meant to be yours | d.w

54

"Grief is just love with no place to go"

Rebecca Davis

1965

It hurt the first time. But that's what they always say when the teachers or parents aren't listening.

I could convince you that I was in a weak place. That my actions with Randall could be justified. But really, they couldn't. We're in January of 65' now. A year has officially passed and I feel completely fine. How can I play the victim card when my time to mourn has passed?

Randall and Rebecca never talked about much. Their conversations summed up would be whatever comes out of their mouths when they're high, and brief hellos before Randall would do that gesture with his head. The gesture that meant so much more than what meets the common eye. That gesture, in total, meant that Randall wanted to find a place to hook up with her as soon as possible. Rebecca should have gotten annoyed that that's all he seemed to want to do, but she wasn't mad. She knew this was what she was getting into when she started hanging around him.

For a while, her mother knew nothing about him, nor that her daughter was affiliated with him. You see, Marie Davis was convinced that Rebecca was doing a extracurricular study group in the counselors office after school. At least, that's what she always told her. In reality, to be completely honest, she was smoking pot with Randall Trevino.

Look, the last thing I want is a pity party. I don't want people to try and say that I didn't know what I was doing because I was. Really, I used him. When I needed someone to get rid of that excess pain, I picked Randall.

The first time we had sex was at his moms house while his parents were away. Corny and cliche, I know. I don't remember much as time goes on, but what I do remember is that it almost felt like nothing. Randall didn't ignite anything in me. Sure, it felt good at times. I liked that numbing feeling I would get when I was with him. Like I could completely lose myself and justify it. But to be quite frank, I just didn't enjoy him that much. However, neither of us really enjoyed each other. It wasn't one of those toxic relationships though, I don't even think we qualified for a relationship. It's hard to be in a toxic relationship when neither of you do much talking in the first place.

We were just two people in need of the same thing, but willing to achieve that thing with different methods and for different purposes. Randall and I wanted someone, but Randall wanted someone to fool around with that he didn't have to call. I wanted someone to make me forget, someone who could fill the void.

When I was sixteen, I wanted to convince myself that all sex was meaningless. That it was some useless transaction when that wasn't the case at all. Sex comes in its multitude of different forms. Forms that can connive lustful power, greed, passion, fear, wariness, I could go on. 

But at this time in my life, I sure as hell didn't know that. For as I could feel my grades escalating, my social life decreasing, and my sex life becoming more apparent, I began to realize that everything is all a lie.

Were my parents still in love? I asked myself that question everyday after he died. A part of me hopes they still did hang onto their love, but does it really matter in the end? He's dead. What is there to do about it now?

Whenever I looked at my mom, all I could feel was this mix of pity and grief that I could not define. I hated how she tried to seem so casual, like everything was fine. Everything was just the way it had always been, minus Father, as the months droned on. That is, until that one eventful night in January.

Mother got a letter from the school about my grades. (I was failing chemistry for context.) By the time I got home, she was sitting at the table, looking over the paper as she stared at me with such raw disappointment in her eyes.