31 Days of August

Day 30: The Three

Day 30: Write a scene where only three words are spoken. 

I stared at her, and she stared right back at me. Three little words. That was all I needed to hear. All of the emotional anguish and turmoil would finally be worth it if she just caved in and said the three words. From her perspective, she wanted me to say them first, and I knew that, but there was no way in hell that I was giving in first. No, this was her turn.

Over the past few months, I had done plausibly the stupidest thing that a guy like me could do: I fell in love...with a girl. But this wasn't just any girl, no this was Lydia Taylor. The same Lydia Taylor that once skipped into an all-school assembly fifteen minutes late, and then when all eyes turned to her for an explanation, she simply stated, "Sorry, I was eating Doritos."

Lydia Taylor had a sort of reputation around our school. I wasn't necessarily a bad one, but it wasn't all too good, either. She wasn't the type of girl one associated with the word "slut," nor was she of the "nerdy" variety. Lydia Taylor was just, well, Lydia Taylor. She was indescribably weird, yet possessed this aura of extreme confidence, making everyone slightly envious of her. "Popular" wasn't something she identified herself as, though everyone knew that she was. Her face and body were both pretty great, so that probably helped her self-denied social status quite a bit. It wasn't that people wanted to be her friend, per se, but more that they wanted to be her.

Throughout all of high school, Lydia Taylor always seemed to possess a boyfriend. Sometimes the said boyfriend lasted for six months. Other times he was only in the picture for a day or two. No matter what, though, she was always in a relationship. The second after she broke up with one dude, she would instantly be together with another. She was just the type of girl who was always associated with a guy, though that guy never seemed to define her.

The day that I actually had more than a two-word interaction with Lydia Taylor was probably the day that I knew I wanted nothing more than to be with her. But I didn't just want to be another dude that filled the gap between major boyfriends. I wanted to be more than that. And somehow, after spilling my chocolate milk all over her white yoga pants that happened to make her butt look fantastic, I almost achieved it. All I needed now, though, was for her to say the three words.

We had first met when we were freshmen. Nothing more than a simple, "Hi, I'm Lydia Taylor," from her and a stunned, "Uh, hi," from me. We lived on different sides of town, so while I had heard stories of her throughout all of middle and elementary school, at our freshmen orientation, it was the first time that I was actually meeting her face-to-face. She was hotter than I imagined and at the time was attached to her very alternative boyfriend of the moment. That was my first impression of Lydia Taylor. And then came our first real conversation two years later.

It was in the cafeteria. Rain was pouring down outside. I was headed over to my table of average friends with a piece of pizza and opened carton of chocolate milk in hand. Suddenly, Lydia Taylor collided into me. My chocolate milk went flying, but I was able to salvage the pizza. I then realized that her white pants were stained with the brown liquid, and began to apologize profusely.

"I am so sorry!" was the brilliant thing that came out of my mouth.

"You kind of look like Mitchell Musso," was what Lydia Taylor had then said. No, "OMG! YOU RUINED MY PANTS!" or even the classic, "Watch where you're going!" Nope. Lydia Taylor would never initiate a conversation in such a boring way.

"Who?" I then dumbly said.

"Oliver from Hannah Montana," she explained calmly.

"I don't know who that is," I gulped, feeling judged as her eyes ran over me.

She smiled--one of those undecipherable smiles that I never really understood. "You should come over to my house this afternoon. We can watch Hannah Montana." Now, this struck me as beyond odd. Firstly, Lydia Taylor was actually talking to me and acknowledging my existence. Secondly, she was inviting me over her house. And thirdly, she wanted to watch Hannah Montana (a show that had already ended about a year ago) with me, while we were both juniors in high school. But it was Lydia Taylor, so who was I to question her.

"Yeah, uh, okay," I nodded.

"I'm Lydia, by the way," she then added.

"I know," I said, instantly regretting it. Of all the things I could've said, I said that...to Lydia Taylor. She smiled once again, asked for my number, and then said that she would text me her address later. In daze without my chocolate milk, I walked over to my normal table with my normal friends. They were all eyeing me curiously, wondering what Lydia Taylor had said to me, and why. I told them that she asked me to go over her house later. I left out the part about Hannah Montana.

Later that day after receiving a text from Lydia Taylor herself with her street address on it, I drove to the appropriate house, got out of my car, and knocked on the door. Lydia Taylor answered, ushering me into the house. She immediately escorted me to the living room where a TV was already geared up. At first, I had thought that "watching Hannah Montana" had been a euphemism for making out, or I don't know, having sex. It wasn't. We literally watched Hannah Montana for the entirety of my visit.

Starting with the very first episode, and then fastforwarding to the very last, we watched Hannah Montana. It was a pretty crappy show. Lydia Taylor was singing along to the music and watching intently. That was probably the point when I realized how weird she truly was. By the end of my afternoon with her and ten episodes of possibly the worst show ever later, I just left, having no clue as to what had happened.

At the time, Lydia had been in a relationship. She didn't cheat on her boyfriend with me. All she did was watch Hannah Montana with me next to her on the couch. It was probably the weirdest thing I had ever done with a girl. Time passed by and Lydia Taylor began to pay more attention to me. It was strange. We would talk. Watch Hannah Montana. Go to places. We were never dating, though. She always seemed to have a boyfriend, and then there was me. Just a boy friend. It seemed as though she spent more time with me than with her male counterpart of the week, however.

Then one day between boyfriends, as we watched another crappy episode of Hannah Montana, she kissed me. Just like that. Right in the middle of the episode when Miley was shopping or something. Lydia Taylor just leaned over and pressed her lips against mine. I liked it. She liked it. The next day, though, she had another boyfriend--a boyfriend who wasn't me. I didn't understand it. I just couldn't comprehend why if we had both liked kissing each other she was with a guy other than me.

A few weeks later, we were watching Hannah Montana again, and again Lydia Taylor was momentarily boyfriend-less. And again, she kissed me. I kissed her back. She liked it. I liked it. There was no issue, other than the fact that the day after she had a boyfriend who yet again wasn't me. I didn't like it.

This went on for a few months. She would be in between boyfriends, and we would kiss. One day, though, when we were watching Hannah Montana and she attempted to kiss me, I pulled away. She was confused. So was I. I told her that I didn't understand why she continuously would kiss me, but then go off and become someone else's boyfriend the next day, and not mine. She said that I never asked her to be my girlfriend, so she never had a chance to accept. I felt like an idiot. I asked her. She said yes.

Months flew by in a blissful blur of Hannah Montana and Lydia Taylor. We would kiss. We would hold hands. We would do more. I fell for her. She fell for me. And now here we were. All I wanted was for her to say the three words, and it would solidify everything in my mind when it came to Lydia Taylor.

She stared at me. I stared back. She opened her mouth to speak. I watched intently. She closed her mouth. I shot her a pointed look. She sighed. I waited. Then, finally, she said the three words with more reluctance than anyone had ever possessed ever and made me happy: "I love you."