Reading Time:
When they were three years old, they met in daycare. She asked him to share his block set, and he bit her arm in frustration. The memory only ever brought them laughter.
When they were six years old, they started first grade in the same class. He sat on the other side of the room, and it felt like a whole world away to her, so she would routinely sneak over during quiet time, much to the chagrin of their teacher. They promised each other they would be best friends forever and ever.
When they were thirteen years old, they kissed. It had been a dare, and both giggled too much to enjoy it, but she never forgot the way his cheeks reddened.
When they were nineteen years old, he fell in love, but not with her. They weren’t a couple, so she stifled her jealousy and buried herself in her research papers. It was a silly crush she had harboured since they were in diapers, and it wouldn’t do to dwell on the things that could never be.
When they were twenty years old, she found someone who could make her laugh without it sending a pang through her chest, someone she learned to love as she had never loved anyone before. He was still her best friend, but distance began to chafe at their bond.
When they were twenty-three years old, she lost her first love to a malfunctioning plane engine. Grief tore her apart, and he wasn’t enough to put her back together.
When they were twenty-six years old, after many months of intermittent texts and feigned enthusiasm toward his impending wedding, he showed up at her door. Rage clung to his eyes, and he cursed the ground his partner had walked on. Later that night, they went to the beach so he could throw the ring into the ocean. They spoke of many things, and it was like they were children again, when life was beautiful and love could never hurt them.
When they were twenty-eight years old, drunk on a cheap bottle of whiskey, they kissed for the second time. And the third. Until they lost count. But in the morning, she boarded a train for a different city, fear overwhelming her. Tears slid down her cheeks as she heard and re-heard him tell her he had wasted decades not loving her.
When they were twenty-eight years old, news spread of a fatal train wreck. He was waiting for her at the destination station after a manic drive, a bouquet in his hands and a vow on his lips, and when his ears registered the truth, he fell to his knees.
When he was twenty-nine years old, he mustered the composure to visit her grave. No words sufficed to voice his sorrow, his pain. And even then, he could feel her hand on his shoulder, could pretend that she was there with him, the way she should have been for the rest of their lives.
Clara Abigail 