Beauty queen of only eighteen
She had some trouble with herself
He was always there to help her
She always belonged to someone else
My first memory of Courtney was from when we were both three. Already, she was pretty. In the photos my mother took, she looks like one of those kids who model children's cloths for Macy's. I am standing right behind her, but I look like the average all-American boy. It had been a warm summer day, and we were standing outside her old house. We were comparing our birthday presents from each of our parties. "A sparkly gold super-ball" she crowed, shoving the desirable object into my face (she had a will of her own, even back then). I answered, "Yeah but beat this!" and held up my brand-spankin' new green squeaky rubber dinosaur. Her face fell for a minute, then became serious. She leaned in close, her wide onyx eyes close to my green ones. "I have to show you something." She glanced around the street, and trotted into her large cream cape house. Well, house wasn't exactly the right word for this thing. It was a full out mansion that "beat" everything else on the block. Courtney's dad was the CEO of an enormous company, and so I guess it made sense. I had never met the guy though. He was mostly out on business trips.
I followed her into the house, and we walked through the large kitchen with its granite counter-tops and imposing stainless steel fridge, past the living room full of expensive leather sofas and mahogany tables, to the very back of the house. Courtney opened the door to a room I had never been in before. It was pretty much bare, but in the middle of the floor sat a very large, old looking grand piano. "I think this wins," she said. Most other people, even grown-ups, would have missed the slight strain behind her confident tone. But I had known Courtney since we were babies. I watched her sit down heavily on the wooden piano bench. I couldn't put off asking any longer. "Courtney, what's the matter? I said, using my most soothing tone. To my surprise and horror, instead of answering me she put her head down on the keyboard and started to sob. I immediately walked over and gave her a hug. She turned her tear-stained mocha face upwards to look at me and asked me a question that I doubt a 40 year-old could answer. "Trent, why does Daddy send me this stuff if he doesn't want to come HOME?" I couldn't answer her, so I just gave her another hug, and proceeded to utter the truest words of my three year existence. "I love you Courtney, and I promise I always will. No matter what."
Fast forward 15 years. Flip through pages in albums, past Courtney and me turning five together, us having a water-balloon fight against Duncan Smith and Heather Chin (we lost), us riding a merry-go-round, eating ice-cream at a ballgame, riding the bus on the first day of Kindergarten (she looks happy and I look freaked). Go past a ton of our school photos and the photo of Courtney at 15, where she ripped out Justin (her one month "hottie" boyfriend). Skip the pictures of us at the talent show, with her playing violin and piano, and me singing a song with my guitar. Look farther than the picture of Courtney with her white BMW and me with my used Corolla. Move through the year when I was with Gwen, through the many pictures of us at the lake or the coffee shop where she preformed her poetry. Skim the photos of us at prom, the photos of me with Gwen on my arm wearing a black and green dress with fishnets. Glimpse Courtney in her silk dove-grey dress. But then take a good look at her date. Does he look familiar? Yes, my best friend and secret crush is dating Duncan "prison bait" Smith. Mom didn't chronicle their relationship, she disapproves of it. Instead the album moves on to Graduation, with Courtney and me in our neat caps and gowns. She gives the valedictorian address, and I smile as I receive my music award. The album holds one more photo, the most painful one yet. Courtney and I stand on our street, the cars we got together filled to the brim with our separate lives. We are exchanging one last hug before I leave to tour with Cachorro Grande and she drives north to Dartmouth. But only she and I know the words I whispered in her ear. "I'm always there to help you," I said. I meant it at three and I meant it then. I think I will mean that promise forever.
It's been a month since I said goodbye to Courtney, and left for my one-year trip with the music group. We performed tonight at a bar in North Carolina. After the performance, as I usually did, I high-fived the leader singer, Marius, and went to go check my email. "What, you think she leaves you message now?" he asked me. I flipped open my cheap silver laptop. He continued "It's close to midnight." "I know," I told him. "But I have to check." He sighed and sat back on his bed in the trailer we lived in. "Trent…" he began, but was cut off by the electronic voice of the world-famous AOL guy. "You've got mail," my laptop cheerfully announced. Wordlessly, I checked to see who it was from. The message came from .com. I clicked it, hoping for some good news from my best friend. After all, she was studying to be a lawyer at one of the most prestigious colleges in the country. My face fell as I read:
Trent,
I don't know what I'm going to do. This place feels enormous, and I can't seem to find anything. The students aren't at all friendly. Competitive doesn't even BEGIN to describe it. When I got the only passing grade on a test, the word took about 3 hours to travel across campus, and now I fear being eaten alive. My roommate won't even talk to me. But you know what's even worse? Duncan showed up today. That wouldn't be so bad. But he brought your old girlfriend, that Goth creature, Gwen, with him. They are living in an apartment in town, and just seeing them together is cracking my heart. Trent, can you tell me why I am even still here? I have nothing and no one to stay for. Except for you, of course. And you are so far away.
Courtney.
I considered my options. She sounded seriously depressed, even worse than when her parents divorced. And then there was Courtney's creed, she would never accept help from anyone, nor would she consent to tell them about her problems. She could seem cold, even fierce, but once you got to know her, you would see that she presented this severe face to the world to keep it from hurting her again. One thing was obvious. She needed me. And emails or phone calls just wouldn't be enough. "Marius?" I said tentatively. He rolled over to face me. "What is it Trent?" he asked. "I need to take a little, ummm, break." I told him. "WHAT?" he exploded. "Now!" I took a deep breath, and stood a little straighter. "Yes now." He looked at me. "You're doing this for love, aren't you," he sighed. "No, well, not exactly," I lied. "She's just a friend," I said, trying to explain. Marius didn't buy it. "You love her, Trent, and you know it." He sat up and said "Go pack. But if you don't give me a really good song for this, I'm going to kick your butt." I smiled and opened my drawer. "Deal."