(Alexa's) Piece of Slightly Nonfiction - Names Changed for Anymousness

May 23, 2011
By indieink18 BRONZE, Orange, California
indieink18 BRONZE, Orange, California
4 articles 0 photos 2 comments

Favorite Quote:
"My role in society, or any artist's or poet's role, is to try and express what we all feel. Not to tell people how to feel." - John Lennon

I replay over and over in my head the same conversation. The one where he tells me he won't ask me to be his girlfriend. I snap back "I know..." as soon as the words come out of his mouth. Instead of ending the conversation there, like he would in real life, he says, "(Linda) told you didn't she?" and to that I reply "Yes, but I knew before." He looks confused, but quickly regains his composure. He begins to explain why this situation is the way it is when I interrupt him and tell him that I really don't want to hear his excuses. He looks a little bit hurt and replies "this is something you need to hear." I tell him that I've heard enough, even though secretly, I wish that I knew every detail of the thoughts that ran through his mind these past few weeks. I wish he would tell me everything.

To the readers: I know what you're thinking. "They're not even going out." I understand your confusion, but let me clarify. This is the boy that I've been chasing for over a year and a half. This is the boy who has always secretly liked me, but being younger than me, never felt comfortable doing anything romantic with me. This is the boy who I spent my only two proms with. This is the boy that I walked down the beach in Hawaii with, hand and hand. This is the boy who said that he loved me; he was the only boy that I'd loved who had ever said he loved me. This is the boy I fell completely head over heels for: the one I had to wait for. The one who had held me close at night, and got near enough to kiss me but didn't. He was waiting for the second "real date", but it never came.

He was the one telling me now that we didn't have enough time. I was going to college. I shot back, "Well the not having enough time is your fault too. If you had just gone with this 'us' thing on our trip, we would have had 7 months." The look on his face was either an "I'd never thought about that" look or a mix between regret and anger. I hadn't decided. Nonetheless, he wanted to prove himself. But, before he could speak, I opened my mouth again to utter yet another poisonous comment. (Linda) had told me to be a b**** to him, hadn't she? She had, and I, fueled by the faux anger inside me, was ready to hit it home. After my words sink in, he begins to apologize, still not sorry for his actions, but apologizing all the same. It's always, "(Alexa), I'm sorry, but...". I don't remember exactly what happens after that, for it changes every time. Some more things are said before I break down a little inside and say something like "Of course you don't understand. It's not your heart that's being played with." Realization then crosses his face, suddenly realizing how much he's hurt me with all his back and forths. I then end with a sorrowful, yet heart-stabbing "Have a nice summer", as I shove some books, which I'm not sure even belong to him, into his arms. That's what he gets for being balls-less and waiting until the last day of school to tell me all this, figuring he won't ever have to see me again. I walk briskly away, not turning back to look at him, with silent tears hung in the very backs of my eyes. I feel even worse than I did before the conversation, but am proud that it seemed relatively effective.

That's the way the conversation goes every time, except the time it actually happens. When it does finally happen the next day, the last day of school, he asks "can we talk?" I say, "sure." He tells me he won't ask me out, and all I can do is reply, "ok." Seeing no objections, he pauses and takes a step back, my cue that the conversation is done. There is no arguing, no book shoving, and no making him feel bad. Instead, I turn to walk away, and so does he. Yes, I do look back when I'm sure he's further down the hall, and no, the tears don't hang silently in the backs of my eyes. Yes, I do feel worse than before the conversation, and this time there's no pride.

The author's comments:
This is basically a rant. To be honest, I do not know why I published it. It's kind of like one of those unaddressed letters that you write, but never send to get your emotions out. Here you go.

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