Carolina

There were years when I had too much time with her.

The first night we met in a crowd of hundreds. She appeared in the darkness with a smile that lit me up. I didn’t ask her to dance, but I wanted to. I watched as she bobbled through the others, floating in and out of my vision. I don’t remember how we started talking. It was cut short by the flashing blue lights, a stampede of teenagers acting older than we were. My heart raced, scanning the crowd as I jumped in my buddy’s truck, trying to find her face. A half mile down the road I found her, insistent on walking the six miles back to campus with her friends. I didn’t beg her to get in, but I wanted to. I spent the next few months wondering if she ever made it home.

When the air turned cold, I reluctantly dressed in costume and welcomed hundreds of strangers into my house. The downside of living with my brothers. I was planning my exit under the dark sky hiding night’s turn to morning. With my head craned to ensure the others didn’t see me quietly slip away, I didn’t see what or who was in front of me. Until we collided.

“I’m sorry,” she giggled. A laugh I knew the second I heard it.

We talked until the sun peeked softly through the trees. Only night owl stragglers remained, we barely noticed. I never noticed anyone else when I was with her. There was a break in conversation, an intentional pause that let our lips touch for the first time. Interrupted by her phone lighting up an array of colors, I heard the muffled concerns from her friend on the other end. Time to leave. We exchanged numbers and one more kiss that I promised wouldn’t be the last. I didn’t ask her to stay, but I wanted to.

We spent the next two years not being together, but not being apart. Young hearts could handle the on and off, and on again. Neither of us were ready for anything real. There were nights at the bar, I spent hours with one eye on the door. I wouldn’t always see her walk in, but by closing time, I was drawn to the same face in every crowd. The girl giving me side eye and a crooked smile, like she had been there the whole time, waiting for me too.

It was the summer before my senior year when we both stayed in Carolina. An empty college town with an orange and purple sky. In June, we were friends. By July, we were on fire. We rode in my truck, windows down, singing into the summer breeze until the road ran out. I pruned in the quarry, hollering at her to jump. She was never scared, she just liked the game. We both did. All the nights in the pool — I couldn’t speak about.

It was pre-season when she told me she wanted more. After all these years, I should’ve seen it coming. I was too lost in my own happiness to think anything could change it. I was graduating, and we were on borrowed time. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t ask her to wait, but I wanted to.

The next time I saw her at a tailgate with someone else on her arm. Someone I knew too well to like. It wasn’t my place. She seemed happy; I let it be. We were friends, that was almost enough.

The first day of spring, we spent drinking outside. We played cornhole and beer pong like it was the Olympics. Celebrated standing in the sun without a jacket. I was off in a corner when she stumbled over, after drinking a few more than she should. Her eyes were wet when she whispered.

“I miss you.”

I looked at the boy standing across the yard, back turned, not even a glimpse for his girl. I shook my head. Graduation was a month away. Our sand had run out.

I’ll never forget being in that parking lot, truck packed, doing the rounds. Hugging the people who changed my life that I wouldn’t see again, except at the occasional wedding. I stared up at her apartment balcony, wondering if she was inside. If she knew I was leaving. When we met I thought I had forever. Four years went by in a blink. I didn’t tell her goodbye, but I wanted to.

I went back for the first game that season. Stood at the tailgate with one eye on the road. My heart skipped as I watched her walk up, surrounded by her friends. Only her friends. She caught me, and flashed a crooked smile that took out my knees. I didn’t miss another second. I scooped her up into my arms, the way it always should’ve been. We spent the whole day hand in hand, even better than the old times. After years of switching tracks, we were finally riding the same train.

She spent the fourth quarter telling me about her plans for the future. She lined up a job before her first class even started. Smart girl, I wasn’t surprised, but I hadn’t thought about that. She was starting her senior year. I had a flight to catch in the morning. I looked around the stadium, thinking about how fast it all went. The four months I’d spent in the corporate world taught me this freedom was fleeting. I wouldn’t let her spend the last year she had in airports and a city she wasn’t moving to. I squeezed her hand, in case it was the last time.

When the sun set, she didn’t understand. I promised her someday she would. I held her head on my chest while she let the tears out. I didn’t ask her to be with me, but I wanted to.

It was almost two years before I drank enough one night to text her. Just about someone we both used to know. Her reply came in seconds. I pushed my beer down the bar, focused on the screen, and tried to clear my head. We caught up, a quiet whoosh binged back and forth like there was no time between us. I ordered one more at last call, thinking this might be my last chance. I stepped outside, the January air stung my skin. My pounding heart kept me warm. She answered on the first ring. The sound of her voice saying my name haunted me. All the time I’d lost to the words I kept.

“Come to Austin?” I wanted to ask her. So I did.

Her silence answered me before she spoke. She was gentle, there was someone else. Someone, I wondered, who said all the things I never did. Her memories with me were only good. The word memories split my soul in a way I didn’t know it could break. We wished each other well. I hesitated before I hung up the phone.

I didn’t tell her I loved her, but I wanted to.