august

will you call?

They say 'young love' like it doesn't mean as much. They say it like it means you weren't really in love. Well, I suppose you weren't... but I was.

Looking back, I see the days wear on: late nights on the beach, under the stars, under you, watching airplanes carve trails across the atmosphere, the ocean glide gracefully in. Low tide, we run out onto the sand, toes sinking in, skin stuck with salt and seaspray; high tide we sit by the ridge, we stand by the rail of the promenade, sipping coffees.

I clung to every smile you gave, every sigh, every glance and embrace and gesture made, just for me. I thought I'd convinced myself that you'd change your mind, that this would last more than a summer... Yet if had I truly believed that, deep down, I doubt I would have memorised the lines that made up your face even as you talked to me, instead of listening.

I suppose we were the perfect binary opposites - you were quiet, I liked to coax you to talk. You spent the summer distracted, I hung on your every word; you fell asleep quickly at night, probably dreaming of her, while I stayed up for hours, thinking of you.

The summer was waning like the moon, the days of our vacation slowly dropping. I tried not to think of the morning I would wake up and get in the car instead of coffees and basking in the Californian sun. Soaking up every moment we had, I immortalised the memories, jotting down the events of the day in my journal. I think you thought I was sketching, doodling, like I had done all through grade school.

How embarrassed I would have been if you'd found out I wasn't drawing pictures of the beach, but describing the outline of your silhouette, or the way your skin felt on mine.

However hard we try to slow down time, it always catches us up; inevitably, that last day came.

I woke early, earlier than you, and sat up in the bed with my knees drawn in to my chest. Already, the morning was less sunny, the breeze less calm, a hint of autumn in the sky beyond the broken window.

I made the most of the fact I'd woken before you - watching your chest rise and fall, your hair gently brushed when the wind swept through the curtains, as invisible a touch as the trace of my fingers would be.

I wondered if you had ever sat like this, just watching me, when you got up in the mornings. Probably not. I watched you, though, and I hope it doesn't sound too creepy - but you're utterly beautiful when you're sleeping.

You have a softness to you that you lose when you wake up. When you sleep, it's as if the chestnut brown of your hair has been brushed by acrylics by a skilful hand, your long lashes painted precisely. Your skin glows, tanned brownish from the beach sun, almost as dark as mine.

We spent the morning packing. It was a quiet affair, and symbolic, I thought. How fitting that I was physically removing any trace of myself from your home. Your parents weren't to know you'd been here. Especially not with a girl. Especially not with a girl who wasn't her.

By midday, we were off. You blasted your favourite music from my dad's old car's historic speakers, while I kept my eyes on the road. Your feet on the dash, my hands on the wheel, our gazes barely meeting. A few times, though, I stole glances at you in the rear-view mirror. Your face was unreadable and beautiful as ever.

I thought about the start of September, on the horizon. I thought about how my mom had said we could get a takeout when I got home. I thought about my studies. I thought about anything except what was going to happen to us when term began.

Heading into senior year, we were so close to leaving. Twelve more months, and we'd be out of that small town, with its cardboard-box houses and pinched-looking church and claustrophobic classrooms.

All the way home, as we drove inland, and cliffsides sands turned to highways through the trees, I thought about how to ask you: what will happen? What will change when we go back? Can't it always be like this? How do you expect me to sleep at night without you by my side?

In the end, as I pulled up round the corner from your street, and you took your bags from the boot, all I had the courage to ask was, "Call me? When we're back at school?"

A car drove past, muffling the sound of my voice, so it was possible you didn't hear me, but I think you did, you just pretended not to have heard.

You just smiled at me, offered the half-hug of casual friends (not lovers who know each other's bodies as well as we did). At the last moment, I put my arms around your neck, trapping you in my embrace. I heard your intake of breath, your temptation.

But then you pulled away.

You stepped back, onto the sidewalk, and offered me a formal wave. I smiled as convincingly as I could, then pulled my car away before you could see me cry.