A million moments

It all started with a kiss.

We had decided to meet up at a new bar in the city, one that had publicly declared itself, via social media, to be ‘AntiValentine’s’. 

I had offered to pick her up, but she declined, always afraid of being a nuisance. Late as I usually was, I rushed to meet her at the front of the building where she stood alone, shivering despite the lingering late-summer warmth. I smiled to myself at that: some things never did change. Even as the sky began darkening earlier and earlier, more and more leaves shedding their vibrancy and joining the wind’s embrace, some things stayed the same. Her. Us. Our friendship.

When I reached her, I threw my arms around her narrow shoulders. When I caught her by surprise, I was forcing her to not overthink, letting her stay in this singular moment alongside me. I drew back, taking in the soft pink shadows drawn against her eyes and her painted lips. She was wearing a long, pale pink dress covered in shiny flowers. “You look gorgeous,” I said as I kissed her on the cheek.

“Thanks, you do too.” Her eyes on mine. Something intense about how dark they were, how focussed they were on me. Without even realising, my eyes wandered to her lips. God, I’d forgotten how nice her lips were: two-toned and round and without a cupid’s bow, as though even the god of desire didn’t need to leave his mark on her.

Finally realising that I was staring like a fool, I snapped back into reality. “Oh shit,” I whispered, “I got lipstick on you.” I started desperately rummaging through my cluttered purse, trying to find a tissue. She just stood there silently, staring at me.

Of course I had to wear my deepest, darkest red lipstick as a single on Valentine’s–a sad attempt at making a ‘statement’. Being alone doesn't mean lonely--something like that. Something that had probably been re-posted on Instagram today by a thousand lonely strangers, this quote likely typed in an aesthetic black font and pasted over the image of a single red rose, as though to say, our loneliness is our POWER, not being loved makes us SPECIAL, enlightened.

As much as I wished an Insta post held so much power (actually, I really didn't), the immense drama of it inspired my outfit: a burgundy maxi-skirt, combat boots and the lacy black top. And excessively pigmented lipstick. Naturally.

Having found a clean napkin I had evidently stolen from the sushi bar I frequent, I dabbed at her cheek, slowly wiping away my kiss from her skin. “Sorry, you must be freezing…” Somewhere inside, though, I was shaking with laughter. The irony: Seeking attachment in every person, only to wipe it away the second I got close enough.

“Yeah, you’re the worst. Coming between me and my espresso martini–How dare you!” 

I smiled, grabbed her hand and pulled her up the stone steps. “Well then, how could I break up such a pair! We must get you inside immediately!” She laughed.

“We’re gonna get kicked out! If they think we are people who kiss, in an anti-kissing establishment… the horror!” I pushed open the door, smiling stupidly as I held it open wide enough for her to pass through. People who kiss…

“Why, thank you,” she bowed her head playfully, as though in curtsey. “How very chivalrous of you.”

“And they say chivalry is dead.” I shook my head jokingly as I looked around. Immediately, my senses were flooded with the warm sensation of dull orange light. From the roof hung half a dozen barn-style light fixtures above the rustic-style oaken bar. There was an old, jazzy song playing. Some people were dancing on the small, floor-boarded dance floor. The atmosphere was surprisingly upbeat. It made me feel like maybe I could be okay alone, like maybe I could survive this break-up.

We sat down at the stools by the end of the bar and ordered our drinks. An espresso martini for her, a vodka raspberry for me. Our purses sat on the bench in front of us. I noticed her turquoise-coloured bag had a beaded key-ring on it, strung to resemble a flower. “Is that new–that keychain?” A strange feeling started to burrow in my stomach, like a worm drawn towards the surface after rain. 

A silence stretched out between us like a leisurely cat. Had she heard me?

Finally, she answered. “Uhh, someone gave that to me. Someone I met.”

The words seemed to have supernatural force. As though they were moving gravity and space, distorting everything. I felt dizzy.

“You met someone?” Then, realising I was supposed to be a supportive friend, I added, “That’s great, right?”

“Yeah, it’s still early days. Just someone from uni.” Was I breathing still? I felt like I was underwater. Why were her words so measured, her answers so short?

“Oh, that’s nice. Girl or guy? What’s their name? You can’t leave me hanging like this!” I forced my face into a smile, hurting every muscle in my cheeks. Why am I feeling so angry? She has a life outside of me, that’s fine! It was my fault I don’t know about this; I’d been so caught up with Maddy leaving me and my heart breaking that I’d forgotten to be a friend.

“Um, his name is Gabe. He’s in the same course as me, arts. He’s a bit of a music buff, I s’pose. Tall.”

“How come he’s not your Valentine? Are you just here because I’m a loner, then?”

She looked up from the bar then, her eyes murky with something I couldn’t quite define. A feeling that made my insides recoil, guilt wrapping around them, constricting them in a serpentine fashion. Did she feel sorry for me? The thought felt heavy, like it could send my heart crashing down. 

“You know it’s not like that. Like I said…It’s early days. I met him end of last semester, but we only started talking a few weeks ago. He was at this concert I went to. I guess we are taking it slow.”

I nodded slowly, the words not truly registering. “So you must like him?”

I must have sounded pushier than I intended, because she closed her eyes for a second, as though replying took a sizeable exertion of effort. “I don’t know yet, Mira. Honestly, I don’t know how I feel about him. It’s just easier to hang out with friends today. So can we just be friends, have fun?”

As though perfectly timed to cut through the awkwardness, the bartender passed over our drinks. As though he knew we’d need a drink after that. We thanked him.

“Okay, so, how have you been?” I sipped at my drink as I waited for her answer.

When she looked back at me, she finally breathed out. Her brows seemed to unravel from their knitting, as though the final thread had come undone. She reached over and brushed my hair behind my ear.

“Not bad,” She said.

*

After several drinks, the strange tension between us began to disappear, transforming instead into an uncontainable desire to dance. Giggling like schoolgirls, we skipped over to the dance floor, which was mostly empty by now, save for some older guys who were way gone. Holding hands, we swayed in time with the smooth music, trying not to step on the other’s feet. We spun and swirled as though we were on Strictly Ballroom, a glamorous couple lit up in a spotlight that blocked out the world. Our minute of fame seemed to last a lifetime.

Eventually, we slowed, our feet barely moving at all.

“I love dancing, but I think I’m gonna be sick if we keep going,” She laughed, choking slightly as she did. “Wanna head outside?” 

I let her lead me out the heavy door, down the steps and into the night. It was completely dark now. The sky was clear, but even so, only a handful of stars were visible. The warmth from before had vanished, too.

“Aren’t you cold?” I asked, jogging to catch up to where she was walking the path that trailed alongside the river. 

“I’m never cold, what are you talking about?!” She smiled her toothy smile, her teeth glowing in the moonlight. She stared out into the inky water, tracing the shadows of the moon's entrails with her eyes.

“Yeah, alright. Whatever you say.”

After a moment, she said, “I’ve missed you, you know.” Her tone was suddenly serious, weighty.

I took her hands. They were icy cold. I sandwiched them in both of mine, as though I could transfer my warmth to her miraculously. She looked down to where our hands met.

“I’ve missed you too.”

“Why do you never call or text anymore?”

I sighed. “I wanted to. Really. But Maddy never liked me talking to you, I think she was jealous, maybe. And when she finally broke up with me, I was desperate to get her back. I was ignoring everyone, including myself. And when that didn’t work, I just felt depressed... I'm over it now, though.” After a moment, I added, “I’m sorry. I’ve thought about you a lot.”

“I’ve thought a lot about you, too. This might be the alcohol talking, but even with this Gabe guy, it feels like I’m looking for parts of you in him. Even though he’s a different person, it’s like I’m secretly hoping it’s you. Does that even make sense?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“I don’t know if you remember this, but that day at the end of year 10 when we were making cupcakes are your house for the Vinnies bake sale? Afterwards, I still remember we hugged as I was leaving--that was the first time we ever hugged. But somehow it wasn’t awkward or weird, even though we barely knew each other. It was so nice. That was the safest I’ve ever felt with anyone.”

“I remember. It's weird to think about how long it's been since then."

“Anyway, I guess the reason I’m bringing it up is that I’m wondering why nothing ever happened between us. We have always been so close, in a way that felt...different, I guess. A way that did not feel very platonic. Well that’s how I've felt.”

I suddenly felt excruciatingly sober. "Are you sure this feeling isn't the product of drinking?"

"Yes."

"Yes, as in it's the drinks, or yes you actually feel like this?"

"Yes, I actually feel like this. Just haven't been brave enough to say it till now."

Staring into eyes that now seem so light in the darkness, I asked her, “Are you saying you like me?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She replies, pulling her hand away to bury her face in her palms. “Ever since we sat in Mr. G's physics class together, you basically giving me all the answers because I understood nothing, me borrowing your pens and sketching your profile on my notes because I liked your face so much...Isn’t it so blindingly obvious?”

I closed the space between us, lowering my face, lifting hers with my hands. My smile cities long. Foreheads touching.

“I liked you too, I just could never admit it to myself. My forbidden fruit.”

Reaching up on her toes, half her face hidden in darkness, the rest bright in moonlight, she placed her lovely lips against mine with the softest of touches. I kissed her back.

When we broke apart, I walked us over to a bench in a nearby park and wrapped her in my arms. Her breathing was so peaceful.

“I’m so warm now.”

"I'm glad."

"Can we officially be people who kiss?"

I nodded into her mess of hair. "As long as you keep liking my face."

"Always."

Feeling this beautiful girl in my arms, I wondered whether fate was real. All of those days I spent aching for her to be mine, staring up at the sky and wishing I could string us together like stars caught in constellation, I thought it was only in my dreams. I thought settling for someone I never loved was my only option.

Over these past years, there had been a million moments. A million stars intertwined into this web of us.

Now, as I sifted through them, these memories filled me with a sweet feeling, golden and rich like honey.

I remembered the way we spent our hours laughing innocently as we talked about nothing, planning our tomorrows together as we struggled through our studies. We use to pass cartoon drawings to fill long classes; secretly write poems thinking only of the other. We whispered secrets in the darkest hours of the morning, words gushing and rapid like rushing river currents.

In the summer, we spent long days by the beach. We lay reading novels in the other's arms, hot sand scorching our blackened feet. We braided shells tied onto strings into each other's hair, raking fingers through salty tangles, savouring the scent of the ocean on our scalps and the waves that dried prettily into our ends.

Otherwise, we'd drive down to at country town that cradled a lazy river. Along the way, we'd adopt abandoned tyres: our floatation devices. The icy water would kiss our legs, biting; the smooth, hard rocks would leave us bruised in matching patterns as we bobbed downstream. On the drive back, silent but for the radio, we were content to simply bask in the presence of the other, the setting sun casting us in a heavenly glow.

When we were together, this sun seemed to linger, etching happiness like sunspots into our skin.

Then, of course, I remember came the less-than-happy days: days that were streaked in grey, filled with tears and silence and heartbreak; days when we didn’t talk because it was all too much–-this friendship-that-wasn’t-just-a-friendship, this self-loathing and confusion.

As we grew closer, our friends' frowns grew deeper. They stared at us in disgust, then ignored us, and eventually forgot us altogether, as though we had never been there at all. Just a bit weird, those two...a couple of lesbos. If you get too close, one of them might try something on you!

And I could never have forgotten the times when my own family seemed to reject me, their reproachful glares and subtle mocking digging into my skin like talons. You're just confused. Everyone thinks it's cool to be gay these days. One day, you'll realise you want to marry a man, settle down, have kids. You're not a...a...

In the end, despite all of the marks worn onto me, I always felt it was worth it. She was always worth it-- worth bruising and blood and bone-cold isolation. She is my Helen of Troy. This is someone I would start and lose a war for.

All of these moments were a part of something. Even if I didn’t realise it.

Stroking her hair now, I closed my eyes and whispered, “Tamrin, I don’t think I just like you. I think I…I think I’ve always–”

Before I could finish, she stirred gently, mumbling, “Of course you have...I have too.”