Carmela + Amos

Chapter 4 - Carmela

Dear diary,

           I've fallen in love three times in my life. Two of them overlapped, but the other came later. So let me start with Rodrigo.

There's no doubt how naive I was when we met, yet falling in love with him felt honest. At nineteen years old, I'd never given my heart so willingly before. I had dated boys in high school, but those relationships were so shallow compared to how serious things were with Rodrigo. The free-fall I took into his heart was unavoidable as he sucked me into his enthralling world of music and rebellion. For one month, we spent almost every day together. First, we'd play pool in smoke-filled bars with the bartender sliding us free drinks. Then, we would go to concerts where security guards opened the side doors, giving us backstage access. Finally, Rodrigo would introduce me to his friends, his eyes beaming as if presenting diamonds to a jeweler, and I'd stand by his side, delighted to be attached to him.

Everywhere we went, people knew him, and the attention was intoxicating—Rodrigo was intoxicating, and I hungered for him to touch me at every turn. We'd make out in shadowed corners, our hands wandering, his fingers exploring inside my pants and mine in his. Yet, we never went beyond fondling each other. Anytime things got too heated, he'd back off and have us return to the group. It only made me want him more. 

Maybe that was his plan?

However, everything changed the day he dropped the news about leaving town for the summer, and it landed like a meteor colliding with the earth. 

The afternoon was sunny, with promises of summer sweeping through Dolores Park on a warm breeze as we sat on a blanket. Groups of people mingled across the lush green lawn, wearing shorts and tank tops. Some spiked volleyballs over nets, while others played hacky sack. Music played on a boom box, the sound mixing with the scent of marijuana, like smoke signals reaching for the swaying treetops. We faced each other on a blanket, our damp fingers brushing as we passed a frosty forty-ounce of beer back and forth.

"So, my sweet thing," he said, the words curling out in a white fog from a joint he was smoking. "I'm heading on tour, which means I'll be leaving you."

"When?" My slouched posture straightened like a rod. 

"Monday. I hop into a van and take off."

"And you're only telling me this now!" 

"Nothing was official until a few days ago. Besides, I'm telling you now, and that's what matters."

"And when do you return?"

"End of August."

"So you'll be gone for three months?"

"Yes." He squeezed my hand. "Will you miss me?"

"Of course," I replied as an ache pierced my heart like an arrow.

Three months was a long time after spending almost every day together. The pang in my chest intensified as his thumb brushed my knuckles in a caress. I swallowed a few times, trying to collect the thoughts firing through my brain like a Gatling gun. What would my days without him look like? Spending time together had become part of my routine, and I couldn't imagine going back to being a loner. 

Perhaps if I had made real friends in high school, instead of having acquaintances, the panic of being alone wouldn't have made me so desperate to cling to Rodrigo? But it wasn't just desperation as I squeezed his hand and stared into his eyes. Words were on the tip of my tongue—words that swirled deep in my stomach, but I was too scared to say because what did I know about love?

"Being away from you will be difficult," he continued. "We've spent almost every day together, so to go from that to nothing? It'll be like butchering me in half."