Combustion

red giant: six

It was the end of July, and it was the time of year where we were all in denial that school was going to be starting in under a month.

We were at your house for once. It seemed slightly less empty than the last time I had been there because there was more of us there. Still, it didn't seem like it had heart enough to house a teenager. This is one of the white memories I have of you, clear and pure and scarcely tainted by my emotions. It always felt cold in your house, in that sterile sort of way that was much too calm and sophisticated to ever agree with your spirits.

Somewhere in the span of the freshman school year and those wild days in the summer heat, you considered me your best friend. Or at least I assumed you did, because several times you had said: I haven't told Aaron this yet. And I felt bad that I had taken Aaron's spot in the totem pole of your friendship, but I also knew that you were extremely fickle. There was no way of me knowing if you had been to Aaron with a "haven't told John yet."

But one thing was definite. In the months of my arrival to this new town, I had totally and completely fallen in love with you. It was easy to admit this to myself at this point. There was an obvious attraction, my heart running in my chest. I would feel so alive whenever I was near you or whenever I pictured you in my head with a water balloon or gorgeous in the falling rain. I decided that loving and living are very nearly the same thing. Or at least with you, both things happened at the same time, so it was easy to get confused.

I would like to say that I was subtle with my adulation- how I was (and still am) comparing you to a wildfire or a lightning strike or something beautiful in a scorching sort of way. There was not a doubt in anybody's mind, except maybe yours. I'm not sure when you finally picked up on my cues.

At some point, Aaron had come to me, and asked that question that no one wants to answer. "Do you like Em?"

I think I tried to play it off with the "of course! She's my friend!" card, but Aaron wasn't having any of that. This naturally elicited a lot of nervous laughter and hoping that Aaron would just let it drop, but he didn't. His eyes were soft but serious, in the curious sort of way that required an answer.

"Yes." I did not want to say anything else. It was hard enough to say that one word without stuttering or turning an outrageous shade of pink. It struck me that maybe Aaron liked you, too.

He laughed. "You're blushing, Johnny Boy."

"You don't like Emma, do you?"

"Emma, huh?" he raised an eyebrow, and I remembered that I was the only one to call you that. "Nah. At one point I thought I did, but it was a long time ago. Then, I thought she was too wild to fall in love with. And now we're just too good of friends for me to think of her as anything else." Aaron wrinkled his nose. "Not really my type."

I nodded, feeling relieved. The daydreams of your lips on mine could continue without guilt.

"Still," Aaron continued, "I guess she's kinda hot."

"Yeah," I agreed, thinking it weird to be talking about you in this way to Aaron of all people. "She's kinda hot, but mostly something else." And then you were back in my head again, running through grass, barefoot, hair spilling out behind you, your laugh pointed at a fading sun, every fiber screaming to be remarkable. And then there was I, chasing, stretching to be burned by your candle heart, wanting to be remarkable, too.

Anyways, we were at your house, and I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. I found it difficult to picture you in that way when we were in this environment. It was like painting with all the wrong colors.

You had turned on a rather impressive stereo system, changed the station from NPR to one that was blasting today's hits. I guess I could see you being a top 40 girl, where artists and songs wrestled to reign supreme, to taste a couple days of glory. I could see how you might like the way that tastes change and tones differ from season to season. But I could just as easily see you listening to something angsty, hair rioting in vigorous headbanging. Or I could see you listening to something soothing, fingers quivering, eyes closed, and swaying so slow.