folklore; conrad fisher

33: the 1

(Conrad's Version)

When I met you, I knew I'd absolutely hate you.

Because stepping out of that car was supposed to be Steven, followed by Laurel, who'd be holding onto Belly in her arms. That was it, but then you came out too.

You, holding onto Steven's arms, watching as Laurel unloaded your small, pink duffel bags. You, who seemed to have stolen my best friend right when I wasn't looking.

You, who even at our young age, I thought, was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

I remembered the first time I tried to teach you to surf. You could barely swim at that point, and looking back at it now, Mom was nuts for trusting me with you out there. You spent hours trying to stand on that damn board, but you managed to do it. You'd always been that kind of girl, steadfast, but successful. You were driven. Maybe it was mostly in an attempt to make me look like I was wrong, but I always kind of figured you were trying to prove something to yourself.

Man, as a kid I was obsessed with you. Mom always teased me for it, and it annoyed the hell out of me. I loved being with you, whether it was surfing together, playing video games, or swimming in the pool. You'd look at me all starry-eyed as I told you about the things I was learning in school, eating up every word. It made me feel like I was the most important person in the world. And you were the coolest girl I knew, so it was pretty flattering. I thought about you all day, and your hair, and the way you smelled like salt water all Summer. I learned every lyric to those stupid One-Direction songs you loved, and honestly, I couldn't stand Harry Styles because you were in love with that man. Even his face just pissed me off.

So when you left, it did do some irrevocable damage to my little heart (ha). I'd be lying if I say I didn't think about you, more than I'd ever admit, anyway. Surfing didn't feel the same, neither did watching movies, or the whole of Summer itself.

It was a shame you came back during that period of my life. I wished I could have treated you better. I only ever wanted you to know how much I missed you, and how much I still cared, but it was hard then. It was harder afterwards. Maybe I hated you a little bit that day you left. I watched your face zoom by through the tiny train window. I couldn't understand why you had gone, even though it made perfect sense. You were supposed to eventually go back to California, and return to the life you'd been living for the past five years. The thing was, I'd been stuck ever since you left the first time around. All for you to come back to me, give me the best Summer of my life, and then go to LA again. It felt cruel and unfair.

And I meant it when I told you at the golf course that I knew you would be better off without me, and that you deserved to have a good life out in California. The one thing I'd always regret saying, however, were those two awful words: 'you did'.

It's funny how the misuse of one word can create such a big lie. But I was doing what I always did––pushing you away.

That night at the motel, I couldn't sleep. You were the only thing I could think about. I recounted our memories from last Summer over and over again, beating myself up for being the one to ruin it all. I missed your fingers in my hair, and the smell of your lotion melting onto your skin, and the way your eyes softened every time you looked at me. It was like all of these things were tattooed into my brain, these permanent moments that I just kept looking back on, over and over and over again.

You entangled yourself into my mind the second you entered my life. So of course you have me. Of course I'm yours.

I wanted to tell you I was yours as soon as I saw you again. But my focus was on the house, and then that dumbass guy––Colin or whatever––appeared and I figured you'd moved on. You brought this boy to our house. I wanted him gone. I was lucky enough to notice that you wanted him gone, too.

Still, I waited too long to make things right. I needed to be the boy you deserved from the get-go, and it was no wonder I could feel you pulling away. Your hesitation to touch me, to look at me, to call my name––I saw it all. And it killed me because I knew it was all my fault. You had every right to no longer trust me.

So when I finally told you how I felt, it wasn't a surprise to hear that you didn't feel the same. You wanted us to be friends. How are we possibly supposed to do that?

Friends don't freeze the way we do every time we have a second of eye contact. They especially don't know the way it feels to be against one another, skin to skin. And a friend has never made my heart stop entirely just by looking at them. Yet, if being friends is best for us, I'll take it. Anything to not lose you again.

That next morning, I bit my tongue. I held back any confessions I had for you left in me, because if we're going to be friends, then I'm going to be the best goddamn friend you ever had. I helped you and Belly fix your bed, and I packed your bags for you. You pulled out the cardigan and gave it back to me. It honestly tore my heart a bit, but I couldn't blame you. I tucked it under my arm and opened the door for you. We walked towards the bus station. You said goodbye and gave me a warm smile. We promised to reunite for the Fourth, and we would. I'd see you that day, in a red and white polka dot bikini. I'd lose my mind, wanting to be with you, hold you, talk to you. But I'd remain composed, because that's what you wanted.

That Summer, I saw you a handful of times, but there was never a moment where the two of us were alone. It was for the best. We both knew it. You had to return home sooner than the rest of us, because you and your mom were going on a trip to Europe. I promised to write. We agreed to meet up in the Bay Area once we were both at school. We could get some friends together and take a trip to San Francisco. You even wanted to show me LA on a long weekend. I said maybe, but you took it as a yes.

And so, in the end, I was able to do the whole 'friends' thing for you. I'd continue to do it forever, if that was what you wanted.

But just so you know, I loved you. I probably still do.

Definitely do.