It was 7:30 AM on a rainy Thursday in March when I sat with a brown-eyed brunette in a room that smelled like lemons. She was 16 years old.
"Whoa," she said wide-eyed, the shock clear in her expression. "This is weird."
"I know," I said blankly.
"You don't look like you're freaked out." She cocked her head sideways and raised an eyebrow at me.
"I find it more surprising that you weren't that particular with your 'yours' and 'you'res'."
"What?!" She wrenched her journal from my grasp and scanned the open page. "You're right! Ohhhh!!! How embarrassing!"
"It's fine," I told her. "Journal entries aren't meant to be proofread. They aren't for public enjoyment."
"Agreed."
It was silent for a while. I knew she had a million questions in her head and was still deciding on which one to ask. Maybe she was even deliberating on whether to ask at all.
"Why did you get that haircut?" she said finally.
"Why not?" I smiled at her. "You always wanted a pixie cut, right?"
"I wanted one last summer but decided against it because I would look too much like a guy." She blushed.
"That was after your parents said no because they were afraid you were turning into a lesbian."
"They don't get it. Emma Watson got a pixie cut and she looked like a princess..." She pouted, then jumped up in her seat and grabbed a clump of my hair. "But this isn't a pixie cut. It's a Dora-the-explorer cut." She grimaced.
I shrugged. "Dora's an icon. She was representing female independence before anyone even knew Emma Watson!"
She opened her mouth to argue but quickly closed it when she realized I had a point. "Huh. I never really thought of it that way before."
"Spread the word." I laughed.
"Hmm...but seriously, you look so different."
"Good different or bad different?"
"Hmmm... I'm not sure. You've gotten fat, that's for sure."
"A college student needs her cookies—it's brain food."
"Is that what you tell yourself because you refuse to eat vegetables?" She threw her head back and cackled.
I didn't bother explaining to her that the brain needed carbohydrates for energy, and that's what she needed most for all the manic studying. And chocolate enhances the memory; it's not just a myth, there's actual science behind that. She'd learn all of it in a few short years anyway.
After a while, she was serious again, droopy eyes staring at me intently, and I knew (I just knew) that she was about to ask about him.
"So what happens?" she said, swallowing hard.
I couldn't bring myself to look into her eyes. The events of the past few years flashed in my head like a sad slideshow. To me, it didn't matter because it was all over, and I'd moved on to better things. But it probably meant the world to her. It was her future, after all. Right now, she didn't know what was going to happen, and she desperately wanted to put all her wondering to rest. So what was I supposed to say?
"Well, dear, you have to be more specific than that," I said, stalling.
She groaned. "Hmph, okay, let's start with something simple. Are you still best friends with A and Z?"
"Sort of," I answered. "I mean, yes."
"That's suspicious...but I'll let it slide for now."
"That's because you have a question you really want to ask," I said matter-of-factly. "You feel confident that everything else will turn out more or less the same except for one thing... And it's killing you."
"Don't taunt me like that! You know what it is already so just spit it out!" she whined. I could hear the exasperation in her voice but my head still refused to turn her way. I knew there were tears in her eyes. I knew she was tired.
I wished I could warn her. I wished I could tell her that the past repeats itself, and that she should learn from her mistakes. I wished I could tell her exactly what to do and save her the pain and trouble. I wished I could give her the answers she wanted. I wished I hadn't messed everything up for her. I wished I could help her. But I couldn't. She had to find out for herself.
"I know it hurts right now," I said, a serene smile on my face. "But it'll all work out. Maybe not the way you want it to, maybe not the way you expected. But the universe will come through. I wish I could tell you more, believe me, but you'll have to fill the gaps in yourself."
She sighed deeply. "Just tell me about him," she pleaded.
I looked at her, finally, with a reassuring smile. "Just know that you're happy and he is, too." And that might not have been entirely true, but that was the answer that would satisfy her.
"Are we all happy?" she asked.
"I'd like to think so."
"Good. That's all I want."
And then she disappeared just as suddenly as she came. In an instant, I was all alone. But the room still smelled like lemons, and I hoped she'd remember that fondly. She didn't know a dead rat was rotting in the ceiling, and she didn't need to. I want her to remember the scent of citrus fruit and not the demise of the flowers she planted.
