until we get to the right one. We know we’re right because they finally answer us.
We put our blouse on backward.
Maybe we wear two different socks. Two different shoes.
We get into the car and we forget where we’re going, or we remember where we’re going but we forget how to get there.
And then one day maybe we forget everything altogether. We forget how old we are and we forget our names and we forget when to eat and when to sleep and we lose weight and we get big circles under our eyes.
This kind of forgetting, this is almost okay.
Because it is expected.
But when you are young, when you are my age, you take it for granted.
You get up. You have your day. You go to sleep.
You remember everything you did.
This is normal.
We remember.
We live and we remember.
You live and you remember.
But me.
Me, I live and I forget.
Except now.
Now I am remembering.
And I’m not sure what I liked better.
Being in the dark or being thrust unceremoniously into the light.
Lyle tells me how he feels about me. It is early fall. September. I knew this was coming.
I knew this was coming, but it is still a surprise when the words leave his mouth. He brings to me a small Mexican restaurant. It’s out of the way and a little run-down, and from the outside it looks like some kind of trap. There is no one else there. I get quesadillas. I sip water the entire time he talks to me, and when he’s finished, I can’t even meet his eyes.
What is worse, to have your heart broken or to be the one doing the breaking?
I’ll take the first choice, any day.
I’m good at being unhappy.
I’m good at accommodating my sadness.
I can’t be with Lyle.
I can’t be with anybody, really, but I’ve made an exception for Sayer. Why? I have no idea. Because I like the way he looks at me, I guess. I like the way he smells. I like his hands, his fingers. I like the way he talks. I think he is the first person who has ever known me. The real me. Not the Molly everyone is accustomed to, but the other me who lives deep inside her. He’s the only person who’s ever seen me before.
“Is it because of everything that happened?” he says.
I shake my head. “No, Lyle, it has nothing to do with that.”
“Is there someone else?”
Yes, there’s someone else.
I love your brother. I love Sayer. I think he’ll tell me soon. Maybe in a dark coffeehouse while someone is playing the guitar he will tell me and I’ll be able to stick around long enough to tell him back.
“Don’t be weird,” I say. “There’s nobody else.”
“Not some guy at school?”
“Not some guy at school.”
“Not Luka?”
“That’s not funny.”
“So it’s nobody. It’s just not me.”
“You know it’s complicated. You know I love you.”
“Sure, I know you love me. Sure.”
“I’m not exactly in a place to . . .”
What?
I’m not exactly in a place to what?
To commit myself to anyone.
To be committed, maybe. To a mental institution. To an insane asylum.
But not to a person.
Even with Sayer, I know it’s impossible. It’s an impossible situation I let spin out of control. It’s not fair to him and it’s not fair to me, but for now it is warm and it is nice and I think about him all the time.
When I can think about anything, I think about him.
I finish my water. I shake the cup and sip from the straw, get only air and bubbles.
“You know how much I care about you,” Lyle says. “Right? You know I would do anything for you.”
“Yeah,” I say. Weak, I know, but I can’t think of anything else.
Yeah, I know you would do anything for me, Lyle. You already have.
And maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I don’t like feeling, on some weird level, that I am always in your debt.
That you consider me to be always in your debt.
How can someone live with that hanging over her? How could you expect two people to have a successful relationship with that always in between them? Hogging the bed. Backing up the drain in the
We put our blouse on backward.
Maybe we wear two different socks. Two different shoes.
We get into the car and we forget where we’re going, or we remember where we’re going but we forget how to get there.
And then one day maybe we forget everything altogether. We forget how old we are and we forget our names and we forget when to eat and when to sleep and we lose weight and we get big circles under our eyes.
This kind of forgetting, this is almost okay.
Because it is expected.
But when you are young, when you are my age, you take it for granted.
You get up. You have your day. You go to sleep.
You remember everything you did.
This is normal.
We remember.
We live and we remember.
You live and you remember.
But me.
Me, I live and I forget.
Except now.
Now I am remembering.
And I’m not sure what I liked better.
Being in the dark or being thrust unceremoniously into the light.
Lyle tells me how he feels about me. It is early fall. September. I knew this was coming.
I knew this was coming, but it is still a surprise when the words leave his mouth. He brings to me a small Mexican restaurant. It’s out of the way and a little run-down, and from the outside it looks like some kind of trap. There is no one else there. I get quesadillas. I sip water the entire time he talks to me, and when he’s finished, I can’t even meet his eyes.
What is worse, to have your heart broken or to be the one doing the breaking?
I’ll take the first choice, any day.
I’m good at being unhappy.
I’m good at accommodating my sadness.
I can’t be with Lyle.
I can’t be with anybody, really, but I’ve made an exception for Sayer. Why? I have no idea. Because I like the way he looks at me, I guess. I like the way he smells. I like his hands, his fingers. I like the way he talks. I think he is the first person who has ever known me. The real me. Not the Molly everyone is accustomed to, but the other me who lives deep inside her. He’s the only person who’s ever seen me before.
“Is it because of everything that happened?” he says.
I shake my head. “No, Lyle, it has nothing to do with that.”
“Is there someone else?”
Yes, there’s someone else.
I love your brother. I love Sayer. I think he’ll tell me soon. Maybe in a dark coffeehouse while someone is playing the guitar he will tell me and I’ll be able to stick around long enough to tell him back.
“Don’t be weird,” I say. “There’s nobody else.”
“Not some guy at school?”
“Not some guy at school.”
“Not Luka?”
“That’s not funny.”
“So it’s nobody. It’s just not me.”
“You know it’s complicated. You know I love you.”
“Sure, I know you love me. Sure.”
“I’m not exactly in a place to . . .”
What?
I’m not exactly in a place to what?
To commit myself to anyone.
To be committed, maybe. To a mental institution. To an insane asylum.
But not to a person.
Even with Sayer, I know it’s impossible. It’s an impossible situation I let spin out of control. It’s not fair to him and it’s not fair to me, but for now it is warm and it is nice and I think about him all the time.
When I can think about anything, I think about him.
I finish my water. I shake the cup and sip from the straw, get only air and bubbles.
“You know how much I care about you,” Lyle says. “Right? You know I would do anything for you.”
“Yeah,” I say. Weak, I know, but I can’t think of anything else.
Yeah, I know you would do anything for me, Lyle. You already have.
And maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I don’t like feeling, on some weird level, that I am always in your debt.
That you consider me to be always in your debt.
How can someone live with that hanging over her? How could you expect two people to have a successful relationship with that always in between them? Hogging the bed. Backing up the drain in the
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