Cohen.
I see you sometimes. On the TV, as I'm eating my microwave dinner, exhausted from work. Your hands are thrown up in victory, face flushed as you happily hug a man to your right. But, lately, you've disappeared from the news and are appearing on the covers of the local newspapers. "Local Girl Saves Rainforest." "Summer Roberts- Hero?"
So now, I'm sitting here, a pile of newspapers in front of me, bright red scissors in my hand. A piece of new, white cardboard is on the coffee table, along with a bottle of glue. I sip out your picture, staring down at your face, which is dirty but happy. I did the right thing in letting you go. I know that, but, still, Summer, it doesn't make it hurt any less.
I grip the glue bottle tight in my grasp, squeezing my eyes closed. The piece of newspaper floats down to the ground slowly; the scissors fall with a sharp and loud clunk.
I miss you Summer. So much. I miss you.
I shake my head roughly, opening my eyes and placing the glue on the table. I did the right thing in letting you go, I assure myself silently. You are happiest wherever you are. Happiest fighting for a natural cause, fighting to save nearly extinct rainforests. You are happiest there, and I need to forget you and move on with my life. That would be the best, and right thing, to do. I am sure you have already forgotten about me. After all, I'm only Cohen.
Only Cohen. That hurts so much, but I know it to be true.
So I continue with my life, going to work and returning to my apartment, boxes still stacked with my stuff against the wall. It doesn't feel right moving in somewhere without you. I know I should; I can't keep living in these boxes, but it doesn't feel right and never will.
Taylor calls you often, and I hear about it from Ryan. It's amazing that you two are still friends; once the dreaded enemy has been accepted fully into you life, replacing the role that dear Marissa once held. You are happy, and healthy, living in a building that houses the supporters of your causes. But the next part hurts me the most, and I know it hurts Ryan to say it, because of his pause and the tense way he says it. I know Ryan to well to not know that he is upset. You are happy, and healthy, and living with your boyfriend. Dave.
From that moment on, I hate anyone that was unfortunately named Dave. One of the applicants for my vacant assistant spot is named Dave. I take one look at the list, notice his name, and gesture for my secretary, Miss. Peters to take him out of the room, without him even having to saying a word. He would have been bad, anyway. I didn't like the look of him, much like the guy you dated in junior year. Danny, I think I was.
From that moment on, you appear frequently on the T.V and in the newspapers, alongside with Dave, his thin face flushed with happiness. "Local Hero, Summer Roberts, To Get Married to Fellow Supporter, David Peters?" - the title exclaimed, written in bold. I remember chucking the newspaper the held those lies against the wall, before lying down on the sofa, pushing the pause button and staring into your face, frozen for all to see. It couldn't be true. You couldn't possibly be marrying someone else. I have the ring I gave you, still, and intend to give it back to you once I see you. I promise you that Summer, and hope that you will promise me that same. Your love.
But it is. Taylor comes around to my house, mobile phone in hand. "It's Summer," She says softly and I peer at here from my spot on the sofa, brown hair ruffled. Oh. Summer.
"She says she needs to talk to you." Taylor walks over and hands me the phone. I stare down at it, seeing the number I haven't called in months. Years, it feels like since I have last spoken to you.
Taylor smiles sadly, before walking out into the kitchen, taking a seat at a stool and pulling out a book of French poetry.
My eyes take in you number for a few more minutes. Summer. 0409876543. The ten digits that will connect me to you. Nervously, as if I was back in kindergarten, dressed in a Spiderman t-shirt and blue slacks, I squeeze my eyes closed and press the call button.
The phone in my grasp, I hardly dare to lift it up to my ear. The phone rings for a few moments before I see the flashing sign - Call Received - indicating that I should lift the phone up to my ear and talk to you. But can I? What would I say? We aren't back in high school anymore, we're both adults. Things are different now, many things.
"Hello?" Summer's voice rises up out of the phone. Slowly, I lift it up to my ear.
"Hey, Summer." My voice is even rougher than I ever imagine. But there you are. Talking to me. Your voice. You.
"Hey, Cohen," You whisper, softer than before. Cohen. How long has it been since I've been called that by you? How long has it been since I've been able to hear you sweet voice?
"Taylor said you needed to talk to me." I say, squeezing my eyes shut and wrapping the thick blanket around my legs. Summer. You've here, or at least your voice is, speaking to me once again, as if nothing has changed.
"I do," You began, and I hear you shifting around, as if you were nervous about something. "Cohen. Cohen, I'm getting married." And that's when I slam the phone shut.
--
Ryan and Taylor both try to convince me to talk to you again, but I refuse, disappearing from their sight for more than a few days at a time. Truth is, I'm in my apartment, looking at everything that proves that once, once, we were happy. And then it all fell apart, the strands unweaving. We broke up, and you disappeared. Then you came back into my life as abruptly as you had gone. With Dave, your fiancé. And soon, I know because of the television, you two are married and you're Mrs. Summer Peters, a wife to someone else.
Not to me.
--
Weeks after your wedding, Ryan calls to tell me that Taylor has gone to pick you up from the airport. You're here. I feel a shiver of excitement run up my spine, before I shake my head speaking roughly into the phone, telling Ryan, no, I couldn't attend the dinner tonight Taylor was holding in honor of you. Summer. I couldn't see you, not when you were married, legally and physically, to someone else, being someone else's wife.
So I spend the night on the sofa, blanket around my legs, watching the video of our graduation. You in your robe, face flushed. I watch as we kiss, our lips both meeting. That was when we were happy. And then, everything changed. And not for the better. We fought, over stupid things we couldn't remember moments later.
At midnight, there is a knock on my door. Half-asleep, the video still playing, static on the screen, I get up, stepping over the empty Chinese carton on the floor and answer the door, revealing you standing behind it, as beautiful as ever. Summer. Exactly like the season you were named after. Rosy-cheeked, pink lipped, dark hair. You are my image of what is beautiful in this world. No-one else.
"Summer," I say, rubbing my red eyes, trying to believe that it is you in front of me, not anyone else. You, here, in front of me.
"Cohen," You mutter, coming inside and scanning the rooms. "God, this place is a mess."
"Well," I shrug, sitting back down on the sofa. "I fell apart after you left. It was to be expected."
"Fell apart?" You yell. "And that's my fault?! We were broken up, Seth, I was free to leave! This," You gesture around the room wildly, "This mess is not my fault."
And that's when I notice that there is no engagement ring on your hand. Nothing. It's is bare, the skin underneath it white, a contrast to your tanned skin, as if there had been a ring there before, but is gone now.
"No ring." I mutter to myself. No ring... Ryan wouldn't have lied, would he? No. I believe not.
"You're not married to Dave?" I ask, as you breathe heavily, before sitting down on the couch beside you, our thighs touching. You glance at the screen, before shaking your head, placing it in your hands.
"No," You whisper. "He broke it off." Your voice is faint, but I can hear every word perfectly.
"Why?' I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.
"Because," You whisper, raising your head, and looking at me. "I was hung up on you, Cohen." Our foreheads touch before our lips meet in a kiss that feels absolutely right.
And I have never been happier to be called Cohen.
--
Okay, little nervous here! :Takes deep breath: First time writing an O.C fic, and first time using first person and present time too! So, three things to worry about here! Hope you all enjoy, and express your feelings in the form of review!
Friends quote:
Joey: Ross, let me ask you a question. She got the furniture, the stereo, the good TV- what did you get?
Ross: You guys.
Chandler: Oh, God.
Joey: You got screwed.