Once upon a time.

Once upon a time…

Once upon a time, I fell in love.
It shouldn’t have happened. But it did.

14 years old. Summerschool. I took 10th grade PE.
I found a group, friends. People to hang out with. Something I hadn’t had before. I had always been a bit of a loner.

Friend tally
5th: 1 ½ friends.
6th: 0 friends.
7th: ½ friends + 1 best friends
8th: 2 friends + 1 best friends
Summerschool: 8 friends

See why I was surprised? Wouldn’t you be? All alone… and BOOM! You learn a secret. You learn how to talk to strangers.
But we weren’t close friends. No secrets shared. I hung out, listened, talked. Ate lunch. And the first three weeks went by.
But it was the last three weeks that mattered.
On the 4th week, I noticed him.
He didn’t have a group.
And he didn’t seem to care.
I found myself thinking about him constantly. True, he was handsome. But that wasn’t why. I simply found, that there was an elastic cord, and no matter what I thought, my thoughts would return to him.
That aspect never changed. Whatever else happened, that elastic cord has yet to disappear.
All I knew then, I wanted to know this kid.
All I thought, I loved him.

It was PE. Every day, we walked. 1 hour out of 5, spent circling a track.
Run 1 minute, walk 2.
Run 2 minutes, walk 1.
I seldom ran. He always did.
I would time myself, slow down here, walk here. I would end up by him when we were supposed to walk.
I was good at that.
I walked next to him.
‘Hi,’ I said, my voice light, cheery. My heart pounding, tense.
‘Hi,’ he answered.
A run around the track.
‘How are you?’
‘Good.’ He answered. ‘you?’
‘fine.’ It was companiable. The elastic cord become tangible. I felt the tie. The tie linking me to him.
Each day we talked more.
Once, afraid I was becoming too much in love with someone who might not respect my views, I said ‘There’s two things I want you to know.’
‘What?’ he asked.
‘I’m a Christian.’
‘So’m I’
My heart relieved, then prepared. The next thing was harder. I don’t know why. But it was. ‘I like to read, a lot.’ Lot’s of people didn’t like to read. And I read constantly.
‘So do I. Have you read…’

Every game, I maneuvered. I manipulated. I was on his team. And if I wasn’t? Then my team played against him. And I played well. Better than I had ever played before or since.
It became, that when I saw him, I would think to myself. I love him. And I wanted him to love me. I thought to myself. Anything he asked.
He ate lunch where we did. You couldn’t truly say that he ate lunch With us, but he ate lunch by us. He hadn’t before. I don’t know where he had been before, but it was somewhere else.One day, he bought himself a Slurpee. I saw it. The next day, he bought me one.
After lunch, we all went to the gym. He would start a game of Frisbee with some of the guys. I would make myself part of the game. Gradually, it was no longer him, me, and someone else playing, but just him and me.
We through the Frisbee backwards, upside down, two at once. Found new ways. Laughed. Talked some, but not much. Had fun. Those were some of the best times of my life.

I don’t know if he ever felt anything for me. But I did for him.
I think I still do. I’m half afraid, that it’s just a memory. That the feeling disappeared… I don’t think it did. But I am getting ahead of myself. I did love him.
But I was scared. Scared that he wouldn’t like me back. Once, a girl asked if he was my boyfriend. In that instant, my heart froze. I wanted him to be my boyfriend ! I wanted to be his girl friend ! But he was there, and I didn’t know the answer. So I blushed scarlet, and silently wished that girl a painful death.

There was so much more. So many memories.
Of basketball, shooting hoops. Your turn, my turn. What’s your favorite color? Agh. I missed ! You throw it to me. I throw a hoop, make it, throw it back.
I swear, I haven’t managed to make a hoop since. Well… practically. Maybe 2 baskets. But for 2 years? That’s a pretty sad track record.
Memories of getting hit in the head. I got hit in the head more times in those six weeks then I ever had before. A soccer-ball. A football coming out of no-where.
Once, we played the most hectic soccer game ever. 5 balls. I got battered. Somehow, they were all aimed at my head. I almost had a nervous breakdown. I quit. I backed out of the game, became goalie. (there were ten goalies). I wanted to cry.
But he was there. I tried to hide it. Laugh it off.
I have a problem with that. With trying to seem strong. When all I needed, no, all I wanted, was a set of strong arms to wrap me up.
I wish… *sigh… * Is now too late for wishes?
Summerschool ended. He gave me his phone number. I promised to call, give him mine. It isn’t that I didn’t trust him. It’s that my parents are protective, I was afraid they wouldn’t let us talk. And I had to live with them for at least another four years.
I knew I wasn’t allowed a boyfriend. But I could talk to him on the phone, surely! The ruse was set in my mind. I’d tell my parents he was a friend I’d made, and they wouldn’t mind so much.
But my mom said that I shouldn’t be the one to call him so much. That it would seem to forward, too eager. So… I called him. But I let him call after that. Mistake numero uno. Premier. Ichi-sai.

I truly wanted to be with him. I did. But my parents teasing over our phone conversations wore me down. And we didn’t see eachother for a while.
Finally, we decided to meet at the library. Every Saturday my family went to the library, surely this would work! He came, his parents came. My mom came. I came. Our parents agreed. We could be friends, but we were to young to be anything more. My mom was happy with that. Very happy. I was fourteen, and he was a year older than me!
We hung out, talked, had fun.
We met at the library four times.
On the second, it was Christmas.
I made him a card.
He bought me a gift-card to Barnes and nobles. It fell behind a bookcase. Never seen again.
I still loved him. But by the third time, I was no longer so sure. He was calling less often. And I was becoming more distant. School was easier. There were attractive boys there. And one was beginning to catch my attention.
By the fourth and last time that we saw eachother, I no longer knew that I loved him. I was distracted.
We hugged twice that day. But I was paying too much attention to the fact that my mom was there to care. I was trying to keep a low-profile. And I had begun to separate my feelings. I hardly returned the hug at all.
That’s one thing I regret. One real thing I regret.

That summer, he never called. I went to Japan. Wanted to talk to him. Was so happy to have gone. I was liking him again. I wanted to talk to him so badly, I even called. No one answered, and coward that I’ve always been. I left no message.

School started. He called. Said let’s hang out more this year. I wanted that. He was gonna call. We were gonna hang out Friday.
He didn’t call.
Not till later,
The next time I remember talking to him, though I’m sure he must have called between then, was in October.
I was busy finishing my math homework. He called. I listened mostly.
Said I was sorry I wasn’t talking so much, but I was finishing my math-homework. It was early enough in the year that I was still doing my math homework. I thought it was nothing, There were plenty of times that he had been on the computer while we talked. He said OK. Sorry, but he had to go now. Call back later, Bye. The conversation ended. I had only one problem left. I felt somehow, I knew, that it was my fault he had hung up. But I didn’t know…
He never called back.

I waited. By spring my life had changed so much. New church, new friends. My feelings for him felt a life-time away. I pretended they hadn’t been real. If someone asked, then I said that there had once been a boy who thought I was his girlfriend. It was partially true. Though he had called me his girlfriend a few times, I had never called him my boyfriend.
There was a boy in my English class. Asian. Over-achiever. Not the prettiest face, but neither was he badly shaped.
I had a crush on him. But it died. I tried to feed it. But it was dead. Swiftly, quicker than it started, it was gone.
And I kept Nick locked in a box in my heart. Had I told you that? The boy I fell in love with? His name was Nick. Nick R. Never found out what his last name was. But I couldn’t keep it locked up forever.

On may 30th. Friday. Youth group. Car ride home. Charrise talked about her boy-friend. They had gotten back together. He was her boyfriend. And she was his girlfriend.
I had once had a boyfriend. He had called me his girlfriend. And he had never broken up with me. He just STOPPED CALLING.
Pained seared through my heart, and my heart finally realized what had happened to it. My heart broke. And I remembered. I hadn’t been just a silly girl! I had been old enough. Old enough to fall in love for real. My head fell against the window. But I did not cry. My eyes watered. I wanted nothing but to cry. But there were people there, and my dad was there. He was dropping everyone off. I promised myself. When I got home, I could go to my room, lie down, and cry myself to sleep.
Meanwhile, my thoughts raged.
I had once had a boyfriend!
I had loved him!
He had called me his girlfriend!
We had Hugged! Twice!
But… but he had stopped calling.
He had never broken up with me. He just abandoned me.
I was broken. And I knew it.
I debated with myself. Over whether to call him.
I SHOULDN’T! It’d hurt too much. But one thing had become my mantra. One thing with which to stare at the ceiling and chant to myself while I tried to sleep.

Finality! Finality!
Finality…

All I wanted was finality. I wanted my death to be final when it happened. No wondering if I would survive! I wanted my boyfriend to be final if he left me.

All I wanted was finality.

Next day. I called his cell. No such number existed.
I took a deep ragged breath and got back to the computer. Something to make me forgot for a second. I played Flash Element TD. Most thinking mindless game ever invented. Set up a cannon. Watch the goblins get shot down. Another. And again. I finished the game.
I was no longer going to cry the way I almost had Friday night. I was a little better. Rather then feeling broken, my heart felt as though it had been through a wringer. I picked up my cell and stared at it.
Slowly I dialed the last number I had. The number he had written on that torn piece of paper two summers before. His home phone. I half-hoped, half-feared that he had moved. That it was no longer a valid number.

It rang.
The answering machine picked up.
I hung up.

The answer had been generic. No last name given. No way to know if it was his.

Besides. He was a handsome man. He was a junior now. Almost a senior! He probably had a girlfriend.
In which case he ought to have the decency to at least break up with me after all these years!
I called again.

It rang.
The answering machine picked up.
‘hello, this is Olivia’

I couldn’t finish. I hung up.
I didn’t know what to say! My power relied on the written word, not on the spoken. My pencil was braver than my voice.
His parents would hear this message.
And if he called back, as I wanted him too, then I didn’t want him to call my home-phone.
I knew what I would do. I would give him my cell. I don’t know why I hadn’t given him my cell number when I first got it.
I wrote it down. What I would say.
Something simple.

The phone rang.
The machine picked up.
‘Hello, this is Olivia. If Nick could please call me at *******. I want to ask him something. Thank you.

My heart pounded. It was in his hands now. He would call. And I would ask… What would I ask? I didn’t know.
Please break up with me? I only half wanted that.
Please be my boyfriend again? That was too begging. I still had my pride.
Please. Tell me. Did you like me? Why didn’t you call back? Do you have a girlfriend?
In the end, I was as likely to ask those as What’s your favorite color?
What I wanted was for him to choose. For him to tell me.
Take me, or leave me. But never leave me hanging.
I took a deep breath. It was in his hands now. If he called… I would decide then.

The next day, Sunday. After church. In a strange burst of creativity, I was sewing. Cutting up and putting back together an old pair of pants.
The phone rang. My cell. I looked at the number.
It was him. The number I had called so many times the night before. It was him.
I couldn’t answer in time. Couldn’t make myself press the green button.

It rang.

10, 15 minutes later. I took the phone to the garage.
I sat down.
I listened to his message.
No, I listened to his voice. It was a good voice. That faint hint of a southern drawl, though he claimed to be native Californian.
I played it again, and again.
He left a number.

I wanted to call him! But I told myself I didn’t have enough time. My parents would wake up from their nap soon.
He called again that week. But I wasn’t around to hear my phone that time.
I called the week after school got out. The next week.

It rang.
He answered.
He had friends over, but asked why I had called. What I wanted to ask.
Maybe if he had been alone… If no one had been there.
Maybe then I could have said.
I said I had forgotten.
I lied.

I wanted to ask him! I wanted to ask him to make a choice.
Break up with me, or be my boyfriend. For real this time. I would be a real girlfriend if we tried again. But I didn’t. He said he’d call me back.

That weekend. My cousins graduation party. All the family. My many aunts and uncles. Whose teasing I would be able to stand even less then my parents.
He called. Twice. I said that I was with people. Couldn’t talk.

On the way home. Couldn’t understand him over the freeway. Said I would call back.

My parents found the note where I had written for myself what I wanted to ask. My dad found it. He read it.
He read it… I had written it, so that when I called, I wouldn’t be able to say that I had forgotten what I wanted to ask.
He found it, read it. Sat down with me.
Had a talk.

They could see I was upset. Knew I had been hurt.
They layed down the law.

I could have a friend that was a boy. We could hang out. At his house. At mine. With parents present. We could go to eachothers youth group.
We could not date. I could not call him my boyfriend.

I was prepared to put up this false front for them. I had done it before. And who was to say that he would choose me?

Two weeks later. Saturday. 1:30. I finally called.
He was just waking up. We talked for an hour. Random stuff.
I keep telling myself that I had no lead for the question. I could not ask it of him.
But that was a beautiful conversation.
He needed breakfast.
He said let him call back.
I waited.
And waited.
He never called.

4 weeks later. Camp. I made friends. I was happy. I tried to forget that he hadn’t called back. Again.
I got home. Checked my messaged.
Nothing.

We had an exchange student from Japan. Munehiro.
Once again. I could distract myself.
I crushed hard. He was handsome. And good. His English was amazing, considering my struggles with his language.
It was nice.
But it wasn’t quite real.
We became friends. He left. We emailed. Until school started. He didn’t email after that.

I told myself, and my friends, that I was over Nick.
That my heart no longer screamed for him.
I believed myself.

I wanted to be over him.

And then. A month into school.
I looked at my heart. I don’t know what set it off!
I don’t know why my heart broke again!
I realized something. I was missing something.
I was missing a piece of my heart.
I wanted it back.

I looked back at all the places where I might have lost it, and knew.
I had given it to Nick. And I still loved him.

A person can’t function without their whole heart, They can’t live. Can’t love. Finality… Finality… Finality..
I had an excuse for my sad expression that day. I kid I had never met, never known, never seen. A kid who wasn’t real to me. Had shot himself.

I wonder if Nick saw the news that night and thought, Olivia goes to that school.

But I knew what I would do. Somehow, I had finally realized. I would go home. I would write it down.
The whole story. Beginning to end. No facts omitted. Only truth told.
I would post it online.
And I would have him read it.

You see, I’m not good at saying things outloud. It’s why I love the computer. I love to write.
In words lie my power, but printed words, not spoken. I can write anything! I can tell the truth. I find it hard to lie. It’s much too final. And I like Final.

So I went home that day, went to my room. Took out a pad of paper. And commenced writing.

Once upon a time…


Have I mentioned? I was a coward. Took me 3 hours to write it. Took me a week to start typing it. I just finished typing it now. I hope that I actually post it today. I want to call him tomorrow.
Just so you know. It’s the 20th of September. 2008, though hopefully I wouldn’t wait till next year. It’s Saturday. 1:55.

I hope, that when I call him. He doesn’t answer. A message would be easier.

The phone rings.
The answering machine picks up.
‘Hello, this is Olivia. Nick, please go to the Author’s Rant Blog and read my piece. It's called Once Upon A time. Call me with the answers. Please.’

The question I’m asking? Well. You’ve read the story. Every question up there. What do I want the answers to be? I don’t know.
I want him back. But I don’t want him to break my heart again. Once was enough. I want us to be together again. I want to do better than last time. But really? I’m just confused.

Trouble is. I still love him.

-Olivia. for whom, this is her first rant. And for whom, this is probably the longest thing she has ever written. She's half-afraid to find out how many words it has. Well... 3,446... maybe it isn't quite as bad as she feared. She wants to say, that everything on here is the truth. She also wants to say sorry to her friend, for posting such a long item. And that it is amazingly hard to press Publish Post.