Second Chances

It was the end of the school year. We had all graduated, every single one of us. We'd all made it through. The goodbyes had been said, teary hugs been given. Now it was time to move on.

I got up early one day, about a week after graduation. I hadn't been able to sleep that night for some reason—too many thoughts on my mind I guess. I got up and turned on the Mr. Coffee like I had every morning for the past how many years. Everyone was still asleep since it was Saturday, so I went out for a walk to clear my mind. It was still early so there was hardly anyone out. I was leaving today. Leaving this dreary town in Minnesota and leaving for New York City. The sun was rising and I wanted to take my dreary little town in for the last time.

But everywhere I looked reminded me of him.

The bench in the park where we used to sit.

The flower shop where he bought me a rose on our first date that ended up with me going to the hospital from an allergic reaction.

The tree where we had our first kiss.

Everything was him. I couldn't get him out of my mind, no matter how hard I tried. I tried to tell myself it didn't matter now. I was going away, and so was he, and I would never see him again. It was over, anyways. That had been made perfectly clear. It didn't even matter why now. It just was. I was so consumed in my thoughts that I didn't even see him coming up the path—and from the look on his face, he hadn't seen me either.

This was awkward. What should we say? We could be civil. I told him I was leaving today.

He nodded and said, "Oh."

He hoped I would have a good flight and a good time in New York. I said the same thing about him leaving for New Jersey next week. We said some other things. I can't quite remember them now, but it doesn't matter.

They were all lies.

Just by not saying how we felt, we were lying to each other. We said goodbye and turned to go--but something inside me made me stop. I couldn't lie anymore. I was sick of it.

"Look I wanted to-"

"Let's not do this," he cut me off. "I get it. Okay? You don't want to fall in love. You don't believe in it. All that comes from it is hurt." Which was true—or used to be. But I was a different girl then.

"You made that perfectly clear," he continued, finally turning to look at me. "So you don't have to feel sorry for me or anything... I'm the one who should probably feel sorry for you."

"Just listen to me for a minute, okay?" I interrupted him. "I know I said all that. And I did used to believe it, but... I've changed my mind I guess."

The corners of his mouth cracked ever so slightly, but then turned down. And for the first time since we'd broken up he looked me in the eyes and I saw all the pain I'd caused him.

It was as if he'd just slapped me in the face.

"I'm sorry," he said, shifting his eyes to the ground as if just looking at me was too much. "It just hurts too much to be around you. I--I just can't do this... Besides," he sighed, "I've kinda started to believe in that now, too."

And he waked away.

I stood there for a moment, watching him the trees frame his silhouette until he disappeared around a corner. I wanted to run after him, to tell him how sorry I was that I had done this to him and that I loved him, but I stopped myself. It was too late now.

So that was it. I had my chance right there within my reach—right in my hand.

And I let it go.

I headed home, leaving my heart on the side walk there where it had been torn out. I told myself to forget him. I had waited too long, hurt him too much. He didn't love me—there was no point dwelling on it. But that didn't help the giant hole that was growing in my chest. Or erase the pain that I didn't think would ever go away. I didn't even notice the stream of tears on my cheeks, until my sister saw me and asked what was wrong. I told her what had happened as she helped me finish packing my room into my bags. She didn't say much, she didn't have to.  She knew how much he meant to me, how he was the first person I’d let myself get close to like that. And then, how I had gotten scared and ruined my chances with him.

That afternoon, my family drove me to the airport. It was raining—it always rained on Saturdays in our town. The airport was about an hour or two away and I fell asleep in the car to the sounds of the water droplets hitting the windshield and the wipers going back and forth double-time.

Before I knew it, we were there and had parked in front of some shops and a diner where we were going to eat since we had some time before my flight. The rain had stopped and the sun was starting to peak through the dark clouds. I was about to step into the diner when I thought I heard someone calling my name.

I turned around and it was him. He was across the street, straight across from where I was standing. He called my name again and I yelled his in response, not believing what I was seeing.

"I love you," he shouted and I just stood there, in shock.

He was here. I couldn't believe it. And he loved me. He'd said it. I wanted to reach out and touch him. To hold him and feel him just to make sure it was all real. I knew exactly what I wanted to say to him—that I loved him too—but my mouth just couldn't seem to form the words. I just stood there with my mouth hanging open, this stupid doe-eyed smile on my face, and hoped he could see it from across the street. He must have, because I could see him smiling from across the street as he started to cross. I hadn’t seen him smile in so long. It lit up his face.

"I'm sorry," he began. "I wanted to—" but he was cut off.  It happened so fast that if I had blinked I would have missed it.

A car came flying down the street. I didn’t even see what it looked like, it was moving so fast. There was the sound of brakes screeching, and in the brief second before it hit him, everything seemed to slow down, like a movie. I saw him look at the car, and then back at me as if waiting for me to say something. Or maybe I only imagined he looked back at me.  I watched in horror as his limp body flew through the air, landing about ten feet away, powerless to help him.

For a moment I just stood there in shock. I blinked a few times, praying that when I opened my eyes he'd be standing there and I'd imagined the whole thing. That we could just rewind that last three seconds of time and let him see the car before he started to cross. But every time I opened my eyes, it was the same scene. People froze on the sidewalk as if time had somehow stopped and I found myself screaming and running towards his—what I knew was lifeless—body.

I held his bloody face in my arms and sobbed, screaming for someone to call an ambulance, even though I knew it wouldn't help. He was gone, and there was nothing I could do about it. What was worse was that it was my fault. If I hadn't been such a freakin' idiot, we never would have broken up and he never would have come after me and that car never would have hit him. If I hadn’t been so stupid, he might still be alive right now. I felt like there was a gaping hole inside of me. It hurt so bad I wanted to die. I wished that car would come back and take me, too.

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed, holding his face to my chest. “I’m so sorry.”

Why hadn't I told him that I loved him, too?

Why didn't I tell him that? I had two perfectly good opportunities—which is a lot more than some people ever have—and I passed them up. I had lost my chance. I would never be with him now. We would never be together. He was gone.

Gone.

I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach and taken all the air out of me. A pool of bright red blood had begun to form around his body and soaked my clothes. I didn't care, though. Nothing could tear me from him now, even if it was too late.

Oh, would he ever know how sorry I was? Would he ever know how much I really loved him? That I would do anything for it to be me laying there instead of him?

He would never know that now.

I could hear my sister calling my name and trying to pull me back. But I didn't want to go back. Not yet. He looked so helpless, laying there. I couldn’t leave him now.  She kept calling me and the street began to fade until it was only me, him, and her voice.

Then he was gone and it was only her voice.

Suddenly I was in the car again. My sister was shaking my leg and I jumped, realizing where I was.

It had been a dream.

A nightmare actually, but a dream all the same. The car, the accident, the blood—it had never happened. I was so relieved I wanted to cry.

"You okay?" she was asking me.

"Yeah," I said after a minute. And I was. I still had a chance.

It was pouring by the time we got to the airport. I had left about five voice mails on his phone. Why wouldn't he answer? Was he still so hurt and angry that he didn't even want to speak to me? Not that I could blame him if he was. Finally after we had had lunch, which had been not in a diner but a hotel restaurant, I got a hold of him. Only it wasn't him. It was a girl's voice—and one of those sexy voices, too, that every girl wishes she had.

"Who is this?" she asked when I asked for him. I told her my name. "Um, he's not here right now..."

But even as she spoke I could hear a male voice in the background. It was too fuzzy to make out what he said or really hear the sound of the voice—but I didn't need to. I knew it was him. And he obviously was too busy to talk to me.

"...But um, you--" I shut my phone there. I got the hint. He had obviously moved on and I had missed my chance. I don't know why I even thought I could get another one.

My family walked me to the terminal. We hugged each other goodbye for the third time and I promised I‘d call them as soon as I got to New York. I lingered in the terminal. I don't know why I thought he'd be there, but I did. Call it desperation, faint hope—take your pick.

I even looked around for him, but of course he wasn't there.

I headed for the gate, telling myself things would be okay. I would start a new life in New York. I pictured myself there: meeting new people, doing new things. I'd get one of those cool jobs that people only have on TV. Things would be good. But the image rang hollow some how and turned into a sharp painful one of an empty life without him; for without the latter the former would not—could not--exist.

It’s amazing how clear life can become when you lose the one person who means more to you than anything. Like how trivial every single argument was—and every single fear I had of trusting and taking a chance. But, of course, you always realize these things a tad bit too late. Learning the hard way—that’s what they call it—whoever they are.

I also began to wonder if this whole realization thing had used up so much of my brain power that my brain had to try and compensate by taking power away from other parts of the brain, like say sanity. Because at that moment I could have sworn I had heard him shouting my name. I almost turned to look, but then stopped myself. The air terminal was so noisy that you couldn't hear someone more that three feet away at best.

It couldn't be him.

It wasn’t him.

But there was someone calling my name...

I turned around, expecting it was my sister to tell me I'd forgotten something. I spotted someone in the crowd running. Running towards me. I squinted my eyes to see if I recognized him and blinked in disbelief. It was him.

He was here.

As he came closer I could see that he was soaking wet. Water dripped off his clothes and hair as he ran, forming little puddles in the airport.

He called my name again. And then we were face to face and I found myself at a loss for words as I tilted my head to meet his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said, catching his breath. "I just couldn't let you go."

"You're here," I said after a minute, as if I was still trying to compute that whole concept.

"I'm here," he said, smiling.

"Your phone," I said. "l--I tried to call you and..."

He shook his head. "I lost my phone after we talked this morning."

"And you're here," I repeated.

"Yes," he laughed. "I'm here."

We just stood there like that for a moment. I just took him in, too shocked to say anything. I could smell the rain on his clothes mixed with the scent of his aftershave. I touched his jacket as if to make sure he was real. He rested my hand on his chest and I could feel the beat of his heart. It was as fast as mine. If there was a time to take a chance and leap--this was it.

"I love you," I said, taking my leap, trusting he would catch me.

"I know," he said. "I love you, too."