for a moment.
“It's a matter of fact, I've wondered about those words for years,” I added. “I've wondered if they were actually spoken or just something I thought of in the heat of the moment. But tonight you've confirmed them to be real… in more than one way.”
She pondered my words for the longest time, staring blankly at the aurora, until a sudden tremor shook our folded hands, snapping us both back to reality. Her eyes hardened then and she pulled her hand away from mine, as if regretting ever holding it again. “What are we doing?” she asked, her voice as hard as a rock. “Encouraging a romantic delusion from a stupid pre-teen crush?”
Her words plunged into my stomach like a rusty knife. “Is that how you see it?” I said, my voice rough with the edge of another mood swing.
“It doesn't matter how I see it, Victor! We're letting ourselves forget that we're sick—that any minute could be our last. You heard what Dr. Walker said. Even with this treatment, there are no guarantees. We still might not wake up tomorrow. Why do you think I locked myself in my room for two years? Depression? No! I didn't want to meet or get involved with anybody who was going to end up mourning me, Victor. And I'm pretty sure that's the reason you isolated yourself, too. Do you really want to rekindle something that's only going to bring us more pain? I mean, aren't you tired of attending funerals?”
Her last words got me back up on my feet.
“I'm sorry,” she apologized quickly, her voice softer. “I didn't mean that. I'm such an idiot,” she whispered, her eyes big and wide, like those of a sad puppy dog. “Please, don't go, Victor.”
I stood there fighting my anger and debating whether or not to speak my mind; and then I realized that the answer for that question was clear. So, I began: “You know what, Yvee? I didn't have much growing up. Maybe that's the reason why all my feelings were invested in so few people—making me love them, a little too much, I guess. Xavier for instance...he was not only my friend, but the brother I never had. I loved him dearly. And yet, I never told him. Instead, I teased him and patronized him. Now I wonder if he ever knew how important he was to me.
“My dad... he was my father, my mother, my mentor, my friend, my entire family. No son could ever love a father the way I loved him. And yet he never heard me say it. He flat-lined before I could utter the words. After that, I made myself a promise: that no matter how embarrassed, self-conscious, or out of place I felt, I'd never conceal my feelings again. Because I might just not have a second chance to let them show. And you're right. We might not wake up tomorrow. But I think that only makes what I need to say all the more imperative.”
I paused and paced around for a few seconds, pressing my fingertips against my aching temples. Yvette, still seated with her back against the tree, waited for me to continue, until I finally turned around and let my words gush like the waters of an open floodgate. “I loved you, Yvee. You were my neighbor, my classmate, my best friend for twelve years… You were my first kiss… You were my first love… And when I saw you again today—even though I didn't recognize you at first—my heart skipped a beat. It literally skipped a beat. I know how strange and even stupid that seems, but I swear to you it's the truth.”
I paused for a moment, realizing how neurotic I was beginning to sound. But the throbbing pain in my head reminded me that at this juncture in my life, being neurotic was just good common sense, so I continued. “All night I've been fighting this impulse, this urge, to reach out to you and hold you. I have this irrational feeling deep inside my chest that makes me want to protect you, that makes me want to be near you. I feel a connection that I can neither explain nor control. I've been racking my brain, running the numbers, trying to understand what I'm feeling here. But
“It's a matter of fact, I've wondered about those words for years,” I added. “I've wondered if they were actually spoken or just something I thought of in the heat of the moment. But tonight you've confirmed them to be real… in more than one way.”
She pondered my words for the longest time, staring blankly at the aurora, until a sudden tremor shook our folded hands, snapping us both back to reality. Her eyes hardened then and she pulled her hand away from mine, as if regretting ever holding it again. “What are we doing?” she asked, her voice as hard as a rock. “Encouraging a romantic delusion from a stupid pre-teen crush?”
Her words plunged into my stomach like a rusty knife. “Is that how you see it?” I said, my voice rough with the edge of another mood swing.
“It doesn't matter how I see it, Victor! We're letting ourselves forget that we're sick—that any minute could be our last. You heard what Dr. Walker said. Even with this treatment, there are no guarantees. We still might not wake up tomorrow. Why do you think I locked myself in my room for two years? Depression? No! I didn't want to meet or get involved with anybody who was going to end up mourning me, Victor. And I'm pretty sure that's the reason you isolated yourself, too. Do you really want to rekindle something that's only going to bring us more pain? I mean, aren't you tired of attending funerals?”
Her last words got me back up on my feet.
“I'm sorry,” she apologized quickly, her voice softer. “I didn't mean that. I'm such an idiot,” she whispered, her eyes big and wide, like those of a sad puppy dog. “Please, don't go, Victor.”
I stood there fighting my anger and debating whether or not to speak my mind; and then I realized that the answer for that question was clear. So, I began: “You know what, Yvee? I didn't have much growing up. Maybe that's the reason why all my feelings were invested in so few people—making me love them, a little too much, I guess. Xavier for instance...he was not only my friend, but the brother I never had. I loved him dearly. And yet, I never told him. Instead, I teased him and patronized him. Now I wonder if he ever knew how important he was to me.
“My dad... he was my father, my mother, my mentor, my friend, my entire family. No son could ever love a father the way I loved him. And yet he never heard me say it. He flat-lined before I could utter the words. After that, I made myself a promise: that no matter how embarrassed, self-conscious, or out of place I felt, I'd never conceal my feelings again. Because I might just not have a second chance to let them show. And you're right. We might not wake up tomorrow. But I think that only makes what I need to say all the more imperative.”
I paused and paced around for a few seconds, pressing my fingertips against my aching temples. Yvette, still seated with her back against the tree, waited for me to continue, until I finally turned around and let my words gush like the waters of an open floodgate. “I loved you, Yvee. You were my neighbor, my classmate, my best friend for twelve years… You were my first kiss… You were my first love… And when I saw you again today—even though I didn't recognize you at first—my heart skipped a beat. It literally skipped a beat. I know how strange and even stupid that seems, but I swear to you it's the truth.”
I paused for a moment, realizing how neurotic I was beginning to sound. But the throbbing pain in my head reminded me that at this juncture in my life, being neurotic was just good common sense, so I continued. “All night I've been fighting this impulse, this urge, to reach out to you and hold you. I have this irrational feeling deep inside my chest that makes me want to protect you, that makes me want to be near you. I feel a connection that I can neither explain nor control. I've been racking my brain, running the numbers, trying to understand what I'm feeling here. But
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