on 1/20/04 @ 5:54 PM
Why I Love the Day after Valentine�s
Remember all those times we snuck out of our houses in the middle of the night just to run around together? We would sprint to that field across from my neighborhood with the night breeze whipping our faces and kick off our shoes just to feel the soft, dewy grass crush beneath our feet. From there we tried to chase the moon, but she always ended up chasing us. After ten minutes I always got tired, and you always told me to hop on your back. Then you would slowly carry me home and watch me miserably attempt to climb through my bedroom window with my stubby legs. It was only years later when someone else gave me a piggyback ride, that I realized how heavy I was. You never once complained.
Remember all those times we biked to the ice cream shop three miles from my house? There was another ice cream shop two blocks away, but you said the reward is always better if you have to work at it. And you were right. We would saunter into the shop with light steps as if it were some sort of sanctuary, and the shopkeeper would greet us warmly at the sound of the tinkling bells. I was always huffing from the exhaustion, and you were always acting cool. But I knew inside you were exhausted too. You know, you had it all� the dark thatch of unruly hair that danced roguishly across your eyes� and your eyes, they seized me firmly in an unbreakable curse. They were such a magnificent blue, darker than the midnight blue of the sky, almost black. You were devilishly gorgeous, and you knew it. You would murmur sweet nothings into the pretty blonde girl�s ear at the counter, but you directed all attention back to me when I shot you the glare. I was never as beautiful as you� my plain straw-like hair and my dreary brown eyes that always held contempt for the world. We constantly ordered the same thing, you with your rocky road and me with my plain vanilla. I devoured my cone in one minute while you took the time to take pleasure in yours. There was always some ice cream on my lips, and you always laughed at me for that. But then there was that one day. That one day, you brushed the ice cream off with your delicate, long fingers. For days after, I could feel your rough fingers trace my burning lips. That was the first time you called me beautiful.
Remember all those times we lay on the sidewalk together? You were always staring at the clouds until you got dizzy, and I was always staring at you. Passersby gazed at us as if we were crazy lunatics, and in truth we were. Some little kid would run up to us and ask what we were doing. You always told him we were falling in love. I didn�t think you were serious. Love was just wishful thinking, something abstract, nothing I ever felt. For a long time, I tried to grasp love within my hands, but it always slipped through my fingers no matter how frantically I clutched. Love failed me you know. I would sigh a little, with a hint of desperate longing. You would point up at the sky and ask me if I could see Darth Vader. I would laugh, and you would stealthily cover my hand with your own. You always thought I wouldn�t notice. I always did.
Remember all those times we played chess at the nearby caf�? The stone carved seats and the freezing, marble table in the rear of the caf� by the window. Little glass figurines, how tedious their lives must have been I always thought to myself. Imagine your whole life, being controlled and caged by others; if they could cry I know their tears would flow for an eternity down their cold, glass faces. Chess. We never followed the rules because we had our own rules. You always told me you were better than me, and I always told you I was better than you. We played. You won� but I let you win. We played again. I won� but you let me win. So in the end, we never figured each other out. You probably figured that out by now right?
You know, you were the only constant in my life.
But senior year, you changed.
Or was it me that changed?
I started getting invited to parties and places by boys other than you. Before every date, I would always call you. You always answered the phone with a �How are you?�, and I would always answer with a �Just fine.� But suddenly you stopped picking up the phone. I never found out why. Maybe it was because I told you I fell in love with a boy named John. John was so daring, so impulsive. He was like caffeine, so addictive. I couldn�t help it. I was so sorry.
We met only once after you stopped answering my calls. One day I ran into you at the ice cream shop (the one three miles from my house), and we started talking again. My heart fluttered with hope, maybe everything will return to the way it used to be. At the time, I was debating over what flavor to choose. You asked me why I didn�t just stick to plain vanilla. After all, wasn�t that what I had always loved? I told you that I did love it, but I felt like exploring something bold and daring like chocolate. Vanilla was simple and sweet, but chocolate was seductive and sultry. One bathed me in comfort; the other tempted me with promise of excitement. In the end, I asked for chocolate. You looked at me straight in the eye. My bones chilled at your accusing stare. Betrayal? I never felt so cold�
The sands of times dropped at an alarming speed. A year skimmed by. No one could escape time, something we all hope to evade. We were invited to the same party. When I passed you, you didn�t whisper one single word to me. Your mouth set itself in a stern line like that of a cynical, old woman, and I wondered when had you stopped smiling? You merely glanced at me once in the eye, and walked right on by. But in your eyes I saw despair, longing, and me. It was those eyes that convinced me. I got back from the party at 1:00 A.M. At 1:01 A.M., I ran to your house leaving a scorching trail behind me. There you were, sitting on the porch waiting for me. You knew I would go. Neither of us said anything. Our eyes locked. The moment was magic. Nothing had changed. For that, I jumped into your arms, and gave you a rib-crushing hug. I knew you missed that. That was the first time you kissed me.
Remember that day after Valentine�s when you came over to my house? We watched mindless movies all on the subject of love the entire day. The plots were all so overused. The last movie was the embodiment of all sappy romantics- Breakfast at Tiffany�s. When �Fred� hears Holly singing Moon River from the fire escape, he realizes right then and there that it might have been love. It was love all the while. You grabbed me by the shoulders and twisted me to face you. I was sobbing hysterically at the time and wasn�t sure if you actually said anything or if I was just imagining things out of my own romantic fancies. But it wasn�t my imagination. That was the first time you told me you loved me. That was the first time I was happy in a long, long time.
And that�s why I love the day after Valentine�s.