We would spend all night out on the town. The sun would go down and we would walk Mass Street like we owned the place, just to be home by one so we could cuddle on the Futon and watch Netflix. We didn't have a thing to do the next day; no work, no classes just to go our own way. It was Saturday night, Sunday technically, but that didn't matter to us, we had each other and that's all that mattered. My roommates were out stumbling at whatever Frat party they decided to hit up this week. That just left me and her all alone. Me and my Robin.
We used to spend the night on my cramped bunk bed, but that was before we learned the couch folded down. It wasn't five star, but it was luxury in it's own way. We would lay awake just to hold each other. We would kiss until our lips were raw and our palms were sweaty. The bean bag chair was enticing on some nights, but the smell of old molds and dog piss would sometimes deter us. It didn't keep us from each other though. Nothing would kill our moods on these nights. Until my roommates came home. That small sliver of light and the scratching of keys missing their mark were like a buzzer at the end of a game. Pack it up. Go home. Everyone is a winner here
But it didn't last long. I was afraid of relationships. Commitment. She was a good friend in a way, but I was afraid to do anything more. We would see each other some nights still, but until I called her mine, she never would stick around. We drifted apart in a way, but we still talked. I wasn't sure what I wanted. And what I thought I needed led me to strange places. Fours years before this, I dated a girl. We'll call her Ghost.
Her mother was the photography teacher at high school. My dad was the principal, well, an associate one anyways, but he always seemed to have more of the work to do. My freshmen year, I barely knew her. Ghost and I had English and Band together. I would see her only sometimes, but she captured my heart in a second. Blond long hair, pale smooth skin, blue eyes like swimming pools, and a rack to die for. She played soccer and she wasn't afraid to play rough. We didn't talk much until the last week of school. I kept catching her passing glances.
Stares would last too long. Smiles would end in blushes. Hair twirling like in the cheesy movies. She was the type of girl who watched way too many romantic comedies. I swiped her phone in class and added my number; "God" I wrote, just to mess with her. She would text me from time to time; finals were slowly killing her and I couldn't care less about mine. It was the last night of school. It was Band Night.
Now, band night, is where we would meet up; all of the old kids, all the new kids, and play the new marching band tunes for our parents, then we would all meet up for ice cream at the local joint. The music was jazzy and fast, way too complicated for me to play. All I cared about was Ghost peaking over at me from behind her sax. The music was over quickly enough. We played selections from 'The Who' if I remember.
Dawson, my best friend, and I hopped in my car and we scorched pavement all the way to Sheridans; They didn't have the best ice cream, but hell, frozen dairy is frozen dairy. Everyone was having a good time, shoving their faces with empty calories and too much sugar. That's when I saw Ghost. We started talking and one thing led to another. We had a date. My first real date. With a girl. A real actual girl, and not just any girl, but a girl that was way out of my league.
That's what I miss the most about high school to be honest. All of these absolutely beautiful girls would find me attractive because they didn't know they were pretty enough to do better. I know you're probably thinking I didn't give myself enough credit, but I respectfully disagree. I got girls looking at me, texting me, asking me to do this or that, and I really didn't have the looks for any of them to ever get what they really deserved, but anyways.
I still remember our first date. We saw 'Terminator Salvation' in an empty theater. She didn't care much for science fiction but she cared enough about me to be okay with it. I rode my bike that day, because, hell, I needed the exercise. It was summer and we had nothing better to do. We would talk all day, text all night. I'd try to surprise her at her place sometimes when her parents weren't around. Nothing would happen, but it was nice just being with her. Her parents loved me, I was good enough for her in their eyes. If they only knew.
I texted her. It was a warm day in September and she went to K-State. She was a smart girl, working her way into nursing school. She was always working for classes but she always had time for me. The best days where the ones when she was in the mood. Neither of us had ever had sex, but that didn't stop us from talking about it. I was addicted to the thought of her being here, no, intoxicated by the thought of her. Period. End of the line. I was smitten. I would sit in class and wait for her to text back. Some days, she would send me naked pictures. I would die. Right then and there. I was in fucking heaven. Her body was shaped and scarred by sports, but she had a hump like a camel and I wanted to ride it like I was Lawrence in World War II.
I would text her naughty stories on lonely nights with just the thoughts of her caressing her naked body, wishing it was me there to guide her, just to keep me writing. But we were too far. We knew thing wouldn't happen to often. Not soon enough. Reality has a way of crushing down on things and taking away all of the fun. Even if it was just for a moment, I would hate how far away we were, but it was just how things were. We were too far away for a relationship. She would still text me from time to time, but it wasn't always the same.
Love is hard when you don't know what you want. Love is supposed to transcend space and time, but this type of love was different. This was loved fueled by lust and rose tinted glasses. It was pure in a way, but not the way it probably should have been.
But old love dies hard, nothing is the same after,
When you walk that last yard, but still can't answer.
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