I Capital L Love You

the boulder that set off the avalanche

January 4th
Dear Oliver,

     I guess the story starts the summer before ninth grade – eight years ago. Age fourteen was the boulder that set off the avalanche that I am still caught up in.

     I remember that late July afternoon with utter clarity. It's really weird. I truly don't remember anything about that whole summer except for the fact that I had an earth-shattering epiphany that fateful day. My mind is blank – it's like the first half of the summer didn't even happen.

Yet, somehow, I vividly remember the fern green swim shorts you were wearing and the taste of the partially stale (and sandy) red velvet Oreos we shared on the beach. Sometimes, the taste is ingrained on my tongue like a tattoo. (Well, maybe that's because I'm obsessed with Oreos, but I swear that the taste comes back to me whenever you're around).

     I remember the way you playfully stole my beach towel and ran around with it like a headless chicken, trying to get me to steal it back from you and play a game of tag.

     I remember how we sat on the rocks by the parking lot as we waited for Kent to pick us up at the end of the day. You teased me for the blistering sunburn I had on my back because I was too stubborn to listen to my mom nagging about sunscreen.

     I remember the way you bickered with your older brother on the way home. Kent was being an asshole – what a surprise. He was seventeen and just got his driver's license. In our eyes – and his – Kent was the coolest person in the universe. A colossal jerk, but still a cool person because he was older and had the freedom of driving anywhere he wanted.

     Anyway, I remember how Kent made fun of you for your shirt with the bright yellow duck on it. And I distinctly remember the blush that crept across my cheeks as I thought about how much I loved that shirt on you.

     That really should have been sign number one.

     Anyway, the big moment didn't come until we were halfway home and you switched the radio station. As soon as Kent's grumbling about shitty, earworm pop music stopped, the song switched to "a more bearable one."

     And this was the grand moment.

     The soft melody of the piano floated through the speakers, and you started singing along to All of Me by John Legend.

     Up until then, I always thought that "You're my end and my beginning. Even when I lose, I'm winning" were the cheesiest lines ever.

But in an instant, I understood exactly what those words meant. I realized that everything comes back to you, Oliver. You've been there since I was young, and as I listened to the music, I became aware of my hope that you'd be there until my end, too. And no matter what, as long as I was with you, I would be winning.

Most importantly, I realized that I didn't just love everything about you – I Loved everything about you with a capital L. You, my life-long best friend, my confidant, and the guy I happened to be in Love with.

     As one would expect, (some)things only escalated from there.

     With my realization came something so ineffable, calling it 'happiness' seems cheap. It was the kind of sensation that I had only experienced while riding a sugar high. Like the kind you and I got after we pulled an all-nighter after trick-or-treating on Halloween. I think we were twelve? Remember that night? We finished all three hundred and twelve pieces of our candy in under and hour, and we were literally bouncing off the walls at one in the morning.

     Anyway, my euphoria from that singular moment lasted the rest of the summer. We spent it attached at the hip (like usual) but those days we spent together were filled with more meaning and memories. Trips to your family's beach house, mid-day ice cream runs, and hikes in the woods behind my house. I don't think one day passed where we didn't spend at least five hours of time together.

I was walking on sunshine for the entirety of August, and it felt like nothing could bring me back to the ground. Not even the anxiety that was simmering in my stomach over the thought of confessing my feelings, which I had obviously yet to do.

     But of course, the other shoe just had to drop in October. There always has to be another fucking shoe, doesn't there? The two of us (the two shoes) were perfectly happy, but that third shoe just had to appear, drop, and ruin everything.

But, it didn't drop – it exploded all around us and changed our world as we knew it.

Oh, how I wish we could have seen the signs. There were so many signs, but we were too far gone in our wonderland to see them. Or was I the one who was too far in wonderland, caught up in Love, to see it?

I still don't know if it's a good thing that we were able to soak up those final moments of happiness before shit hit the fan. You don't seem to think so, citing that you feel guilty for being happy and naïve for so long, but who am I to tell you how to feel?

     If I could tell you how to feel (believe me, I wish I could), we'd be getting married right now. Hell, we would have already been married. I'd be too busy popping out your babies to write in this journal.

     But you, Oliver, are as obstinate as you are kind. No amount of hounding or coaxing or a straight up intervention would ease your remaining guilt, even though it has been eight years since the incident.

     And, ugh, that stubbornness is just one of the billion things I Love about you.

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