Emma

I liked Toby.

Like a lot.

He was some sort of magic that I couldn't describe really, but I liked it.

We were never anything real. Just a little maybe-possibility at nighttime when LA was lit up and we weren't thinking straight. Night turned to day and the magical ways of the dark starry sky turned to a light blue and the Sun shone and our minds cleared. He was 29 and I was only 19. My parents would just die if they knew I ever hung out with him, but they never would know. They lived miles and miles away in stupid Mississippi.

"Where you from?" Toby asked me the night I met him after I accidentally let a 'y'all' slip off my tongue.

"Mississippi," I answered, feeling embarrassed, and reached up to put a piece of hair behind my ear like I did when I felt self-conscious, even though it was already tucked securely behind my ear and out of my face.

"I was born there!" he said excitedly, his voice getting louder because we had a topic to discuss.

When he talked to people, he looked right at them with his electric hazel eyes that looked golden in the dark lighting of a bar and made them feel like they were the most important thing in the world. And maybe that's why girls fell so hard for him. God, I know I did.

His eccentric personality was like a magnet. I remember some days—if I ever did see him in the daytime—he would almost tire me out, just talking to him. He'd throw his arms all around as he talked and practically bounce in his place. He walked fast, like he was always in a rush, always busy. Yeah, in the daytime, he was a little much for someone like me. I was much too anxious, got embarrassed too easily to be with a man like him. But at night he was the perfect mix of excitement and charm.

He was always the center of attention at a party. He somehow managed to get around to everyone. He made each and every person feel welcome at his house.

But I did remember one night. A very odd night at this guy named Jed's house. A party I had been dragged to by my friend Melanie. Toby was there—Toby was at every party in Orange County, I swear—being his normal self, standing with two blonde, curvy women. He kissed one; I wanted him to kiss me.

But as I was looking at him then his smile faded, quite obviously, as he was looking straight ahead. It was a look of pure horror. He said something to the blondes, probably excusing himself, and they smiled and waved little prissy goodbyes. I tried looking toward the front, but, being barely 5'2", I couldn't see over all the people. So I just followed him into the hallway, pushing through all the people, getting beer spilled on my favorite sweater in the process.

I just hoped he was okay. I had never seen him not okay. I think I was afraid of seeing someone like him not okay.

I considered Toby and I friends, although he was friends with everyone, I, for some reason, thought I was special. I know now I was just another girl and I guess I'm okay with that. At least I knew some part of him.

He ended up going outside because there really was no other place without people to go.

"Hey Toby," I said sheepishly, walking outside.

Jed's house was overlooking the whole city—a beautiful view. Toby was there, sitting on a bench in front of the shrubs and looking out at all the lights of LA.

He turned his head and gave a slight smile, then said, "Hey," in a quiet voice.

I didn't know his voice could be that quiet.

"Are you okay?" I asked, but that was stupid because everyone always answered with the same word.

"Yeah."

"No, really."

"Just... can you just sit with me?" he said, avoiding my question.

But the way he said it made me smile a bit. He sounded so young, so innocent and his eyes were bigger, almost child-like. I wanted to hold him.

"Sure," I said with a nod and a smile.

That was the first time he kissed me. I don't know why he did, but I guess maybe he just needed a person right then.

I later found out the look of horror was brought on by the one and only Olga Kay. He avoided the woman like the plague but if she ever did catch up with him he just turned to mush right in her hands. She had something about her that broke him like nothing else. And he knew. He knew she didn't love him like he loved her and he knew she only came to him when there was no one else but still he couldn't shake her. She had such a hold on him. I didn't know what it was about her, but I was almost envious of her ability to break his heart with just one look.

I talked to her once too, partly because I was sick of how she treated him, and partly because I really wanted to understand her and how she did it.

"Why can't you just leave him alone?" I asked her while she grabbed herself another beer.

"Oh, honey. Sweetheart. Baby. You would never understand. What grade are you in anyway?" she said in a condescending tone that made me sick.

"I'm in college," I said shyly.

"Well Toby's an adult, honey. And so am I and I have needs and if those needs are not being met by someone new I have someone old waiting on me too. It's not wrong. It's life. It's his fault he reads too much into sex. He ties too many emotions to it, see. So goodbye, now."

She waved me off and I just turned and walked away from her because there was nothing else to say. Even if there was, I wouldn't be able to get it out. I was speechless.

I was also speechless when I got on Twitter Monday at 11:34 after I woke up (I usually woke up earlier, but I'd had a late night). I saw so many tweets with the hashtag "#riptoby" and, still groggy, I didn't even think much about it except how much I hated "R.I.P.". I always read it just like 'rip'. Someone's dead and you can't even take the time to type out "Rest In Peace". I rolled my blurry eyes.

But the second I sat up in my bed it just hit me. Quickly, I picked my phone back up and went to Twitter.

Toby.

The image of him laying naked in his bed, covers pulled up to his waist, looking at me with those big, child-like eyes, telling me he loved me (of course he didn't mean it-he said it to everyone after he'd had a few), telling me he didn't want me to go, all of that filled my mind.

Toby.

No. It couldn't be him. I was just with him.

But after I scrolled through the stupid, lazily-acronymed hashtag I saw that it was. It was everywhere. I swear I stayed looking at those tweets for hours. When his picture popped up I scrolled by it quickly because I had always hated looking at pictures of people who'd died. It gave me an eerie feeling that I didn't exactly appreciate. I had always been so afraid of ghosts.

But he was famous and they get stuff like that all the time. Maybe it was made up. I called him.

He didn't answer.

I called him again and again and he just never answered.

So I curled up in my covers, not crying because we weren't anything real. Just a maybe-possibility at nighttime. But I did think I would miss the magic he brought with him wherever we went, even if I only got a little piece of it and even if I had to share it with the whole world.

A/N: This is sort of like a collection of short stories from people who've known him and how they felt about him and just the person that he was. It's mostly in the POV of an OC but there's a lot of people y'all will know in it, just not told by them.

If you like it, please let me know so I'll know to keep going. :)