I kissed her only once.
It might sound surprising that this is the first thing that comes to my mind about her – or maybe not, if we take human selfishness into account. Everything is about me, me, me, only me; it is rarely about her, him, you or even us. This story is supposed to be about her, but what are we if not reflections of the different ways others see us?
Eliza Young and I grew up next to each other. Her full name was Elizabeth, but she hated it. She also didn’t want us to call her Beth because she said it reminded her of her Aunt Annabeth, and she’d rather jump off of a bridge than be associated with her. I still don’t entirely understand why she said that; I’ve always found her aunt quite funny, even if she wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the world.
I guess beauty meant a lot to Eliza. She wanted to be an actress for such a long time. Before that it was a supermodel. And before that: a ballet dancer. But she became nothing of the sort. It turned out she had a gift for drawing, so she ended up being one of those incredibly talented people who present the world with their beautiful art day after day, yet the world knows nothing about them, sometimes not even their name.
Our moms were part of the same book club, so they always took us with them, and we played in the room next to them. Sometimes there were other kids there, as well, sometimes it was just us. The book club meetings lead to garden parties, picnics and group vacations. Neither of us had any siblings, although she had a cousin, Brenda, who was two years older than us, but she moved away when we were around eight, and we didn’t see much of her after that.
We had pretty much been best friends until we got into elementary school, even if we never thought about it like that. I was just the kid one house down from her and she was the kid next door to me. Then we started attending Cedar Hill Elementary and things changed. Labels like “best friend”, “cool kid” and “loser” suddenly appeared; and we were not sure which category to put each other into.
Later even more labels entered our lives: “crush”, “arch enemy”, “jock”, “nerd”… But there were no “the-girl-next-door-who-used-to-be-my-best-friend-and-even-though-I-don’t-know-this-yet-I’m-probably-gonna-fall-in-love-with-her-at-some-point” label, so I started hanging out with Danny and she made friends with Natasha and Hannah.
Soon we had nothing to talk about, and we were old enough to be left at home alone. Her parents got divorced and her dad moved away, so for a time they couldn’t really afford to go on vacations with us, and when they could again, it just didn’t happen anymore. Sure, there were garden parties and birthdays, but we always ended up in two different corners, surrounded by different people.
I remember the day when she convinced her mom to let her move to another room because she didn’t feel hers private enough anymore. Of course, what she meant was that it was my window she saw when she looked out of hers, and she was probably afraid that I would watch her take off her clothes or something. I only know this because I overheard her mother complaining to my mom about teenagers being crazy. It used to be so much fun, waving to each other before going to bed and signaling to meet at the old chestnut tree.
At the time it didn’t even occur to me to peep. I mean, she was only the girl next door, the kid who used to be my best friend when there were no labels yet. I didn’t realize that she started to look at me differently. I was head over heels in love with some girl from another school. It was the first one of the number of puppy loves yet to come.
Later on she moved back to her old room. One day I got up and when I opened the curtains, there she was, deep in her thoughts, enjoying the sunshine. For a brief moment I just stood there, confused. Then she realized I was there and gave me a little wave. I wanted to wave back but she was already gone. From that day on we saw each other almost every morning. It was never more than a wave, a smile or few moments of staring at each other, depending on how we felt like on that particular morning.
Months went by and we rarely spoke. Sometimes my mom sent me to their house to borrow something, but it was usually her mother opening the door; and whenever she came to our house I either wasn’t at home or had something else to do. She never asked for me anyway, so it didn’t really matter.
Maybe that was why I was caught so off guard when one summer afternoon she started pointing to the old chestnut tree and mouthed something. For a long moment I was just staring back at her, and when I figured out what she wanted I was so surprised it took me another moment to finally nod. She disappeared, and I slowly turned to go downstairs and out of the house.
She was waiting for me leaning against the tree. She smiled when she saw me.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” I repeated after her.
Even if we used to do this all the time it felt like wandering into foreign territory now.
“So I was wondering—” she started to say at the exact same moment when I asked:
“Why did you—“
For a moment we both paused, and then I quickly said:
“I’m sorry. Go ahead.”
“Are you free this afternoon?” she asked.
“Umm… yeah… sure. What do you have in mind?”
“I was thinking we could go to the bridge.”
“The bridge? From when we were little?”
“Yeah,” she nodded. “What do you say?”
“I haven’t thought about that place in a long time.”
And so we went to the bridge. It wasn’t the best day of my life but it was definitely a step towards it. We talked. At first it was awkward, but what did we have to lose? We hadn’t been talking to each other for a long time then. We said hello when we bumped into each other in the school hallway or saw each other getting into the car. I guess we could have carpooled. But we never did.
The first afternoon was followed by another and then another. Soon we were spending a lot of time together. It turned out that she is still that attentive and creative person she had been when we were little, but she was also less controlling, which was a great relief. I’ve always hated that about her. And I’m sure I also changed and didn’t change – and she must have found that acceptable, too, because she kept hanging out with me.
It sounds like a beginning of a love story, but it wasn’t like that. At least not at first. We could tell each other anything, but we rarely talked about serious things. We talked about movies and music and books and what we wanted to do when we leave high school, but we almost never talked about how hard it is for her with her dad gone or to me with my mom getting sick.
When I first realized that I really wanted to ask her out, she was already dating some douchebag from school. And when she finally broke up with the guy, I had a girlfriend whose name I cannot even remember now. It took us some time to both be single and not heartbroken or pining over someone who didn’t seem to notice us.
“Wanna drive around?” she asked me one day.
I should have been studying for my history test, but I said yes. Anything to escape my responsibilities and the promise of death seeping into every single corner of our house. She didn’t want to drive so we took my beat-up pickup. She asked me if I wanted to drive around and I said yes, but we both knew we weren’t the kind of people who just drove around. I remembered a place that I discovered with Danny, so I guided the pickup in that direction.
When we got there, Eliza got out of the car right away. I grinned because I knew she was going to love it. The view was breathtaking. You could see the entire town from there, and with the sun hanging low in the sky, I knew it was going to get dark in a few hours.
“I wish I had my sketchbook,” she said.
“Breath it in, girl,” I draped my hand over her shoulder. “You’ll draw it later.”
She looked up at me, not the least taken aback by my closeness.
“How did you find this place?”
“I was out cycling with Danny. We took a wrong turn. Got lost. Ended up here.”
I let her go, and we sat on the truck bed. We started talking and the hours flew by. Twilight enveloped the land and it started to get chilly, so I offered her my hoodie.
“I broke up with Kyle,” she said accepting it.
“You did?” I asked without missing a beat.
Even though she hadn’t said a word until then, I knew about their breakup. It was the age of the internet, and besides, the guy was in the football team – which meant whatever happened to him, I knew, since Danny played quarterback. He always found a way of letting me know what he heard in the locker room, and he managed to do this without giving me the feeling that we were gossiping.
“Yeah, last week. It was never gonna work out,” she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Did he…?”I said but never finished the sentence.
“No, no. It was alright,” she answered, even though she couldn’t have possibly known what I meant by that. I mean, even I wasn’t sure what I meant. Did he cheat on you? Did he act like a jerk? Did he take it lightly? But her voice reassured me.
Then I started wondering. Why was she telling me this? It did mean that we were both single, no loose ends, nobody on the horizon. But did it also mean she wanted me to ask her out?
And then, out of nowhere, she kissed me. Her lips soft, the kiss feather-light. I instantly drew her closer, feeling the warmth radiating from her body. It didn’t feel weird afterwards. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. Like it was inevitable. We lay down on the truck bed and I pulled her against my shoulder.
We were watching the stars, talking about unimportant things – it was the most liberating moment of my life. And I realized that I couldn’t have had that moment with anyone else. Eliza always had that effect on me, and I hadn’t even realized it until that day. She meant more to me than I could express. She was freedom, she was love. She made me feel alive.
I wrote all this, and when I read it, I realized that I couldn’t possibly read this out loud to other people. It would feel like betraying you. Like I was giving away a part of you, even if that is what these speeches are for – so that others can get the most of you while letting you go at the same time. But I don’t want to let you go. Not one tiny fraction of you. I’m scared of losing even the smallest piece.
I want to remember your smile, the little waves you gave me from your window, the way you were pouting when I said something you didn’t want to hear. I want it all. I want to cherish our friendship, our fights, the time we spent together – good and bad, all of it.
So instead I wrote the part about the kiss and reflections at the beginning, and told the mourners another speech, one about growth. How we grew up together, how we grew apart, and how we eventually learned to grow together by embracing all the labels and everything that is a part of life. The climax of the speech was the day you and I went to the bridge, because you wanted to rekindle our friendship, at which point your mom gave up and started to cry. I think this is what she chose to focus on – that you were kind.
Of course you were, but you were also a lot of other things. Beautiful, open-minded, talented, passionate, stubborn, cheeky… The list goes on. But you already know that. It was you being all these things, after all.
I can’t help but wonder if things would have turned out differently if I had asked you out that night or the following day. Or just kissed you again. Maybe you wouldn’t have dated Drew. And then you wouldn’t have broken up with him and come home alone late that night.
Or if you had accepted his offer to drive you home. I knew he wanted to, he wouldn’t have lied. Not to me. Not then. Or if you’d called me to get you. Or just walk you home.
But I didn’t kiss you again. I did not ask you out that night, nor next day or the day after that. And you did date Drew. And you broke up with him only to walk home alone that night. And you never called. Maybe it would have ended the same way even if you had, and I would be beating myself up even harder for letting you die.
I know it wasn’t my fault. It was the fault of that bastard who stabbed you for no reason. He got caught, and he’s going to be put away forever. Your dad made sure of that. They didn’t let him take the case but he got the best lawyers money can buy.
I know all that. It still feels like I should have done something. I’m not sure what, but it feels that way. And you can’t change how you feel. My feelings for you will certainly remain the same. They are conserved by your death. You will always be an open wound, no matter what I do, no matter how deep I bury you.
So maybe I won’t try to bury you. Maybe I’ll let you live on in here, deep within me. So even though you died, you won’t die, not really. You’ll always be a part of me. And maybe whenever I’ll hear sublime words like freedom or love, I’ll think of that kiss, because these things are forever intertwined in my mind.
I think this is the part when I should say goodbye. But I won’t. I can’t.
So I guess there’s only one thing left for me to say:
See you around, Eliza.