I walk inside the familiar dark and grimey interior, lit in large part from the neon lights hanging on the walls advertising Guinness and Coors Light. Rickety diner tables fill the room, surrounded by bar stools covered in dilapidated leather material. The light oak bar is short, seating maybe a mere ten or twelve, yet it is too difficult to tell with the swarm of people at the front. The smell of cheap, stale beer and the sweat of college students inundate the room.

 

My eyes freeze, recognizing his distinct 6+ foot tall composure and awkward lankiness. I knew we would have to face each other at some point during the night. Though it had been awhile since we had last spoken (3 months, 14 days but who was counting?), the tension remained palpable. Every so often we shot glances at each other, cautiously counting. One Mississippi…two Mississippi…yet I would only allow myself three until I quickly averted my attention to someone else. Our eyes were caught in an intricate pas de deux, each performer mimicking one another’s cues.

 

Laugh and Smile. Pretend you’re having the best time of your life, even if you’re dying inside knowing that he’s a mere 15 steps away from you. Act like nothing fazes you. Keep drinking that rancid pitcher of beer in the hopes that your nerves will dissipate so much that you may actually be able to enjoy yourself. Remember it’s all a façade. Who better than yourself can get into character? You’ve played each role to perfection all your life from kind daughter, patient friend and yes, even to loving girlfriend—you’ve mastered the trade. After all, you’re used to game and there’s no doubt you’re competitive. Isn’t that the reason you fell for him so hard in the first place?

 

Without much thought, since I was about eight drinks in now, I slowly muster up the courage to draw myself closer. Instead of directly addressing him, I turn towards the next best thing. “How have you been?” I ask Seth, one of his best friends. He seems a bit shocked that I am talking to him, but he goes along with it anyways. We’re having a genuinely positive conversation, but I can it’s obvious Seth is uncomfortable by the way he keeps fidgeting.We all have our alliances and in all honesty, I respect him for that. He knows just as well as I do what I’m really trying to accomplish and it’s working. As I look towards my left, our eyes meet. He’s giving me his ever so predictable leave me alone look (yet, he was the one always saying how dramatic I was).

 

I plaster on a saccharine smile, knowing just how much it will infuriate him. I wave, our eyes locking for a moment until he rolls them and shakes his head. If I get him angry enough, I know he’ll come over. Yet after 10 minutes, I can tell he’s not falling for my old tricks. Fine, we’ll play it your way this time. I walk right up behind him and tap him on the shoulder.

 

“Fancy finding you here,” I laugh uncomfortably. Why did I feel the need to acknowledge his presence? A dumbfounded reaction greets me initially then he quickly recovers his cold demeanor: “What do you want?”

 

“Just to talk.”

“Don't you think we’ve talked enough. What’s left to say?” He pauses, “It’s not like anything is going to resolve itself, especially tonight.”

“I just…” I pause for a moment realizing now how foolish this decision was, but I’m determined to keep our conversation going. “I don’t know, I felt you deserved an apology.”

“Oh, wow now you choose to say sorry after all this time. Forget it, Kate. I’m not doing this with you anymore.”

“Look, I get you’re upset with me”

“Upset?,” He quickly interrupts, “That word doesn’t even begin to cover it.” He’s fuming now, hands slightly shaking, looking as if he’s about to scream.

“Please just follow me. Let’s sit over there for a bit.” I turn towards an empty high-top table in the corner. He reluctantly follows me.

 

I place my hands on the table in an attempt to physically ground myself. The room is starting to spin a bit and my words are slurring into each other. Is that really me talking right now? God, I sound like a belligerent idiot. Thanks to the Miller Light, this encounter is not going nearly as well as I imagined. I look directly into his eyes. I fill my lungs, catching a deep breath to calm myself.

 

“I get it. I hurt you and you have every right not to want to speak to me anymore. I just felt like I had to say this before I left. You know I’m not going to be here—”

“Oh, believe me I know,” he cuts me off with an overtly bitter verbal jab.

I try to remain positive. “So that should be good for you!”

His confident tone acknowledges my statement: “Yeah, it’s gonna be awesome. Spring quarter will be amazing.”

“Right, okay,” I try not to sound too flustered. I can tell I’m annoyed, but at what exactly I can’t quite pinpoint in the moment.

 

I attempt a new approach at the situation. “Have you thought any more about your job situation?” I pry for acceptance into his now seemingly confidential life.

He shrugs, “Even if I did, I don’t really think that matter concerns you anymore.”

“Well I was just curious, you know” I smile, hoping he realizing my genuine interest.

 

“Look, Kate. I don’t what your deal is. It’s obvious you made your choice and I’m trying to respect that. I just don’t see what the point is of us trying to pretend like we’re fine. Or acting like we care about what’s going on in each other’s lives.”

“I do care though!” my response is louder than I intended. Some blonde girls look over towards us, clearly realizing we’re about to start fighting.
 

 

I regain my composure: “I just, I uh I wanted to talk, you know…” I struggle to try to convey my intentions without explicitly getting into the topic, but he stares at me blankly. Of course, this one time he chooses not to understand my insinuation. “I wanted to try to get closure at least—”

“Closure?!” he blurts out at an alarming volume.

Clearly, that wasn’t the word he was expecting or wanting to hear.

 

“You say that every time, but I honestly don't even think you know what the word means. The whole point of closure is that you move on. You try to get on with your life.”

He was fuming by now: “It’s obvious you’re doing just fine. I don’t know how you can come up to me and make it seem like everything between us is fine. Do you not understand how you hurt me?”

 

“How I hurt you?! What about me?” I snap: “Are you fucking serious right now?”

“Oh my god, Kate. Stop being so melodramatic,” he states while flinging his arms around. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you? I risked so much for you and you hurt me not just once but repeatedly.”

 

“Well, how do you think I felt when we were dating? I mean, come on.”

“Oh here we go again. It’s the same argument over and over again. I apologized for all of that and I realize I wasn’t the best boyfriend. I didn’t treat you the way you deserved. But this whole year, I fought for you and in all honesty, you were a coward. You can give me any excuse you want, but I’m sick and tired of it. I don't want anything to do with you and frankly I’m surprised how you don’t feel the same way.”

 

I stare out into the cold distance, removing myself from the intensity before us. Tears roll down my cheeks. He knew exactly what to say to make me feel as if I was always in the wrong. I felt my frustration give way to a flood of emotion, yet I couldn’t argue with him anymore because I knew he had a point. I had screwed him over, multiple times. What was the point of talking to him? Why did I so badly feel like I owed him something?

 

“Hey, I didn't mean to make you cry. I hate seeing you this way,” his hand met my cheek, wiping a tear away into oblivion. Goosebumps cover my entire body. I want so badly for him to embrace me in his arms, yet I know how selfish and unfitting that action would be.  

 

“I can't believe I’m the one apologizing again to you right now, but you know it wasn’t my intention to upset you.” It’s clear he’s trying to evoke compassion in his tone. “It’s just… difficult, you know? I still have…” He stops, shaking his head: “Never mind. I just think it’s easier for us to not talk. It gets too confusing.”

 

I nod, finding myself slightly smiling. The unspoken words always made our relationship so fervent. We both recognize the mix of regret, frustration and acceptance washing over our facial expressions. I opened my mouth to say something, but I was empty. The stillness was captivating—both of us unwilling to break it.  He became completely foreign to me, like a cryptic alphabet without any letters. I thought I understood us. But I didn’t.

 

I relived memories, starting with late night talks on the bench across Annie May Swift to spring formals, but my digression came to a halt when I felt him stroke my arm. I forced myself into believing his only possible explanation was an attempt to refocus the conversation. I looked over at him, with despondent eyes.

 

“Have you heard the new ty dolla sign album?” I understand this subject as an attempt to retrieve a sense of normalcy. We continue discussing the songs we enjoyed off the album.

“LA is *such* a banger,” I over- emphasize, trying to prove how all of his lessons about hip-hop paid off.

He laughs at me, reminding me of our not so distant past: “You still don’t understand that word. That song is most definitely not a banger”

 

I cracked a smile, as much as I wanted not to. I reach over with my hand in an attempt to playfully hit him, but he ducks knowing all too well my common reactions. A semblance of our former relationship creeps in, reminding us of our countless attempts at witty banter. We smile at each other, ultimately accepting how these hopeful embraces will forever lead to discomfort.

 

A hand grabs me by the shoulder. Turning around, I find my roommate giving me a look of confusion and frustration. Why are you talking to him, her eyes seem to be shouting through her protective glare.

“It’s getting late, we should probably start walking home.” Her tone is assertive, reminding me of my childhood when my mother was on the verge of scolding me. He shrugs his shoulder. Tilting his head towards her, “you should probably go,” he announces with a tinge of sarcasm.

I explain to her that I’ll be there in a second. She exhales a bit too loudly to express her annoyance, but concedes with my request, walking towards the phosphorescent neon EXIT sign.

 

“You don’t want to keep her waiting. You know what she gets like,” he winks and says with a smirk on his face.

 

I nodded and accepted his words, realizing instantaneously how this will be our last conversation. There are no tears left, nothing remotely of that fashion. Moments like this, I feel as if his heart is beating as clearly as my own creating a rhythm that bonds us. Our separation from this point on is

clear, yet I feel so connected to this last glance, I can’t help but think of how alone I have felt for these past months.

 

The sound of nearby trash trucks beeping loudly forces me to open my eyes, lunging me into the cold, hard truth: this was all but a dream.  No matter how realistic each detail seemed, from the small creases on his forehead to the light stubble he always seemed to forget to shave, it had all been a figment of my imagination. This reconciliation between us would never happen and could only manifest itself within my fantasies. In an idealistic world, these imagined conversations would become a reality. Yet, closure had never been our strong suit and nine times out of ten, this mechanism would do quite the opposite.

 

I still find myself replaying memories, trying to catch the precise moment where everything started to fall apart. I know now that I honestly led myself--allowed myself even-- to believe that I had fallen in love. Christ, I even said it, yet I was so naive about that particular word. The truth is that the more intimately you know someone, the more you truly let yourself be vulnerable to that particular individual, the more you see their flaws. I was cognizant of his from the start, but I ultimately chose to ignore the warning signs. I was under the impression that relationships had to be difficult: I’d rather argue with him than be with someone else. I wanted so badly to believe that love is real that I deceived myself into thinking this was it, even though it was anything but that.

Yet, after this particular morning, for the fire time I genuinely felt free of the acute feelings I had once had for him. The constant response when someone brings him up is the automatic cordial reply: “I really hope he’s doing well and I honestly just want the best for him.” As cliched as it may sound, I do truly stand by that. Yet, I can’t help but wonder if he thinks about me now and then. Maybe, one day we’ll reconnect again...