The Vow

I began to protect myself. I didn’t let my friends in all the way. I shut down boys that showed interest. Even my classmates knew next to nothing about who I was. I had this sort of guard up, and truthfully, it was an unconscious thing. I never even realized it was there at all.

Maybe it was because I already carried so much pain with me, day after day, or maybe it was because I was just scared. Either way, all I knew was that I felt like I had this obligation to myself to make sure I never got hurt again. Who else was going to do that for me?

After the worst of it was over, the goodbyes and the tears, I vowed that I would never again let myself feel that gut wrench that brings you to your knees, blurring your vision, clouding your hearing, the pain manifesting itself into a small drop of perspiration on your forehead that drips, drips, drips, and melts its way down, down, down until it feels like you’re drowning. On the day I made this promise, I became my own best friend.

I proved to be a very valuable companion. I took walks on my own, I read and wrote stories of my own, and I daydreamed about what the future might be like. But most of all, I learned to comfort myself. Because nobody knew me better than I did.

Sometimes the past would creep into my head. I would remember him or the future I thought I wanted. I would get sucked into this old life, recalling how he made me feel, the butterflies, the memories we made, our excitement for the future, and the dreams that I used to replay over and over in my mind.

When I went too far down this path, I could sometimes feel the phantom pull of that gut wrench. But I always stopped myself before my knees could buckle. After all, that’s what a best friend is for.

I had learned my lesson. People weren’t for me. I was for me. I would live for myself and by myself. Who could hurt me if I was completely independent?

---------

Empty classroom, room 113: me, him, and her.

I was making him laugh. Him. He never laughs.

He left the room to answer a call from his friend and she turned to me with a gentle, thoughtful look on her face.

“I think he likes you.”

She was only half joking.

-

Another half-joke: “I see how it is, you like her better than me.”

I joined in: “We all know I’m his favorite.”

He admitted it. Me, his favorite. Me, #1.

-

Another empty classroom, room 213: me and him.

I was counting the people on my hands that I actually enjoyed the company of at our high school. And how I really don’t want to see most of them ever again. But prom was coming up.

I liked to joke with him, so I jokingly asked if he'd go to prom with me. He knew I was joking. But he answered seriously. That he would. That, if I wanted him to come with me, he would.

Why? I don’t know. But he was serious. I considered it. I had considered it before. I never thought it was actually a possibility, though. Now it was happening.

“What day is it on?” “What color do you want to wear?”

This really was actually happening.

I was on cloud 9.

-

If we were in a movie he would’ve seen me in the hallway and run out of the classroom to catch me and ask how I am.

If we were in a movie he would have apologized for what happened.

If we were in a movie he wouldn’t have hurt me the way he did. Said the things he said. Left faster than I could even begin to comprehend what was happening.

If we were in a movie he would care. Would have given an explanation. Would have at least waved.

But we weren't.

Maybe that was for the best.

---------

It turns out, independence was lonely. It was exhausting. Sometimes it was so crushing to the point that it brought me to my knees, blurring my vision, clouding my hearing, manifesting itself into a small drop of perspiration on my forehead that dripped, dripped, dripped, and melted its way down, down, down until it felt like I was drowning. But there was no way to stop this kind of fall. Not when I was the one causing it. But what was better, the crush from a broken heart, or the crush from having no heart at all?

I began to lose who I was. Who was I if I only lived for myself? If my mind was closed to all thoughts but my own? If I wasn’t someone who could love?

I was living as a ghost. And this wouldn’t do.

I presented myself with two paths. On one, I could continue living as a phantom, day after day letting my heart grow cold and unfulfilled of the joys of life.

Or, I could let my steel guard down. I could rejoin the world. I could become a human again.

Because who are humans if not creatures made to love? What is a heart if not a mosaic of the most special people in one’s life? What is life if not a chance to fill this heart with as many shapes and colors and patterns as possible?

I knew what to choose. Anybody would.

On this path, I would see him. I would face a lot of old memories, people, and struggles. But I would also find closure.

So I began to walk. I held my head high and swung my arms with purpose. I found clarity, peace, and hope. With every step, I pieced my heart back together. And eventually, it became the most beautiful mosaic I had ever known.