Unexpected

Spring

"Are you coming over after school?" Alex asks me, making me look up from the pale globs that the school cafeteria tries to pass as mashed potatoes.

"Uh..." I can't help but glance over to Austin who's pushing food around on his tray, avoiding eye contact. I look back to Alex and he nods, knowing what my eyes are asking him.

"Not this time, lots of homework to catch up on." I haven't quite worked my way up to seeing Austin in a more isolated setting for longer than a class period. It's painful enough to catch his hazel gaze on occasion, and be reminded of everything they know about me. Most days we do a hell of a job of coexisting, but that's likely influenced by the knowledge that in an hour's time we'll go our separate ways again. That's lucky for us, considering we're still seated next to each other in English. I've had more than enough time to request a new seating arrangement- something Mrs. Pike agreed to if I waited a couple weeks after my first request. But my feet are unwilling to move in the direction of her desk after class. Instead, they stall beside Austin's until his things are packed and they move towards the door. I try not to think of him more than an ex girlfriend should, and only offer my presence when it's not out of the way. The placidity between us seems to be enough to carry us through shorter periods of time, despite the heaviness that still hangs in the air. In a way, it's a sort of relief to have someone else to brunt half the weight of it.

Austin was actually rather chirpy in class this morning, but he's completely silent now with his eyes fixed on his own formless lumps of potatoes. Alex doesn't need an explanation and changes the subject quickly. I hope that eventually things will be easier, but that won't happen until I can look at him without my chest betraying me. It used to feel like someone was stabbing me, but I can admit it's more of a dull thump now. I wouldn't exactly call it pleasant, but at least it doesn't feel like I'm having a damn heart attack. No one seems to mention that part about heart break- that your own heart doesn't always break for you. Logic and reason doesn't seem to have the slightest effect. You can tell your heart this person betrayed you all you want, yet it will still pound relentlessly against your ribcage the next time you lay eyes on them, as if to break free of the bones and skin separating you. Even worse are the nights I wake up to my lips outstretched to nothing but air and clenched thighs. My subconscious either hasn't caught up to reality or it refuses to accept it. My dreams are often filled with timelines that continue where we left off, sometimes with a resolution to Halloween night, and sometimes where that night never happened at all.

I hate it. It makes me feel dramatic, like an old Hollywood starlet that sobs into the armrest of a velvet couch. But when I listen to love songs now, I understand them. I don't fumble to form ingenuine thoughts that I think the teacher will want to read in an essay on Pride and Prejudice. And I recognize the feeling I once scorned all around me- it's in the way that the leaves flutter, and the musical tone of Alex's voice whenever he says Sarah's name. I try to be grateful for that at least, even if it hurts.

Lunch ends, and the school day marches on begrudgingly until it's time to drive myself home with the windows down in hopes of distracting me from my friends that will be laughing together a few houses down from my own. Nicole sweetened up our parents just enough to get the old Porsche, so now it's just me and my new old car, travelling the familiar route home. Today smells of sickly sweet blossoms, and it makes me both happy and sad. Without giving it much thought, I turn into the neighborhood market's parking lot.

Once inside, I find myself blinking at my reflection in the glass of the alcohol display case. I could be in and out in a matter of minutes with a case of beers and my fake ID in hand, but I know that one beer is never just one beer and this sudden urge means I'm avoiding something. I know what it is, and thinking about it makes me want to fling open the glass door and lug out a 12 pack. But the feeling will be there still, waiting, even as my vision softens and my mind goes fuzzy. I've come too far just to give up now. I owe myself real effort at the least, since this is what I wanted after all.