Forgetting Her

She was like a light, showing me the way in all the darkness. Even now as I look at all the movement and life of the city far below I can’t help but be reminded of the way she seemed to glow with energy. She wasn’t as tall or thin as the other girls I’d been seeing, and she didn’t wear any makeup. But something in her brown eyes made me stop, like I knew she could save me even before I knew her name. I forgot everything, the sun, sand, and Ashley laying next to me. I watched her wander along the water, barefoot, picking up rocks and shells as she found them, and in that moment my mind was clear, and I was safe. I hadn’t felt that way for a long, long, time.

“Babe,” Ashley crooned and took off her large sunglasses to look up at me with emerald eyes. She sat up and leaned over me, so her long red curls fell into my lap. “What are we doing tonight?”

I watched her as she moved towards me, rubbing her perfectly tanned body against my arms and legs like a cat, and the momentary feeling was gone, like dew evaporating into the air as soon as the sun rises. Ashley curled her fingers through my blond hair, admiring her scarlet nails at the same time. I looked past her towards the water, but the girl I had just seen was gone, she had vanished against the many moving bodies and shimmering blue water.

“I’ll take you home now,” I said to Ashley, still not looking at her. Thinking back now I realize that was when I sealed my fate, when I turned away from my only source of excitement in hope of something more. Ashley’s green eyes narrowed and her grip on my hair tightened as I told her I wanted the night to myself, but it didn’t stop me. I drove her home, then went back to my own place alone.

It was early when I got back, I still had plenty of time to change my mind, but somehow I didn’t. I still don’t know how I got through that night. I paced around my house for I don’t know how many hours. I remember I tried to make myself popcorn, but it was tasteless as always, and I put it aside after only a few handfuls. I ignored texts from Jessica and Britney, even a call from Savannah. Just about every ten minutes I thought about texting one of them; if not one of the girls then maybe seeing if Garret or Joe was around. But every time I was about to get my phone my mind would wander back to the beach, to how I really didn’t feel like seeing any of them, and I would just go back to pacing. I couldn’t remember the last time I had left myself alone through the night, and as the hours grew longer, so did the loneliness. Eventually, with nothing better to do with myself, I sank onto the couch, wondering what was happening to me.

I saw the girl with brown eyes again the next day. I was at the cashier at Joe’s bookstore, a tedious job, but at least a job. It had been a sluggish morning. I woke up on the couch too late, dragged myself with difficulty up each stair to my bedroom, where I stopped in front of the mirror and just looked at my messy hair and tired blue eyes for several minutes, noticing I hadn’t shaved in a while, and not caring. I struggled to get dressed, then stumbled out to the car without breakfast. I used to like coffee in the morning, but I haven’t cared to drink it for a while. I also used to like the bookshop, but I haven’t read anything for a long time, and now I just find it boring. I was looking out the window, waiting for time to pass, when I saw her. She was walking through the shelves, trailing a hand across the spines of the books as she moved, as if she could feel what they said inside through her fingertips. She wore a blue dress and sandals, her dark, shoulder length hair just washed. Something about her simplicity drew me in; she didn’t need the astronomical heels, sparkles, or impressive lies to get my attention. I absentmindedly slipped from behind the counter and made my way to her.

She looked up and smiled, and for a moment I was lost in the way her eyes glowed with the sunlight coming in through the window. They were so warm, with flecks of gold dancing like stars. I realized I was smiling too. That didn’t happen every day.

“Can I help you find anything?” I immediately cursed myself for lacking a more clever line.

“I’m just looking around. I don’t know what I’m looking for yet.” She seemed so at peace, wandering in and out of bookstores, discovering treasures on the beach, like she was isolated from all the hopelessness and the emptiness.

“You like books?” I asked, still looking into her eyes.

“Of course!” She smiled again, letting her hand rest on a novel, the title written in curling script down the spine. “I especially love poetry.”

“We have a lot of that. Come, I’ll show you.” Now that I think about it I realize she probably knew exactly where the poetry was; the section was marked with a large sign that was relatively obvious. But she eagerly followed me anyway, and when we arrived at the sign, she began pulling books off the shelves and flipping through their pages, handing a couple to me to look at, as if she could tell I didn’t know which books were there.

“How about this one?” I asked, reaching for a light blue book. She leaned over to look at it, and our shoulders brushed against each other. I’m not sure she even noticed, but if she did she didn’t pull away.

“Robert Frost! He’s one of my favorites.”

“Yeah, he writes some really good stuff.” I had no idea who Robert Frost was.

“True. I think just about everyone likes his writing.” She thumbed through the pages, feeling the texture of the paper and reading lines to herself. I was acutely aware that our shoulders were still touching, I don’t think I’ve ever been so focused on the warmth of someone’s arm against mine.

She gently closed the book and looked back at me, smiling. “Who’s your favorite poet?”

“Shakespeare.” It was the first name, or rather the only name, that came to mind. As soon as I spoke, it occurred to me that Shakespeare was a playwright, and possibly not a poet like all the authors I could have easily chosen from the books all around me. Now I know that Shakespeare is considered a poet, and am familiar with some of his writing, but at the time I had no idea what I was talking about.

She didn’t seem to notice I was floundering. “How could I have forgotten him?” she laughed softly, still pulling books off the shelves and collecting them in her arms. “I played Caliban in a school play once; I think that’s when I first read Shakespeare.”

I laughed, not because I knew about Caliban at the time, but because she made me want to.

“I don’t think I know your name,” she said, turning away from the books.

“Oh! Yeah, I’m Tye.”

“Evelyn.” Now her name buys me a few more seconds, but is poison to me, like right when I’m about to die of dehydration I find myself at the bottom of a lake, where I drown first. But at the time I thought it suited her perfectly, and it echoed in my mind long after she left with her books.

She was like the drugs I no longer needed, she gave me a purpose, a reason to be at the bookstore. She kept coming back, and we would spend several hours every day wandering throughout the shelves, talking about the books and about anything we felt like. I don’t think I’d ever laughed so much in three days, even at night just the thought of her would make me smile as I lay in bed. She was so easy to be around, so carefree. She made me happy; like she could ward off the sadness. On the third day, it finally occurred to me that she probably wasn’t coming back only for more books.

“Hey,” I said, glancing at the clock, “I have my lunch break now, if you’re not too busy do you wanna grab something to eat with me?” Truth was my lunch break wasn’t for another half hour, but I was more worried about finding the right time to ask than doing my job.

“I would love to.” She smiled and stuck the book she had been carrying into the nearest shelf and followed me out into the sunshine.

I hadn’t been out to lunch with anyone for years; I usually met with girls at night and in bars. I had forgotten what it was like, to sit in broad daylight with someone, talking and smiling with them. We shared our meals, and after a hilarious debate agreed that her summer squash ravioli was better than my lobster polenta. We even ordered dessert, something I hadn’t done for a long time. She read her Robert Frost book to me, her lips curving to form the sounds and her eyes shining like they were reflecting the beauty of the words written on the page.

Afterward, I walked with her to the bus stop. I thought about taking her hand, but I kept getting nervous because I knew I had something to lose with her, something I didn’t totally understand, and I didn’t want to mess it up.

“Here we are,” she said, pointing and shading her face from the sun. I picked a daisy growing at the base of a tree while she wasn’t looking.

“I have something for you.” I took the daisy from behind my back. She smiled and delicately took it from my hand.

“It’s beautiful, thank you.” She tucked it behind her ear and laughed. “It’s funny; I have something for you too.” She reached into her woven bag and pulled out another bag, this one made of brown paper.

“Oh! Thank You!” I said, surprised, and took it from her.

“Open it tonight.” Then she closed the distance between us and rose on her toes to plant a kiss on my cheek, just as the bus arrived. She turned away and walked toward the street, flashing me on last bright smile over her shoulder before climbing the steps into the bus.

I got back to the bookshop nearly an hour past my break, but I wasn’t thinking about that. What was a kiss on the cheek supposed to mean? The girls I knew didn’t do that, and I never did either. Was it flirtatious, or did I just get friend zoned? And what was in her mysterious package? The rest of the day passed almost without me noticing, like I was watching everything on a screen, while my mind was far, far away.

Her gift turned out to be a book; a collection of Shakespeare’s sonnets. I remember I made myself tea that night for the first time in years and read it while lying in bed. It didn’t make much sense to me, but I didn’t mind. I heard her voice and pictured the way she savored each word like the last piece of chocolate. I slept soundly that night; I wasn’t alone because I had the book next to me.

Now I know nearly every word that was in that book. When she left me I read it over and over, evoking images of her in my mind so vivid I could almost feel her at my fingertips. But eventually I couldn’t stand that anymore either, and I burned it, all to ashes, except one of the cover pages, which I used to write my note. It’s funny how something can keep you alive, but also be what kills you.

We continued to meet at the bookstore and go out for lunch for the rest of the week, but what was really important was Saturday night. I was alone again; I had spent all my nights that week alone, and was getting quite good at it. I wasn’t tired, so I grabbed a sweatshirt and went outside.

The night was warm, and the stars were bright. Lights were going out in the houses nearby as people quieted down. I looked up at the sky and smiled at how peaceful the evening was, and a breeze played with my hair, inviting me. I stepped onto the empty road, barefoot. I’m like Evelyn; I remember thinking. I don’t know what I’m looking for yet.

I walked out of the residential area and towards the center of town, where there was more activity later into the night. Some of the stores still had their lights on, people passed me on the sidewalk, and occasionally cars drove by. I wandered through the roads, thinking about anything that crossed my mind: Shakespeare, Evelyn, what the person walking in front was wearing. For once I didn’t need anything, I was present and content in that moment.

“Tye?” I didn’t notice her at first; I thought I just imagined her again. Every time someone had come around a bookshelf or walked by the window the past few days I would do a double take, thinking it was her.

“Evelyn.” I stood and smiled. It really was her standing before me in a button down top and shorts. “It’s such a nice night; I’m just walking around town.”

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She looked around her, soaking up the moment. She turned back to me, only a foot away. “Come,” she smiled. “I want to show you something.” She took my hand, and I let her lead me through the streets, thinking about the way her fingers curled around mine, and laughed out loud.

“What?” she said, laughing too.

“Oh, I don’t know.”

I remember the night now in moments, flashes of memory I’ve conjured so many times, replaying them over and over. They nourished me in the dark, lonely nights afterward, kept me going longer than I could ever have imagined.

She led me down the beach, where the waves leaped up happily as if greeting us and the wind tossed her dark hair around her face.

“Oh, Tye! Look at the stars!” she breathed, a hand on my back and her face turned up, glowing with wonder. They were even brighter here, farther away from all the lights. But I never took my eyes off her. “There’s really nothing as beautiful as this.”

I pulled her toward me and hugged her. “Yes there is,” I whispered into her hair. She smelled like the wind and the city, like freedom and things I’d never smelled before.

She moved closer and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. I held her tight, like a piece of driftwood in the middle of the sea. I kissed her forehead, her cheek, and finally, brushing away her hair, her mouth. Her lips were warm and soft as they moved against mine. The world around us dissolved in blurs of color into the wind, water, and the night, softly covering us like the dark wing of a giant bird. She held my face in her hands, winding her fingers through my hair, smiling.

I remember lying in the sand with her, kissing her on the mouth and down her neck and chest, how the easily the buttons of her shirt came apart between my fingers. I remember her breath against my cheek, her hands running down my back, over bare skin. The sound of my heart beating in my ears, and hers beneath my hands, like they were communicating, calling out to each other. I don’t know how long we stayed like that, moving together, only each other and nothing else in the moment.

I know it started raining at some point, warm, heavy rain drops and a wild wind that flung up the waves and threw sea foam at us. We danced on the sand, leaping, twirling and laughing, and ran into the ocean because we were already soaking anyway. Even now I can’t think of a time I was ever so free, so happy.

A few weeks later she would leave me, with nothing but the Shakespeare book and the taste of her kiss lingering on my mouth. The first couple weeks without her I lived in the past, always unaware of what was going on around me because I wasn’t really there, I was on the beach with Evelyn. I reread the book she bought me countless times at night when I couldn’t sleep; as if I could bring her back with my thoughts. But she didn’t come back, and as more time passed the harder it got for me to ignore it, until I had to accept it. I couldn’t stand the bookstore anymore, the beach, squash ravioli, or anything. I tried quitting my job and moving to a new apartment. I went back to Ashley and the others, but the momentary thrill and validation I used to get from them was meaningless. It didn’t matter how far I went; I couldn’t escape my memories or the fact that I had lost my happiness. I couldn’t forget her.

And I just couldn’t stand to be alone again tonight. So I went out, only this time I knew exactly what I was looking for. It’s like I said in the note I left behind. Keep your heart to yourself, where it’s safe. Otherwise, you might wind up like me, on the roof of a building with only one way down.