right person, wrong time. | alex turner & kat stratford

2

5 years earlier.

It was my first year at Sarah Lawrence. I was on the pathway to become a lawyer, specializing in social justice. I took a seat in my creative writing class when I first noticed him. He sat right next to me, his deep brown eyes glimmering when he glanced towards my direction. His hair, shaggy, reached his ears and almost fell into a mullet. It was exceptionally attractive.

An introvert, I pretended to not notice him, until I heard his voice. It was nonchalant and exceptionally British, with a prevalent Yorkshire dialect. His charisma delved me into a conversation before I'd even realized.

"The name's Alex. Alex Turner," I recall him introducing himself with a smirk.

Alex snuck a flirty comment once in a while, on the outside I cringed, though on the inside my heart fluttered immensely. I could tell he was breaking out of his shell of comfort, and I admired him for that.

I learned that he came from Sheffield, in England, to study English, with hopes of becoming a creative writing professor as the one that stood in front of us. He also juggled being in a band back home at the same time, assuming position as the lead singer and guitarist, though he deftly refused to tell me the name. I didn't mind and admired his humility.

We saw each other nearly everyday in that creative writing class. We even met up at cafes after our classes to talk further about ourselves and our passions. We shared a love for poetry, reading, and rock music, drawing us even closer. These commonalities eventually blossomed into a relationship.  Also known as the best year of my life.

Love was Alex's pet name for me. Yes, it was a classic British annoyance, but it came from him. The man I slowly fell deeper in love with as we spent more time together. I had a nickname for him too, Al. We would make out to songs from Roy Orbison or the Smiths or lie in the grass, discussing our dreams and futures. Alex was passionate about everything he did, including his hobbies. I was quite intrigued by his hobby of writing poetry. His wordplay was beautiful and quite lyrical, I recall him saying that he often thought of his work as potential songs for his band. He encouraged me to follow my passions and supported every decision I made for the sake of my happiness.

I slowly began to rile up the courage to say I love him. I had heard it multiple times indirectly from Alex, though it was mainly encompassed in British jargon. I deeply desired to say it directly to him, as well as hear it back in the same manner. I was still preparing to confess my love for him by the time I had reached the second year of college. We were still together. Until we weren't.

Alex appeared in front of my dorm room one day with a solemn look. I already knew that this wasn't going to be good.

"My mates have called me back to England," he said with a weak smile. "I'm afraid I'll have to leave for a bit, love."

I leaned on his shoulder, sadly gleaming my brown eyes at him.

"For how long?" I asked, emotion decorating the edge of my words.

"Not too sure. I hope I'll be back, though."

Tears began to form in my eyes. Before I could say anything else, Alex silenced me with a kiss that lasted 5 minutes, but felt like an eternity. He then picked me up and carried me to my bed, where we made love for the final time. I fell asleep in his arms shortly after. I was drifted into a half sleep when I heard him get dressed, and felt a gentle kiss on my forehead, followed by the creaks of the door closing. He never came back.

I attempted to reach Alex on my cellphone, but the number was disconnected. I later learned that he withdrew from all his classes at Sarah Lawrence and completely dropped out of the college. I was devastated. Inconsolable, I spent a few days in bed, my roommate urging me to take a shower or have a bite to eat. I called my father for advice.

"Aside from the fear of pregnancy, this was another reason I was reluctant about you or your sister dating. I didn't want to witness you in heartbreak. If you're hurting, then I am," he'd say sadly.

My father pleaded with me to come back home, but I was determined to continue my studies. I wasn't going to let some man take away my potential. Even if he was the one I truly loved. No other relationships I've had prior ever tugged on my heartstrings intensely as this one did. It hurt that I never got to tell him. Time went by, and the pain slowly lessened, though deep inside, I never completely moved on from him.