What They Don't Tell You

His Watch, My Ring

What they don't tell you is that the blossoming of your first love is so raw and beautiful that your soul will never forget it no matter the circumstances.

Stepping back to the first year that I knew him, I spent these 12 months trying to figure him out. My church "friends" drilled into my mind that he was a playboy, a heart breaker. Was he a menacing dirt bag that went from girl to girl, promising them love and leaving them with crushed dreams? Or was he an intriguing, sophisticated man of mystery waiting to be understood? 

As my personal motto, I try to keep an open mind and heart when it comes to someone I haven't gotten to know. Giving this boy the benefit of the doubt was easy for me, since I was already subconsciously carrying a torch for him. However, I grew cold towards the thought of him. This happened as a result of wishing for something seemingly unobtainable while also being berated by those around me when I would reveal I wasn't convinced he wasn't all bad. A somber year warmed only by my little lantern of mixed emotions dragged on and on. The dream state contributed to this stale period of time where I could neither hate him or like him, because he did not exist in my mind's eye. My mind was warring with my heart, my heart with my soul, my soul with fate, and fate with every atom in the universe. 

As I have said, I can't put a finger on the exact moment when my heart woke out of her sleep, but I do know it was sometime at the end of this first year. When my mind allowed me to acknowledge his existence again, I was less conflicted and more just curious as to his true character. The soccer games and youth groups fed Hope in her small home that she'd made in my soul. I wasn't consciously encouraging her to carry on but carry on she did. As I woke up each morning to the thought of a new day, there was a tinge of past on the morning dew because I could not forget him. 

Just as we had moved to this beautiful state in the cold of October, I watched the next October approach in all of her snow-cloaked glory. I saw less and less of the slim blonde girl and more and more of him. Snapchat was the gateway to a friendship that would evolve over these icy days. We became "best friends" or so he would call me fondly. Hope had never been so ruthless in her hold on my heart as she was when I would read the heartfelt messages he'd write to me expressing how thankful he was that I was in his life. The message that would send Hope reeling was the one that read, "When you asked me if I was bringing her (the slim, blonde girl) to the next soccer game, I realized that I was being a fool. What was I doing? She wasn't my girlfriend but we were acting as if we were a couple. I didn't know what I wanted. You woke me up. Thank you." I had never felt such a high as when I saw those words. Reflecting back on my response, I probably said something like, "I want the best for you." or maybe something childish like, "Yeah I don't know what you were doing either." Whether I was graceful or snide, I don't know. All I know is that I was ecstatic. He was opening up to me. I felt safe with him. There was no talk of anything more than a close friendship and I valued the bond that we had more than I realized. Even though we would hardly see each other outside of church events and family gatherings, conversations with him grew to be my life support in a way. Messages turned into phone calls during the day. Daytime phone calls turned into sheepish phone calls in the evening just so we could recap our day and say goodnight. These phone calls turned into conversations that lasted past bedtime and into the night until one of us fell asleep. He always fell asleep first. I didn't mind.

We shared our love for the little things. The rain was our safe place. He would be up in his house on the hill and I would be laying on my bed staring out at the grey clouds, listening to his voice over the phone as we talked about nothing and everything. Storms that brought lightning and thunder found me sitting on my front porch, and he on his, each cradling the phone to our ear and marveling at the power of the winds and the might of the rain. This freedom we found in one another to be ourselves and to enjoy the simple facets of life led to a desire to share everything with one another. The most sacred days were spent watching The Gilmore Girls over the phone together. Hearing him laugh or make fun of the cheesy script or grow silent and melancholy when a sad scene would play just as I did  made the days go by so fast and only fueled my anticipation for the next time I could hear his voice. Weeks morphed into months and a friendship into a bond that would grip me to the core. But I didn't know that yet.

The snow settled in over our quaint town and so did the blanket of absolute devotion and adoration over my heart. Even though it was crisp and stale out in the world, my soul was warm and fuzzy with thoughts of "my best friend." Our family's annual hunting trip was fast approaching and this would mean being out of town and cell service for a week. I watched as this looming fist of sadness closed in like a death threat. Whenever I would think about missing a day of conversation with him, my throat would clamp shut and my eyes would grow heavy as I held back tears. Why tears? Why did this so affect me? We were just friends. Right?

Leading up to the day, our conversations centered around the fact that we would be "apart" for an entire week. Not just physically since we hardly ever saw each other, but more so mentally. I had found a soulmate in his mind. In a world of liars, we were honest with each other. Even though we were surrounded by fake faces, I saw the real him. And he saw the real me. Comfort. Safety. Best friends. 

We decided to meet the week before I was to leave for the hunting trip. I brought my brother because... actually I don't know why. I think I didn't know what to make of the butterflies in my stomach and I needed a familiar hand to hold, metaphorically... I don't think my brother would have appreciated me literally holding his hand in public. We met at a coffee shop near the lake. My brother and I got there first and I waited nervously for him to arrive. The purpose behind this meeting was to exchange something of meaning before the trip. Somehow, we had both been so bold as to make it known to one another that the anticipated separation was almost too much to bear and that maybe, having something the other owned would make it easier. I remember seeing him through the windows. I jumped down from the bar stool chair and ran to open the door for him. If this action seems a little off, it was. It definitely was, but my heart didn't care. It wanted one moment away from the chatter of the coffee shop to just say "hi". I felt his heart say "hi" back and then the moment was over. I walked back to the table as he ordered a white chocolate mocha. That was his favorite. I settled back onto the bar stool and elbowed my brother in hopes he'd lessen his mocking stare. 

The rest of the thirty or so minutes went by with an air of awkward, hopeful bliss. Towards the end of this half hour, he undid the watch on his wrist and slid it across the table to me. I could feel my cheeks warm and my grin grow to an embarrassing size but I didn't care. I loosened my birthstone ring on my finger with shaking hands and laid it in his palm. He looked at me and I at him and it was wonderful and scary and then he was gone. My brother and I were alone at the coffee shop and he was gone. 

On our way home, I watched the rain drops slide off the windshield and drop onto the streets. His watch lay in my hands and I held it as if it were alive, as if I could harm it by moving. Precious, lovely, perfect piece of him that I could not believe he had trusted me with. My heart had never been so awake and my mind had no say now. I was in love. I was in love and I didn't know it.