the real story

my story

When I left for college, I wasn't expanding my horizons. I was leaving my old life behind. My childhood. All the memories and experiences that came to define who I am. The same ones I tried to suppress because, to put it simply, they hurt too much. My best friend. My first love. Now that we're older, though, we need to get our stories out there, or we will be crushed by the weight and burden of them. Conan told his story, but now it's my turn to tell mine.

I met Conan Gray when we were 16. We were lost. We didn't know ourselves or our place in the world. We had unstable relationships with our parents. Both were only children. He didn't have a father, he left before Conan had the chance to grow up. My mother was a raging alcoholic. It got so bad that I couldn't remember her ever being sober. We didn't know how to deal with pain or insecurities. When people put us down, we hated ourselves. We bought into their lies. And every time we heard "you're not good enough" or "you're stupid" or even "why are you trying so hard," a little piece of us chipped away. Eventually, when we heard too much, we gave up. We let those comments hollow us into empty shells of who we were. Conan described what happened to our old selves better than I ever could. "Now they're gone. Headstones on a lawn."

After we "broke", we went on routine drives through neighborhoods we knew would never be our home. We often lamented over the pain of growing up in the generation we did. "Generation Why" is what he called it. We rode our bikes through the perfect pristine lawns but sped off before the suburban moms who owned them called our parents. We keyed their cars, so they didn't chase us. Every reckless thing we did was just to escape the lack of a family, even for a little while. We would be our own family. The thing was, I was developing feelings for him because I had never had someone who I could count on to be there for me, whenever I needed him. I thought friendship was love, so naturally, I thought I was in love with Conan. The unfortunateness of that starts to catch up with me right around our 18th birthdays. I had scrapped just enough money together from working shifts at the coffee shop and the theater to cover the tuition of the local community college. When we weren't breaking our backs cleaning the movie theater, we were people watching at the coffee shop. That was our favorite activity to do because it allowed us to commiserate over crush culture, maniac ex's, an alcoholic who was sweet but I couldn't love because he reminded me of my mom, his backstabbing ex who always kept his wounds fresh, and our current lack of love lives. Well, his lack of a love life, and I was left to love him in secret.

I told him a few months before I left. Instead of the various reaction that I imagined he would give, he told me something I would never forget and I don't think he's forgotten, either. He told me that when we were 13, before we even knew each other, there was this boy that Conan was best friends with. He never told me his name, but he did tell me that he thought that they both wished that they could be more than just friends. He said that neither of them dared to hope that that the other felt the same way. They never got the chance to tell each other, he said. His friend moved away during our sophomore year of high school. Conan later found out that his friend was never in love with him, nor did he have any romantic feelings for him whatsoever. The friend felt that way toward a girl in our grade who was the girl everyone else wanted to be or be with. Her name was Heather and Conan found out about her when he realized that the plain polyester sweater she wore constantly was the very same one that made Conan fall in love with the boy. It was the same one that he offered him when Conan was cold after diving in the pond behind their houses on a dare. The boy kissed Conan to make his teeth stop chattering, to give him some warmth, but not because he loved him.

Conan told me all this so I wouldn't feel bad about my feelings for him not being reciprocated. He also said he didn't want to hurt anyone, especially not me, so it would be better if we let each other find our own paths. That crushed me for about a year and a half, then on one Christmas on which I was feeling particularly reminiscent, I dialed his number. It rang a few times, then I heard his crackly voice say, "hello?" I let out a shuddering sob, realizing he never changed his number or got a new phone with a better mic. I guess some things never change. My voice hadn't either, because the next thing I heard was my name and then, "is that you?"

When I finally managed to find my voice again and regain some composure, we talked for a bit about how much our lives had changed. He had begun to get recognized by some big names and his career looked promising. I was drowning in student debts and depression but never mind that. After a while of idle small talk, he finally asked the question that had been looming over our heads: why did I call him. With a sad smile, I answered, "distance brings fondness," but we both knew it was a desperate attempt to recreate a friendship whose spark had long since died out. "I guess I should get going," I awkwardly said after a heavy silence, "and I'm sure you have lots of work to do, you know, songwriting." I hung up, slumped down, and finally confronted the truth that we were worlds apart. Our lives would never be how they used to be. For him, that was good. He finally got away from the childhood no one should have to have but I didn't know if I felt better or worse, knowing that he was happy and I wasn't.

A few days later, I found the motivation to drag myself from the same bed I hadn't left since the phone call. I took a shower, brushed my teeth, got dressed in new clothes, and decided that trying to hold onto something that is out of my reach would eventually kill me. Conan set himself free, and he has never been happier or healthier. It was time for me to do the same. We had a good run, but it was time to stop trying to keep it alive, to stop trying to force our stars to align. It would never work because our stars had died, but the thing about stars after their death is that they are even more beautiful than they were in life. My star just died, but Conan Gray is a supernova that has graced the night sky for some time. Make no mistake, our stories are far from over, and neither are we.