Even If It's Fake

  I don't know where I was.

Maybe I was at school.

Maybe I was at my friend's house.

I don't know where I was, only where I am.

  In front of me is a river. I think.

A park?

Green grass everywhere, a couple walking on a path, and trees around the path.

Little flowers, maybe daisies, sprouting near the edges of the river.

Next to me stands Delila.

A girl, with pale brown hair, and leaf green eyes. 

Her hair blows in the wind, and her clothes are loose around her. 

The sleeves of her t-shirt are halfway down to her elbows, and her baggy pants fold at the end, over her shoes.

She’s talking. Telling me something. 

I can’t hear her. 

I reach for her, trying to tap her on the shoulder, get her attention.

My hand fades, and goes right through her. 

I pull my hand back, holding it by my wrist, shocked.

‘What’s happening?’ I thought.

I look around again, and almost everything is fading. 

I close my eyes, and open them to find myself in Delila's room.

I’m sitting on her desk chair facing the opposite of the desk. She’s sitting on her bed, her hands behind her, holding her up.

This was the other day.

We had just got out of school, and my dad wasn’t home from work yet, so her mom drove me over here.

I check the digital clock on her desk.

Four in the afternoon with fourteen minutes. 

I look back at Delila. 

She’s talking. I can hear her.

“Luci?” she asked, looking at me. “Spacing out?”

“Yeah,” I said. 

“Oh, have you read the new chapter of Boy Girlfriend?” she asked. 

“Yeah,” I said. “I almost started screaming and crying.”

“I know, me too,” she said. “I’m so happy they made up. Side couple’s kind of getting interesting too.”

“It is,” I said. “I hope it works out for them too.”

“Yeah,” she said. 

It was silent for a bit, and then my phone started ringing.

The end of Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High? from Arctic Monkeys started playing as my ringtone, and I checked to see who it was.

It was my dad.

As I pick up the phone and answer, everything fades away again, and I’m at school.

It’s homeroom, and I’m doodling in my notebook, drawing Gumball and Darwin from The Amazing World of Gumball. 

I look at the pen I’m holding, and it’s Aclair’s multiple color pen.

The little Pompompurin eraser hangs from a little ball chain at the top, and I looked up to see Ms. Cardenas writing something on the board.

“ID picture make-ups on Thursday” it says.

Everything fades, again, and I’m standing in line for ID picture make-ups. 

In front of me stands Mikey, a friend of a friend who’s in Journalism class with me. 

Black hair, brown eyes, and written and drawn on Converse.

Behind me stands someone I don’t know. Most likely from another class.

Blonde highlights in brown, gray eyes, and Gothic Lolita looking low-rise boots. 

ID make-ups were last Thursday, apparently right now.

Or was this today, and I was thinking of another school year where I waited in line for ID make-ups. 

I didn’t think about it much. 

It was normal for me to forget things, or confuse some days with others. 

Maybe not as much as seeing the world fading into another day in no actual pattern, but sometimes I would forget how or where I got somewhere or was.

I was used to it by then.

Most of the time. 

The line moves up, and I walk forward.

When it’s finally my turn, the camera lady asks me for my name.

“Luciana Gutierrez,” I say.

The world fades again, and I’m in my room, on my phone, texting Delila.

I sent the last message, and it says “theres something i want to tell u”.

“what is it????” she responds.

“pls dont be mad at me, pls” I type.

“why would i be?” she responds. “just tell me, i wont be mad at u”.

“u wanted to know” I type. “i think i like u”.

It’s a few moments after I sent the message, and she responds, “i like u back”.

I smile.

Then the world fades once more, and I’m at the day before my wedding, almost ten years later. 

Delila and I walk down the aisle, both in our own Ouji-style wedding dresses.

We look at each other and smile. 

We reach the front, say our vows, kiss, and walk back out, into our car, and to the little side of the park with a gazebo for pictures.

We stand in the gazebo, leaning on the railing, looking at the camera outside.

I’m happy.

She’s happy.

We’re happy.

Instead of the world fading this time, I close my eyes and open them to find myself in my room, laying down on my bed, next to Delila.

“Good morning, dear,” she says.

“Good morning,” I say.

Before I know it, that disappears. 

It doesn’t fade. 

It was all fake.

I’m back in my room, texting with Delila. 

After the message I confess in, she responds, “sorry, i dont like u back”.

I smile, and start crying.

‘Why did I tell her?’ I think.

She doesn’t say anything after that.

“delila?” I type.

Nothing. No response. Not even read yet.

“delila?” I type again.

Nothing.

The next day I go to school, and walk up to Delila.

“Hi,” I say. “Sorry about yesterday. Can we forget that-”

“I’m sorry,” she says. “No fangirls.”

She walks away, and I’m left alone, standing in the hallway, all her friends and strangers staring at me, watching her leave.

‘Of course,’ I think. ‘Of course this happened. What did I think? Did I really think she’d like me back? Like in that dream? Of course she wouldn’t. She’s straight. She’s told me that she’s straight, and that she wasn’t looking to be in a relationship anyway. What was I hoping for?’