The Coordinates of New York

The Prologue

    Teenagers like to think that love is all about falling for someone in a coffee shop, meeting someone in a record store, and smoking cigarettes together while having a deep conversation about life and the universe. Well, I think it may all be bullshit. But hey, what do I know? I'm just another one of those teenagers, grouped into that dreadful category by people of all ages.

Older folks like to tell us that we don't know what love is, that we haven't lived yet, and that we need to experience the world before finding that perfect person and continuing to choose them everyday. On some levels, they may be right. You may not meet the right person at first, your heart may be shattered a few thousand times before finding the one for you, but I would gladly let her rip my heart out at any given time if it meant I got to put her back together.

She is self-destruction at its finest, she may have destroyed me also, but she did so in the most beautiful way possible.

I don't believe that I can ever forget the taste of her lips on my own or the smell of her cigarette smoke in my bedroom, not even the feeling of her body intertwined with mine, but oh god, I'll have to. I'll have to try. It's not fair to anyone if I let those memories linger, especially not her new partner. Those memories would do more harm than good.

I'd also have to forget the memory of the way she looked the first time I saw her. Her outfit wasn't even the most important part, it was the way she glowed and lit up the whole room. It was the way she smiled as she read and seemed to pull the entire place out of a deep depression, almost as if she was the beautiful centerpiece to a very worn down table, seeming as if she didn't belong in the hell that is where we were.

To put it briefly, I live in a very small, run-down town just outside of New York City. It's the type of town that is barely ever heard of. It doesn't possess any character, aside from the typical buildings that every city seems to possess. A library, tiny, locally-owned shops, a school or two, and other general facilities like that. The hell that I was referring to earlier was actually my school; specifically, West James High School. I know that I'm being overdramatic by referring to my school as hell, but it's not the best place to attend. I suppose that any school, especially high school, is not very fun to attend anyhow.

My school is your typical high school, so I'm not going to go into detail about it. I try to stay within my classes and the library. I'm definitely a reader, but mostly because that's what I learned from her. We would exchange books often, and I never called myself a reader until I began reading her books. It was almost as if I was reading her thoughts, her words, her deepest, most hidden away feelings written down on paper by a writer of a different name. She never showed anyone those parts of herself that I was so desperate to tear into.

The thing is, we didn't actually meet in the library, although that would have made for a terrific story. We met in the cafeteria. Maybe that's cliche for high school romance, however this isn't your typical high school fling. To me, this was otherworldly, but sadly that's not the case for her. Some things have more effect on a person than others; that's what my friends tell me, at least.

We met two years ago. I was a junior in high school, as was she. I've already described what it was like the first time I laid eyes on her, but it's hard to use words to capture the feelings that I felt in that moment. I suppose you could say I was captivated by her. She had black hair coming down past her shoulders, maroon colored jeans, a white shirt covered in black writing that I couldn't quite make out, and black combat boots. She wore a silver, heart-shaped necklace. She looked like she knew how to dress quite well, and I thought she looked magnificent. I'd never noticed her around school before, but being the incredibly friendly but hopelessly awkward human that I am, I approached her. Upon closer observation, I noticed her nose piercing, blue eyes, and filled in eyebrows to match her hair.

"Hey, I-I um- hey," I muttered, surrendering only the word "hey." It turned out that I was more nervous than I was aware of. How tragic, Skylar, I thought to myself.

"Oh, hello," she said, looking a bit puzzled.

I started to think to myself that I probably startled her, after all she was sitting quietly by herself reading a book of poetry and short stories written by Oscar Wilde, a man I'd only heard of for the time he'd spent in prison for being a man who loved other men, in a non-platonic way.

"So, what are you reading?" I questioned, trying to seem casual.

"Oh, just Oscar Wilde's poetry. He's a genius with words," she said, getting lost in thought.

"That seems interesting. Um... Sorry, I'm not much of a reader. I'm more into music," I said, trying to hide my smile. I felt a bit out of place, as she was gorgeous, intelligent, appeared to love books and poetry and words, while I was just, me. I was into loud music, so loud that I couldn't hear myself think. Music was the only thing that ever made sense to me, until I met her.

"Reading is probably one of the most important aspects of my life, and I've read his poetry a countless amount of times, but I love it too much to keep it on my shelf to collect dust with the others," she said.

I chuckled. "Yeah, I understand. A lot of good things are going to waste lately. Old movies, novels, music, and so on. The classics aren't appreciated now how they should be," I said. I think I actually had a point while I was rambling on, but my train of thought slowly disappeared as she gazed into my eyes while I spoke.

For the remainder of the time that I was uncomfortably and very awkwardly standing there, instead of sitting next to her as a normal person would, we discussed books. I mainly let her talk, and I didn't have much to say because as I mentioned earlier, I wasn't much of a reader back then. She asked me if I wanted to sit down, but the bell for our next class went off before I got the chance to take the seat next to hers.

As the bell was ringing, we said a few polite goodbyes, and then parted ways. I don't remember much from afterward because of the excitement that she caused me to feel, but I do remember hoping to run into her again sometime. I didn't realize until later that day that I forgot to ask her name, or even mention my own.

Not surprisingly, I did cross paths with her again. It happened everyday for the next year and a half, until it all came crashing down right in front of us both.