11.03.02
I drive myself insane
My first year, I met a boy who played rugby. He wore a cowboy hat and had a crooked smile and messy hair. And I fell for him. He made my stomach jump and when he talked to me, I blushed. But he had a girlfriend, and then he graduated and I always held on to him as something that could have been.
He's been home for six weeks, and I saw him last night for the first time. When I talked he looked at me like he was thinking about kissing me and when he talked, I thought about kissing him. I stood beside him, in a crowded bar, and asked him if he wanted to come home with me.
We walked home in the snow and he held my hand around a mitten. We didn't sleep for more than two hours and talked all night. He kissed me hard and made sure the blankets stayed up around our shoulders. He told me he wished he had seen me sooner than now because he's going back to Japan and then Taiwan tomorrow.
I know lines when I hear them. I'm not saying I never fall for them, because I have. But these weren't lines. It was electricity between us. I wrote once, last fall, that I knew he would come back into my life. That there was something more left for us. And I was right.
He called me tonight, and said he wanted to see me, but that he leaves for the airport at three thirty tomorrow morning. We talked for an hour, about France and Japan and culture shock and political science and the power America has over the rest of the world. And he asked me if I'll be around in July. If I would be in the province, maybe we could get together.
The chances that I'll be here are high.
And the chances of seeing him are high. There's something about love that could have been that always hits me right in the heart.
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