It was late (I think). I remember it being warm, but that’s
only because I remember what I was wearing (neon green sleeveless shirt, white
short-shorts, black slouch boots – clearly I was inexperienced). My hair was
black and shorter than it is now. I lived alone in an apartment downtown, and I
was lonely. So when a newly made friend of a friend invited me out that night,
I nervously accepted. One has to take risks, I told myself, and there I was.
I was 20 years old and had been to a bar only two other times.
I had no idea what time he would show up, I didn’t know where we would go, I
didn’t know who he’d be with. All he said was he’d bring along two of his
girlfriends. Being a natural planner, I was very nearly having a panic attack
as I got ready and then waited. I tried not to listen to my father’s voice in
my head, going over the likelihood that I would get murdered tonight, then
debating with myself on whether or not he would even show up.
But show up he did, in a black SUV-ish vehicle. I got into
the back seat, introductions were made, I tried to breathe properly
and act ‘cool’. In the front passenger seat was a mass of long, curled hair, I
had seen a flash of a smile in the shadows when she told me her name. It was
when we parked and got out of the vehicle that I had my first real look at her,
and I was stunned. Tall, impossibly thin and graceful, dressed perfectly in
black hosiery and a black dress, with a tan leather jacket. I expected her to
be standoffish and bitchy, as most beautiful girls are. But she was friendly,
and we began chatting as the four of us walked out of the parkade and into the
night.
It was only the first of many nights at that club, a giant
two-level room with garish neon lighting around the bars and plush yet questionable
couches scattered around. Nights out turned into evenings primping together,
blended into afternoon shopping trips and days at the beach. She taught me how
to dress properly, how to curl my hair, how to pre-drink (only after one has
applied their false eyelashes). She showed me how to ignore the men who were
constantly around, hoping for some scraps of our (her) attention. We shared a love of gin, makeup, glitter and
enormous earrings. I was smitten.
We were on our way home from the bar one night, in our
friend’s car as usual. I don’t know what song was on the radio, I don’t know
what we were talking about, but our eyes locked, we smiled and kissed quickly,
just a peck. All at once, time stopped. I closed my eyes and softly touched her
hair as our lips met again. I had some vague knowledge that the boys in the front
seat were staring and possibly high-fiving, but that didn’t matter. Nothing
mattered except the feel of her arms around me, the softness of her skin
against mine, the heady smell of perfume and warm alcohol on her breath. We
slowly disengaged, giggling nervously and blaming the gin. Neither of us
mentioned it again, for a while.
She was interesting and obscure, I could never quite pin her
down. She was at the same time amazingly confident and heartbreakingly
insecure; she terrified me. At the encouragement of a friend, I worked up the
nerve to tell her – while sober – about my crush. We were in her bedroom, at
her parent’s house, watching Cruel Intentions one lazy afternoon. My hand found
hers in the glow of the TV and our fingers flirted and danced as my heart
soared.
It was somewhat short-lived. Thinking back it’s hard to say
when it ended, because we were never really proper lovers or girlfriends, and
there was nothing concrete to end. Maybe it was when I started dating the boy
from out of town. Maybe it was when I confronted her about leaving her ex
alone, once and for all. To be perfectly honest though, the night that stands
out in my mind is when we decided to do ecstasy. I had come across a form of
this drug one other time, so naturally I considered myself an expert. We went out that night, easy on the drinks so
as not to mix too many substances, came back to my house and dove in. The
details are fuzzy but I can safely say it was one of the most terrifying nights
of my life. When you experiment with drugs, it’s best to have someone around
who knows what they’re doing and we did not have that advantage. Two people
seeing swirls in the ceiling and each others’ faces, experiencing the highest
highs and lowest lows, with no one to calm them down can create a bit of
paranoia. When my friends showed up in the early hours of the morning to rescue
us from our wide eyed universe, I ran to them, assuming she would follow. But
later on, a few days after, we were discussing the night and she simply stated
“you said you would never leave me. And two seconds later, you were gone.”
We were young, flawed, each with our unique sets
of scars and baggage. These snippets are only a fraction of the story. Those
months I spent in the heart of the city, living alone and making questionable
decisions, are some of my fondest memories. She is forever intertwined with
them; her laugh, her smile, her haunting gaze. I wonder if we could be friends
again, in another time and place. I wonder what that friendship would look
like. But, I have come to know, have come to believe, that everything happens
for a reason and that the world is actually a very small place. If our paths do
cross again, I will – perhaps foolishly – accept her with an open mind, and an
open heart.
