I had never loved anyone more than I loved myself.
I knew her back when she was Lucy, even though she had a new name. A better name, one people can't make fun of. Sometimes I would slip up and she wouldn't talk to me for days. I don't remember what I did on those days.
The days she did talk to me were ones I could never forget: swimming, sneaking around, and sweetness. I wish that was all I could remember.
I had to make up words just for what I thought about her, and how I felt about her, and everything about her. Somehow prettyful could make her smile in a way that beautiful never could. She would just shake her head and call me an idiot. That was enough.
I would climb in her window after she let me in and we would just cuddle. The two years I had on her didn't seem to matter much when she told me she wanted me to stay the night and didn't care if her parents came in. All the kids knew about Russel Fabray. I never stayed the whole night. She would be sad in the morning, but she would be grateful. We would do the whole thing over again the next night.
I went to college, but we stayed together. We were most likely to get married. If anyone had a shot of getting out of there, it was us, and we'd do it together. That's what we always said.
Everything became an after school special when we were together: it was the best acting training I would ever have. None of the romantic comedies I was destined to star could hold a candle for the fires I felt for her.
We were living in borrowed time.
She went to Yale. I helped her pack. I sent her and her mother off before they left. I trashed my room after moving back in that semester. I trashed it before moving out again too.
LA was nice. Fame was short-lived. College became a necessity. Passion turned into bitterness. Ohio became home again.
I'm still friends with her mother, but it's a secret. Her daughter doesn't need to know. I go with her to AA meetings when she needs someone. I hold her hand when she gets the shakes and curse her ex-husband when she's afraid I'll hurt her. She knows I would never though. I'm always going to be eighteen to her, even though there's grey in my stubble now.
I hear she's back in town now. I'm just a drama teacher and she's living the dream. I hear she's going to do big things from her mom. She went to graduate school. She got out but came back. I never wanted that for her just like she never wanted that for herself. Maybe her plans changed.
I put on a tie today just for the hell of it. Maybe she'll think I'm as smart as those Yale fellas. Maybe she'll think I've aged well. Maybe I'll be good enough again for the girl that went to Yale.
I know what she'd say though.
Idiot.