I can’t remember what I was looking for in the basement, but I’ll never forget what I found. It was in the jumble box; you know the one. There are boxes with books marked BOOKS, boxes of DVDs marked DVD’S and that one box full of emotional valuable rubbish, toys and silly souvenirs marked JUMBLE BOX. Under a plastic Big Ben and a participation trophy was the shimmering back side of a polaroid photo. On it, mum had scribbled Jasper and Victoria 1999. You know I’m Jasper, but what you should also know is, butterflies burst into flight as I read the name Victoria. This wasn’t that bitch Victoria from College, nor was it chatty Victoria from shop24, it was thee, Victoria. In my mind’s eye I visualized the picture before turning it, I knew it well. I’d stare at it for hours before forcing myself to put it away in fear of wearing it out. I pushed Big Ben and my trophy aside and turned the picture and there it was, the face that had woven a thousand dreams.

Hair golden poppy, eyes greener than a forest on a midsummer’s day. She was picture perfect, I on the other hand, looked scruffy as all little boys do, scruffy and missing a front tooth. We were at my 10^th birthday party, I could tell we were happy, because she hadn’t hidden her birthmark on the outer left side of her eye. She hated it, but it was my favourite of her features. I’ve always thought, it’s our imperfections that make us perfect.

I’m not ashamed to say that my finger caressed her cheek, my touch was gentle so not to damage the aged picture. I left the basement without whatever it was I’d gone down to get, but with the photo. I had no idea what I was going to do with it, and after staring at it some more, I put it on my desk where I left it and I tried to get on with whatever I was supposed to do that day. That proved impossible, the wallpaper of my mind had been changed to her face and every moment I wasn’t occupied, it would appear on my home screen along with a temptation. A great man once said, the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it, and so I did. I propped the picture against my pen holder and switched on my computer. My fingers lead me to Facebook and typed each letter faster than the last, VICTORIA. I scrolled past the bitch and the chatty one and past hundreds of Victorias, some of them you might know, each profile picture blurring into the next. Until a golden-haired girl rose on my screen, her face angled prominently showing her right side. I clicked on her and through her pictures and there on the side of her green eye was that perfect imperfection. The butterflies were on the verge of bursting out of my mouth. As I clicked through her pictures, I reminisced back to the last time we had seen each other. It was on my last day at our school, I was leaving because Mum had gotten a job at the other end of the country. On that day by the gates, we stood across from each other. Our mums behind us pushing us to say goodbye and towards embarrassment. I remember we hugged; her hair was soft and smelled like strawberries. She smiled and her eyes twinkled with tears before she turned away, swinging her golden hair back. We said we’d write but we never did. Some say that children don’t understand love, but I’m sure that I loved her, all the symptoms were there, my heart would leap and bounce like a puppy whenever she’d look at me, my lips would burn, urging me to let them meet hers and at night I would replay her laugh as a lullaby. Love is an illness from which none is immune.

As memories played, my finger slipped, and I clicked on the like button. A shudder of pure horror rippled through me and jolted me upright. I unclicked the like button but knew the notification had been sent to wherever she was. I squeezed my face muttering how stupid I was until, a pop from my computer made me freeze. I glanced up and her profile picture flashed with a notification. For a moment I couldn’t muster the strength to click the message, I was torn between horror and excitement.

“OMG Jasper? From West Ricard’s school?” she had typed.

“Yea, hi!”

Moments passed without an answer, she thinks I’m weird, I told myself until,

“Wow, you’ve grown up!”

“I have, you too.”

“Yea.”

Notifications poured in; she was liking my pictures.

“I stumbled across your profile trying to find a friend of mine, the like was accidental, I’m not weird or anything,” I typed with sweaty palms.

“Oh, I thought you liked my picture from Halloween 2013 hihi.”

“I did, you look just like Walter White from B.B.”

“Say my name…”

“Victoria?”

“No silly, it’s from the show! You say, Heisenberg.”

“*face palm”

“Fail! How are you, Jaz?”

She called me Jaz! That was her nickname for me. “I’m fine VIX, how are you?”

That night we wrote back and forth catching up, and I sent the picture I had found, she remembered the day as clearly as I did. I felt a sense of relief, a relief that I wasn’t the only one who had cared for the memory of our friendship through the years. That night I went to bed and fell asleep going over our conversation, hoping she was doing the same.

The next few days were full of messages, still catching up with questions like; how each other’s day had been, if we were seeing anyone. Questions that took a lot of typing, deleting and rephrasing.

“Jaz, you are sucking the power out of my phone! Stop being so interesting!”

“Right back at you! I’m charging for the third time today.”

“Only a third time? I need a new phone.”

I’d been waiting for an opening, and this felt like one. My heart pounded like a jackhammer as my fingers typed their way to the point of no return. “Instead of draining our phones, would you like to meet up? For coffee or one of those banana drinks?”

“A Bananarama?” she typed.

“Yea!”

“I never say no to a Bananarama, let’s do it!”

My soul burst into a firework that roared into the heavens, erupting with exhilaration. It was a date.

The train journey was terrible, my stomach was in knots, the hands on my watch were the only ones on my person that weren’t trembling, it was as if they had stopped. I’d waited 10 years, but the final ten minutes felt double that. My phone guided me to the bar, and I saw a head of hair, you know the colour. I took a deep breath and walked into what seemed like one of my recent daydreams.

“Jaz!” she leapt up and hugged me, her hair didn’t smell like strawberries anymore. “It’s so good to see you”

“You too,” I said hoping she didn’t notice me smell her hair.

She turned to the bar, “Mark? You can make them now.” She turned back, “Mark’s a friend from uni, I’ve ordered two Bananaramas.”

“Oh cool. Wow, you look…”

“Vix,” Mark said from the bar waving his phone, “he’s answered!”  

“Jaz, I’ll be right back, Mark has this guy, I’ll tell you later.” She sped across to the bar and grabbed the phone.

He calls her Vix too? I thought. A lot of giggles and gushing came from the bar, I smiled in their direction when she glanced across. When she came back to the booth, she had two yellow drinks with umbrellas sticking out. She placed mine and sat across from me.

“Enjoy! It’ll change your life.”

Already has, I thought. I sipped it but I was too nervous to taste it. Maybe it was the Bananarama, or the pure joy of seeing her again that made me blurt out, “You look beautiful Vix.”

“Thanks,” she blushed and sipped her drink. “How did you recognise me?”

“I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I saw your birthmark.”

Her hand covered it. “Oh.”

“No please, that mark, it’s what makes you, you. I’ve always liked it.”

Victoria’s hand fell from her face, a smile radiated from her eyes to mine. Her lips moved to form a reply, but Mark slid into the booth next to her.  

“Room for one more?” he asked, his hand breached the gap between us, “Hi, I’m Mark.” We shook hands. He passed Victoria his phone. “He answered with this.” Both burst into a dance in the booth, and she typed away on his phone. “We call her the love doctor,” Mark said without taking his eyes off the phone.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Just a guy I’m really into.”

Mark ordered drink after drink to the table and as the drinks flowed so did the stories, insider stories, about uni, disaster dates and drunken nights. I’d told my own, and they laughed politely at them, as I did to theirs. When Mark did leave to smoke or to use the toilet, we’d smile to each other. I got the feeling that our words were bubbling below the surface, that the things we wanted to say couldn’t be said in those brief windows alone. Instead, we filled them with how cool the bar was, and how nice the Bananarama tasted. The hands on my watch had in the meantime realised that they had fallen behind earlier and sped up and it was soon time to catch the last train. She walked me to the station and on the platform, we stood once again across from each other waiting to say goodbye.

“It’s been really nice seeing you,” I smiled into her green eyes.

“Yea, you too.”

“Mark’s cool.”

“Yea he’s a laugh. I’m sorry he tagged along, he’s been going through a rough time.”

“Its fine. Vix, I want to say…” the train whistled.

“You’d better get on,”

“I want to say…”

“I know what you want to say, Jaz.”

“You do?”

“Yes, but I don’t want you to.” Her smile faded.

“Why not?”

“Some things are best unsaid.”

“Vix please,”

“No Jaz,” she stepped back, and I stepped forward.

“Why not?”

“Because you aren’t him,” She wiped her face.

“Who?”

“My best friend, my first love, you aren’t him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry Jasper, I’m glad I met you and I hope we can stay in touch.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know, but you will. I’m not her.” The train whistled a final time.

She spread her arms out and we hugged, but this time on my way out of the hug I pressed my lips to her cheek and for a split second, we were outside the school gates again. The last conversation hadn’t happened, time for a blink of an eye had corrected itself. As my burning lips touched her skin, sparks flew. Her hand soared to her cheek as if to stop the kiss from escaping and a smile spread across her face.

“Bye Victoria.”

“Bye Jasper,” She smiled, and her eyes twinkled with tears before she turned away, swinging her golden hair back.

In the midst of heartbreak, we are blind. It wasn’t until later I understood what she had meant. My love wasn’t for that Victoria, it belonged to the younger Victoria. That Victoria exists only in that picture and in my fondest memories. When I think back to our time together, I don’t long for her, that love pushes me forward. The only way to relive memories is to make new ones and my dear reader, this is what life is about, making fond memories. I won’t leave you without the obligatory happy ending, I can tell you Victoria and I did make more memories, but not together. A few years after we met, she married a sweet looking guy, and I found love too.

As for the picture, look for it in your jumble box.