Somewhere Else [Damien Haas]

12. Economics

-/-/-

I remember the day I received my Yale rejection letter. It was May of 2008, and Damien and I had been dating for a year and two months. I would say we were happy, but we weren't as in love as before. He had to go to Los Angeles every other day, missing classes left and right. There was a week that I didn't get to see him at all. It was the same week that my parents' divorce was finalized. It was also the same week I received my acceptance letter for Cornell.

It was a stressful week. To summarize, Monday, I was rejected by my dream university. Tuesday, my parents' divorce was finally over. Wednesday, I had to move out with my mom into her new house with my twin brothers, who had just turned three years old. Thursday, I received my letter from Cornell. Friday, I waited for Damien at the bus stop, only to learn he was going to be sleeping in LA for the weekend because he had a weekend shoot.

It eventually led to our breakup. The following week, when he was finally back in Georgia for our finals, I had to go to New York to finalize my acceptance into Cornell. When he went to meet me at the airport, he wasn't in the best state.

"Cornell, huh?" he asked me on the drive back to my house. "I'm really happy that you're still in an Ivy League school. I know it's no Yale, but I know you'd do well there."

"Thanks," I replied, looking out the window, not knowing what else to say. "How was the weekend in LA?"

"Pretty okay, thanks for asking."

Needless to say, we weren't in love anymore. And maybe we weren't happy. We didn't even talk about our problems. I didn't tell him I was going to major in journalism. He didn't tell me his dad was getting sick. And when he dropped me off at my place, I asked him, "Damien, I have to know... are you still happy?"

"What?"

"With this," I mumbled, leaning against the seat of his car. "With us."

He's quiet for a moment. "Of course, I am," he answered, not looking at me. "I love you."

"Are you alright with that?"

"I love you."

"Are you alright with that, Damien?"

"Why aren't you saying it back?" he said.

"Because I don't want to say it back if it doesn't make you happy anymore," I told him, holding his hand. He held it as tightly as it could, twisting the ring on my finger. "Of course, I love you. I'll love you always. But are we still in love?"

Damien was quiet. So quiet that all one could hear in the village were other cars. Guaranteed, those were noisy, so it wasn't very quiet at all. But the fact that it felt like we were stuck in the oxygen-reducing outer space, even though we were just in his car, it had changed everything. What I remember that evening is that I kissed him one last time. Long enough for the next ten years that I didn't love anyone else but myself. And he kissed me back. Long enough for me to linger in the back of his mind for the next ten years. And that kiss was long enough to hold up the next 13 years that we lived without each other. Or so I thought.

He didn't attend graduation day. He had a gig for LA, as Kendra said. And I remember giving my valedictory speech and always looking at his empty seat from the stage. When I was in junior year, I dreamt of running towards him as he embraced me from the stairs of the stage, holding a bouquet of flowers. My mom would take a picture of us holding up our diplomas, and his mom would take a picture of us simply being in love with each other like the idiots we were. I dreamt of him driving me all the way to New York on a Saturday evening. I dreamt of him staying over at my dorm room and meeting my awesome roommate named Lily. I dreamt of him performing with a live audience, and I was seated front row, cheering him on. I dreamt of going to those fancy Californian parties to be introduced as the girl Damien Haas is forever in love with. I dreamt of so many things, but they were like Yale. They were gone. They couldn't be achieved. And I was miserable because I was in New York, and he was on the other side of the country. I remember getting home on graduation day, going up to my room and crying all my mascara out as I sat on the floor with my gown still on. I could have smudged the signatures on my diploma with all the tears I had.