You remember staying up late at night, waiting for an email from him.
A call, a letter, or a message.
You were usually left crying yourself to sleep at two-thirty in the morning.
The times you ever got anything from him was when he would send a five-sentence email at four in the afternoon. Always on the seventeenth of the month. You still waited everyday for an email, hoping he might break tradition.
In those emails, he'll always tell you he misses you, and that he'll be back soon.
He never is.
Sometimes he asks you why you don't get a cell phone.
Even though he knows you think they're troublesome.
And that you'd lost your first phone and never found the need for one afterwards.
-
You remember when the two of you shared your first kiss.
It was down by the creek, and you'd been eating blackberries.
He was your first kiss, but you weren't his. It didn't matter because he would always be special to you.
Even if you're not always special to him.
You were out gazing at the stars with him. That worked out because you loved that little creek, and he loved to look at the stars.
That creek is dried up now.
The mosquitoes were coming out fiercely, and you were retreating back to your family room.
And it just happened.
It was a lot of things. It was short, it was curious, it was chaste, it was innocent, it was sweet. And it tasted like blackberries.
The next morning your arms and legs were covered with mosquito bites.
-
You remember when you had to say goodbye.
He was leaving to go on tour.
You'd always known he would have to leave.
No words came from your throat as his brothers hugged their friends and waved. Your arms were wrapped around each other's bodies and he kissed you. It tasted a bit like blackberries.
And then he was walking away from you. You didn't say goodbye. That would only be confirming it.
Because goodbye implies he won't be coming back.
-
You remember the next time you saw him.
It was five in the morning, and you met him at the airport.
He would be leaving again late that night, and he wouldn't even be yours for the day.
Because he's not only yours; he belongs partially to girls across the nation.
You're just glad you can see him again in real life and not on the annoying television in your family room.
Him even being partially your might be the reason too.
Your skin is sticky from sunscreen, and your palms are clammy from anxiety. But when he sees you, he takes your hand and refuses to let go until necessary. Your heart swells with love for him because even if he doesn't voice it, you know he returns your feelings.
He's different, though. He's always on his cell phone, and he had cut his hair. You don't like it this way.
He gives you a new reason to dislike cell phones.
You're different, too. You aren't as short as you were, and you've grown out your bangs. You still have the habit of biting your nails, though.
The time you do get to spend together is mostly spent with you lounging on your bed while he apologizes, saying he has to take another call, and you watching him spin in your purple desk chair, phone pressed to the side of his head.
He truly has earned the nickname "The President".
When it comes the time for him to go off on a jet plane again, he doesn't kiss you, like last time.
He hugs you cordially and tells you goodbye before leaving, again.
Your eyes fill with tears and your throat closes up.
And you choke out a farewell, but he can't hear you.
-
The next seventeenth, he doesn't send you an email.
He doesn't send you one the next month, or the month after that.
You shut down your old email address, the one you've had for two years, and create a new one.
And you don't decline the next time your parents ask you if you want to get a cell phone.