the movie about us
I looked at him from across a crowded room full of people we both claimed to know. Through his slight smile after a sip of his overpriced gin, I could feel that he no longer loved me.
He had a knack for making people believe he loved them. For making people think that he did, when really, they were just another number on a list of “people he hoped would love him forever.” People he hoped he could break just enough to never let him go. It’s not like he was a very loving person either, he didn’t give his love or even real love to a lot of people, but he knew exactly what to say, when to say it, and how, to catch innocent bystanders in his trap. He would deliberately elicit a feeling of love through your body, you would think “wow this guy is real, this guy just may be IT”. He would somehow, despite his lack of ability to control his wandering eyes, make you feel like you were the only person in the room when his eyes were actually on you. I mean it definitely didn’t last, but when it was there, you would hope that your turn would be the last one in his game.
So, there he was, laughing with his friends in between sips of his watered-down drink, while watching me purposely comb my fingers through my hair, while trying – with hopefully subtle strength – not to look at him. Look, I knew this. I knew that it was all a ploy he had come to master. I mean, I knew better, I did... Yet there I was, trying to look away as I watched him walk through the crowd in my direction. He stood in front of me as he did many times before, and my unwilling (uncontrollable) eyes looked up at him. Through the glare of the fluorescent light above I saw the soft stubble on his chin, the stubble I always tried to get him to keep but he never did. He gently took my hand as if nothing had changed, as if once again we were an “us,” not just two separate people who had once known one another in what felt like another painful memory of a time I wished to forget. As if the drink he clenched in the other hand, erased a past full of screams, black and yellow bruised skin, and tear-soaked white sheets.
I looked down at his feet to see he was wearing the shoes I got him for his birthday months ago. Of course. To me, maybe those scuffed and tired shoes meant he still thought about me, about us. As if he instantly saw the shoes in the back of his overpriced closet and thought of my smile as he tore open the pink floral wrapping paper I used. But really, to him, he just liked the color blue. Suddenly in the corner of my eye I see his hands, the ones that used to be placed on my neck in the dark, placed on my thigh while we drove, or held lightly while we walked, as it moved with force to my cheeks. I could’ve moved away if I wanted to, I could’ve stopped him and left him there to pretend with another girl, but instead, as his face got closer to mine, my eyes closed as he kissed me, and I kissed him back. His lips were chapped, and I could smell the parked piece of stale mint gum he always kept in his cheek. When he slowly pulled away, hands still on my cheeks, me biting the edge of my bottom lip, I knew for sure this time. I knew that he no longer loved me. I could even taste it on his tongue, see it in his eyes when they looked at me, feel it in his hands on my cheeks and hear it through the coldness of his voice in my ear.
He whispered, telling me to take his hand and run. I felt his breath on my skin, and his hand trace my palm and there I was, back under his spell, running through the big brown door, leaving the people we both claimed to know behind. We turned down the street, the one with all the lights hugging the tops of the trees, and he kissed me again. We ran, hands held, over the bridge, making it to the top of the driveway to the old house where the only light on in an otherwise dark sky, was flickering from age and sitting right above the white door.
This is what we always used to do, leave with no notice, and pretend that he and I were the only ones that existed. Like this was a movie, the movie of us, but we forgot to cast the other characters. The audition videos are covered in dust, sitting at the bottom of a pile of old resumes that won’t be touched again. Instead, just the two leads, one boy with light colored eyes, a girl with long brown hair, an old white house, and a promise of a white dress, dancing to our song, telling me that he would never let me sink.
There we were, back in our routine, back in our fantasy of worriless nights filled with warm naked bodies, rose colored cheeks, and naïve dreams of these never-ending moments.
This wasn’t our movie though, was it? Nope, absolutely not, come on, don’t be stupid, it was some extended scene the director cut without thought, it didn’t even end up on the damn DVD. As we walked up the old brown stairs, creaking at every step, I remembered what I wanted to forget, what I didn’t want to believe. This boy, this boy that I still helplessly loved, this boy who I used to sleep next to, who I used to tell my secrets to, this boy who could make me want to drop everything and run far away… he no longer loved me. (Did he ever? Probably not, but that’s a different story).
What happens next? Well, what do you think? Did I make the right decision and tell him to leave? Tell him that I was strong, that I no longer needed him? That I no longer wanted someone who treated me like I was nothing? That I was no longer waiting around for that one miraculous day, when the morning sun glistened atop our naked bodies, through the screenless window next to the bed – when he treated me like I was THE only thing in the world? Did I tell him that I deserved someone who didn’t leave me when a pretty blonde girl gave him attention, someone who didn’t fuck me awake even when tears dripped down my cheeks and I already said no; someone that believed in me, and told me that I could be a writer, or an actor, or even a lawyer? That told me he saw greatness, like I did in him? Did I tell him that he was not that “someone?” Tell him that instead, he was the guy that pushed me to the ground because I was bothering him during the game; or that he was the guy that cheated on me then begged me not to leave; he was the guy that broke my heart but held onto those three words just so I would think he was still keeping me afloat when really he was a pile of rocks tied to my ankles as I sunk further and further below…
Or did I tear off his button up shirt, push him onto my bed and fuck him like it was the last time I would ever see him? Yeah… you guessed it.
As we laid next to each other, and his hands lightly traced my back, he told me he still loved me, that he would always love me. The lies felt good in the moment, sure, I knew he didn’t mean it, but hearing those words fall so easily out of his mouth, even if they weren’t real, made it almost feel like the movie had never ended. Like I had simply pressed pause for a moment, for a popcorn break, or to refill that pink lemonade in that flimsy cup that was bigger than your head.
But then... the next morning awakened me like the morning of a huge exam or waking up late when you have to catch a plane. The sun shined with unwavering force on my naked skin, which I suddenly felt must be covered from his eyes, which I never felt before. He got up and pulled his mismatched socks onto his feet and laughed at texts from those pretty blonde girls that he hoped to see the prior night, but instead, saw me. My brown hair sat tangled on my back, and my eyes smeared with last night’s makeup, as he stared at me, with a smirk.
He left that day, reassuring me that it meant nothing, and that “kid, I love ya, but you know we just don’t work… right now”. That “right now” stung the back of my neck like a goddamn jellyfish. But unlike a jellyfish sting which will not last forever, the sting of those words was not so quick to pass. Those words left the door of possibility open just a bit, so my heart that still longed for him wouldn’t long for anyone else. It made me think that maybe one day it would happen again, that he would be back in this room, under starlit nights, window open just a smidge, the wind dancing atop our skin and goosebumps covering our arms. It made me wish and want and hope for his return instead of acknowledging that him leaving was what I really needed. All the pain he caused somehow vanished as day after day, call after call from him, and his conniving smile in places I should’ve avoided took over the part of my brain that “knew better.”
Now, here I am, miles and miles away from him, from that place and from that time, from that feeling he once controlled, thinking about that night many years ago and wondering if that boy, the one with the button up shirt, and light eyes, the one I swore I truly loved, is exactly the same as he was that night in the old white house? Would he still aimlessly play with my heart in order to try and feel less alone? Or has he changed – into a person I would want to know now? I like to think that he has, that he, and all the others who carelessly came and left my life, are better people than they were when I knew them. Sometimes thoughts of them reappear when I think about how different I am today, contrasted to the girl I was, the girl who let boys – who never washed their sheets, who used 3-in-1 body wash, who never (and I mean never) made me cum or even tried, and who didn’t always like to listen when I very clearly said no – have a say over my happiness.
I guess I am wondering if people can truly change. I know I have, at least I think I have. I mean I have definitely“grown up,” from the young girl who cared mostly about being the perfect object for the male gaze… But was that because I learned how to love myself, to believe in myself without the need for validation from some man? Or did I actually use the lessons I have learned and the ones I needed to unlearn, to my advantage and change my ways? Have I changed into a more mature and resilient person through time and experience? Or could I chalk it up to gaining a little bit of god damn confidence which I should’ve had all along? I don’t exactly have an answer, I doubt anyone really does, but I do know that today I would never allow someone like him to come into my life and treat me the way he once did. And before I simply allow his lips to touch mine just to have that taste on the tip of my tongue once again, I instead, turn around, untie him from my ankles, and walk away, feeling lighter.
Still, I like to believe that even that boy, whose lies, and betrayals that once hurt every piece of my body has matured, and has become a better person than when I knew him. Maybe he is no longer that same person I once knew at all, and instead has become a person that I won’t recognize, a person who now treats people better than he once treated me. Even though I guess it doesn’t matter, I still hope that there is something good and new in these people, and in this boy. That if I were to see him in years to come, walking my way, in a new town, with new people, I would be able to see something beautiful in him, and know that we do have the ability to change. That even some of those people that once took my heart and treated it like it was nothing, are no longer out there doing the same to the next girl that they happen to see one night across a crowded room of people that they both claim to know.
