Love. What does that even mean? Is that a noun, a verb, an adjective? Some say it's a feeling, while others say it's something you show. I can't even count how many times I've actually used that word. I love Star Wars. I love bacon in all its greasy glory. I love my dad and my best friend, Scott. I do not love murderous, psychotic, supernatural, freaks. With all of the times I say love, there's one phrase I use sparingly. I'm in love with you.
I've used it before. Well, only once. But I've never actually said it out loud to the person it's intended for. I may be a spaz, but I'm no masochist. Sometimes I wish I had the guts to say those words. It would make life easier, less stressful. There would be communication and honesty and blah, blah, blah, blah. (Insert inspirational, philosophical words of wisdom here.) The point is, I never say those words when I should. At least, not to the person they truly belong to. Maybe that makes me a coward, but at least I'm not crying in a corner wishing I could tear my heart from my chest.
Then there are words like crush and puppy love and Malia. Ah yes, Malia. She's gorgeous. Her confidence and bravery make her deep eyes piercing. Her whole body vibrates on an energy I've never seen anyone comprise. She's practically flawless from head to toe; the only flaw being that she's unable to relate to her peers and humans in general. She has slightly ruined me.
I used to hate sleeping in the same bed with people. It's too uncomfortable, there's no room to move, it gets too hot, and my body always ends up in a painful angle. I used to hate it. Now, it seems I can't sleep without another body right next to me. A night like tonight, for example.
Tonight, Malia decided to come in through my window. She hates sleeping alone too. Our faces are so close I can feel warm puffs of breath come from her parted lips. Her eye lashes flutter every now and then. A tiny snore escapes with every other puff. She looks so sweet and innocent; as if her dreams aren't full of nightmares like mine.
A piece of hair floats over her lip, and it looks like it tickles when her top lip twitches. I gently go to move the hair out of the way when her eyes flutter open briefly. "Hmmm…" she sighs. She sounds so content to be sleeping. Her words are all quiet mumbles that only the supernatural could hear. "Stiles, I love you." Her whispering couldn't have sounded clearer than if she had announced it over a bull horn. My eyes go wide as hers stay shut. Maybe, she didn't know she had even said anything. Maybe, she doesn't really mean it. Maybe, she does. My heart speeds up and I start to feel the start of a panic attack. I hold my breath briefly and let it settle.
Love. She's never used that word before. Not even to describe her sister. Malia loves me? I know she really likes me. I know I really like her. She's soft and pretty and very loveable. Do I love her? I care so much about her. If anything were to happen to her I don't know what I'd do.
I try to say it. I try to say, 'I love you too,' but I can't. It's like the air has escaped my lungs and my words are twisted around my tongue. Why can't I say it? I should be able to say those three words back to her. After everything we've been through. She was my first girlfriend and my first time. Those things should be monumental. I get stuck on love. She wasn't my first love. No, Lydia had taken that spot years ago. My eyes glaze over as I think back to the first time I ever laid eyes on Lydia.
It was the beginning of third grade, and the teacher was writing her last name on the chalkboard. There was thick musky warmth in the air as the rattling of the AC worked hard to keep it cool in the small classroom. The children rambled about their new backpacks and their 'awesome' Barbie binders. I sat in the middle of the room watching the commotion around me. Every now and then I would glance at Scott, while Scott would discreetly stare at the girl in front of him. Jackson sat in the back chewing on paper, preparing for the inevitable wad of spit balls that were sure to fly my way. Danny just sat neatly in his chair across from Jackson, periodically supplying him with new sheets of paper and a pencil he surely forgot.
It was all so predictable. I knew where everyone was going to sit for the rest of the year and I knew what every person would have for lunch. The bell rang signaling to the kids that it was time to close their mouths and open their ears. Ms. Morris turned around to face the class and went on her five minute rant about how "amazing!" this new school year was going to be. Scott rolled his eyes at me and I returned it in fervor. A gentle knock on the door intercepted Ms. Morris' hopeful speech. She looked peeved, but went over to see who it was.
The principal walked through the door and after him the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. Her hair was the color of a cool fire and her eyes were green and pure. Her skin was so white that she looked like an expensive porcelain doll. The kind that is hand crafted to perfection. She looked immaculate from head to toe. Her bright floral dress matched the flower she had in her hair. She peered around the room taking in all of the faces. "Class, this is Lydia Martin. She's a new student here at Beacon Hills. Let's all welcome her together." Ms. Morris said. The class proceeded to welcome Lydia in their monotone non-caring voices. Ms. Morris cleared her throat and placed a hand on Lydia's back. "Why don't you choose a seat sweetheart and we'll get back to class." Lydia glanced around the room weighing her options. Her eyes met mine for a small moment and then the seat next to me.
My palms started sweating as she walked towards me. The little click of her shoes filled the room's silence, and then she sat right next to me. I had to force my eyes away from her. I didn't want to come off as being creepy. All throughout the hour I subtly glanced in her direction. I took in the way she crossed her ankles and the prim and proper way she folded her hands across her desk. I noticed all of the "popular" and "pretty" folders she had. They were, of course, all pink. Then, something out of place caught my eye. It was a book.
The title had fancy golden writing on it and black leather binding. It looked old; much too old for a third grader. The golden title was smudged and worn. I couldn't quite make out what it read. As I focused my energy on reading the title someone else was too. "Hey, new girl," Matt, a stocky blond haired boy whispered to her. "What's that book on your desk?"
She looked down at her desk with a slight wrinkle between her eyes. "It's an Encyclopedia." Matt wrinkled his nose and cocked his head to the side.
"Well, it looks old and disgusting. Next time I'll make sure to sit anywhere that isn't by you. Who knows what kind of diseases that thing carries." He slid his desk further away as he whispered to one of his friends. I looked at Lydia. Her head hung low and her beautiful green eyes glistened slightly. I wanted to say something to her. I wanted to make her smile. I just didn't want to sound stupid; which was always my problem. Spastic Stiles has no place in talking to pretty girls. That's left to guys like Jackson.
The bell rang declaring the end of the hour. I quickly started to gather my things, haphazardly throwing papers into my Spiderman back pack. I turned towards where Lydia was sitting, about to ask her about her encyclopedia, when all I got was an empty seat and the old book sitting on top of her desk. I looked around the room searching for her. I spotted her heading for the door. I shot out of my desk and snatched her book from the desk.
I sprang towards her like my life depended on it. Spastic Stiles to the rescue. "Hey, Lydia!" her head snapped towards me. Her eyes drifted to the book and then to my face. "You forgot your book." She didn't say anything. She just stared at me. "You know, I don't agree with what Matt said back there. I think this book looks cool. It's all mysterious and stuff." The corner of her mouth lifted a little. I felt an unusual serge of confidence run through me. "Why exactly do you have an Encyclopedia, though?"
Her eyes searched mine. She seemed skeptical, like I was just asking to make fun of her. I waited for her answer. She pursed her bubblegum pink lips and made a disgruntled noise. "It's my grandma's, okay? We like reading it together."
I'm sure the look on my face was a cross between confused and amused; definitely confused. "You guys read the Encyclopedia for fun?" My voice broke at the end and the ends of my ears turned a raging red.
She laughed a little at my embarrassment. "No. Well, yes; but it's in Latin. We're reading it so I can learn how to understand it." My eyes widened into pits of amazement.
My mouth gaped open in awe struck wonder. "You're really smart." To anyone looking in on this conversation it would seem hilarious; me, with my mouth wide open like an idiot and her, with her pristine eloquence. A pink blush spread across her pale cheeks. She looked down at her feet and then killed me with her luminescent smile. Her eyes were shining and the biggest dimples I had ever seen sucked me in. She didn't laugh or say a word. She just, took the book from my hands, smiled at me one more time, and walked out of the room.
That's the moment I knew I was in love with her. Throughout the years I would catch a glimpse of that same book peeking out from her various designer purses. She'd always push it away and conceal it beneath the layer of lipsticks and perfumes; but I knew who she was. I know who she is.
I look at Malia sleeping peacefully beside me. I don't know who she is. Through time I could figure that all out. I could get to know her better. Through time I could grow to love her. Eventually, I could say "I love you too," and mean it. Would I really, though, with Lydia right beside me too? I already knew the answer to that.
Malia scrunched up her nose and sniffled a little. She flopped on her back and then turned away from me completely. Her hair fanned out behind her in a golden bronze haze. I reached over to touch the ends of it. I imagined a strawberry blond curl wrapped around my finger. I imagined porcelain skin and pink lips.
I spent months trying to convince myself that what I felt for Lydia wasn't real. That the 'love' I felt was a school boy crush, not the kind of love you read in books. I spent many nights spooning with Malia telling myself that this is what love is supposed to feel like. I guess the only thing I really know about love, is that it's like a vice grip around your heart; it doesn't let go until you're broken or someone else is. For now, though, I'll leave the breaking for later.
What I have with Malia may not be love, but it's what she needs. It's what I need. I'll love Lydia till the day I die. I'll take her smile and her memory with me when I go. One day I'll tell her, and maybe one day she'll feel the same. Until then, I'll think about that old Encyclopedia and smile.