really needed further explaination, he told us that he had a lazy eye and the darker lens was to correct it. Mr. Soule was a great teacher, but Principles of Technology was just a fancy name for "applied physics," which itself is just another name for "math stuff." Since I'm what some people might call mathematically retarded, this probablly wasn't the best choice of classes, but it was part of a required program for kids in Tech Prep. I spent three years in that class and I think all I got out of it is that there's something called foot-pounds. The point is, I did horrible in this class and if I had any sense at all, I would have switched to biology. I know I would have done much better in Biology, which if I had taken, would have been first period, meaning I would have had the third period English class. Could have been that one chance I was looking for. If only.

There was a school magazine called Reflections. When my mom was in school, it was a quarterly magazine (and called "Reflector"), but in its current state it was only put out once a year. Anyway, it offered an opportunity for creative types to share their work with the whole student body. Or at least the six people that actually bought or was even aware of Reflections. I signed up to be part of the staff, but after a couple of weeks of sitting in an empty library waiting for the rest of the staff to show up for the meetings, I stopped going. When yearbook time rolled around, guess who was in the group photo of the Reflections staff? Missed her again.

Senior year, the guidance councilor suggested that I take a creative writing class. I didn't have any room for one on my schedule, but I was able to work out a deal with Mr. Landry, my graphic arts teacher. Instead of having graphic arts for the last three classes of the day, I'd leave sixth period for my creative writing class and come back to finish the day in the shop. It was a second semester class, and I knew it was my last chance to have a class with her. I remember actually pleading with God for her to have sixth period creative writing class. As it turned out, I had Mr. Welsh again. And she did have creative writing sixth period...with Mr. Ghiorse. She was in the next room! It's like God was saying, "You should have been more specific. Hehe."

That's the way it went. I was always just missing her. And I saw signs all over the place, like our phone numbers were one number off on the first and last digit. Even our birthdays separated by one month and one day. It couldn't just be a coincidence, right? This was bigger than just two people. This was destiny. I could feel it.

One time I went with Nick to his locker. Out of nowhere I heard, "Will you hold my orange juice, Hammel?" I turned around and there she was. I couldn't believe it. She handed me the juice while she opened her locker. A million thoughts raced through my head as I tried to think of what to say to her, but all that came out was "Phlarmmmble..."

Without turning away from what she was doing, her reaction to was, "What, did you spill it?"

Oh, that's it. Screw you and your stupid orange juice. You haven't said a goddamn word to me in two years--two years-- and now you decide you're going to speak and the first thing you say isn't 'Hi,' or 'How are you?' it's 'Hold my orange juice.' Well why don't you hold it between your knees?!

Of course, I didn't say that, I just said "Okay" and held her drink, while she got something from locker, took her drink back, and walked away again. I should have been mad, but I wasn't. She remembered my name.

I never told anyone about my feelings for her, and when Nick finally did found out, he was determined to get me to talk to her. Or at least nag me about it incessantly. As more people found out, they all seemed to take Nick's stance. He even stole my yearbook and got her to sign it for me during the senior cruise. My cousins saw her comments in the yearbook and immediately hopped on the "You gotta talk to her" train.

But it was too late. We had different lives. I wasn't about to bother her just because I had some repressed feelings I needed to express. Despite what everyone insisted, it was best for all involved just to let it go. Then something happened that made me change my mind.

After graduation we found out that my grandfather had cancer. Esophageal cancer. I couldn't understand it. He never smoked or anything. He was one of the healthiest people I knew. He used to swim laps in his pool every day and he competed in the senior olympics. But he still got cancer.

He went to the hospital Memorial Day weekend for what was supposed to be a simple opperation, but there were complications. They flew him to Brigham and Women's Hospital from South Shore. My grandparents lived next door to us, and seeing him in the hospital everyday and watching my family, especially my grandmother, try to cope was too much to bare. That's what finally drove me to write her; I was trying to get back to a place in my life when I was truly happy in an effort to ease the pain I was going through. I was trying to escape the misery that had enveloped my life. So I wrote to her and told her what was going on. I also foolishly confessed to loving her all those years ago, despite the fact that she now had a boyfriend and seemed quite happy.

I took a huge risk, and waited for her to write back. But she never did.

My grandfather's health continued to deteriorate. My parents went up to the hospital every night. I usually stayed home and watched my brothers. He died December 10, 1997, after five months in five different hospitals. I was a pall bearer. The funeral home was in North Weymouth. It was right next to her house. I remember that my grandmother was upset that they did something to his face. She said it didn't look natural and she kept crying. It was just too much for me, so I went out side and sat on the steps, hopelessly looking at her house, wondering if she was even there.

Then, just before Christmas, I got an envelope from her. I had just moved in with my grandmother to help her cope with losing the man she'd been with for over fifty years. I went into my room and opened the envelope. It was a Christmas card. She said she was sorry for not writing sooner and she asked how I was. I couldn't help but think she completely missed the point of the letter I sent, if she even read it at all. She told me to write back.

I wrote back to her and told her about my grandfather's passing. I waited for a response. And waited. Damn it, she did it again.

My friends and family continued to ask how things were going, and said the letters weren't working. If I wanted to resolve this thing I'd have to call her.

You have to call her. You have to. After hearing that over and over again, I finally called the day of my dad's 50th birthday party. We had this huge tent in our backyard and everybody was there. We even had some black people. I remember thinking, "Wow, I've got black relatives. I did not know that."

I called her and she put me on hold. We were on the phone for about an hour, but most of that time I was on hold. I'm not really even sure what was said. I just remember her saying "Oh God, this is so awkward." a bunch of times. That's not a good indication that things are going well. There was something in her voice; but I couldn't tell if she was laughing or crying. Was she laughing at the pathetic loser who can't let go of the past, or was she crying because she really did care for me once, but now has a happy life with someone else? My money's on that first one. I asked her how she felt back then. I didn't even care how she felt now. I knew it was too late. I just had to know. That's all I'd wanted to know all these years. If nothing else, I needed closure. She said she had to go.

Please, I said. Please.

She said again that she had to go, and I said okay and hung up. That was it. I always wondered if she liked me all along, as so many others suggested, or did I confuse friendship and kindness for love? I had been asking myself that since ninth grade, and I'll never know, because she wouldn't tell me. Honestly, that hurts a thousand times worse than if she said no. At least she didn't hang up on me, so that was classy of her.

And that was that. I thought the hero was supposed to get the girl. That's when I realized that maybe all those similarities and close calls I was so quick to point out really were signs after all. But I'd been reading them wrong. In each case, I was always just missing her, or a number was one off, etc. It seems so obvious now. I was destined to be the guy that doesn't get the girl. I wasn't John Cusack. I was John Cryer.

I don't think about her anymore. It hurts to. It doesn't matter now. I've got the best girlfriend I could hope for, and for the first time in nearly a decade, I'm happy.

Now she's just a memory. It's strange how someone that once brought so much happiness can cause so much pain. I hate memories.

Posted in: depressing,school