Brian
Some people compared the preciousness of their love to diamonds—beautiful, indestructible, and everlasting. And others boasted that their love was as brilliant and timeless as the stars. And even others claimed to carry a raging forest-fire-intense passion within their bosoms, consuming everything in its path.
I didn’t really know much about diamonds or fiery bosoms. And my knowledge of the cosmic bodies was limited only to what I had picked up from the Science channel. But the fact that I couldn’t wax poetry was a testament to the simplicity of my outlook on life.
So when Jamie asked me over three years ago to describe our love, the first thing that came to mind was a crystal glass. Practical in its shape, pure in its crystalized form, and so transparent that its contents were always visible.
Most importantly, a crystal glass was necessary and purposeful. Like our feelings for each other had been.
But I had overlooked one crucial, fatal detail. Crystal glasses were neither timeless nor indestructible. Within a split second, they could shatter into thousands of fragmented pieces, impossible to reconstruct.
That had been our love's fate. In one careless move, the glass had slipped out of my hand. Everything lost because of a miscalculation—an oversight. Jamie would argue that I had done more than miscalculate. She would say that I had placed the glass in the middle of the street and repeatedly driven over it with a steamroller, crushing it to a fine powder indistinguishable from the grime and crud flattened into the asphalt.
What Jamie and I had shared three years ago had been a one-time deal. And over the years since she moved away, I had learned to drag myself through each day, forcing life into my hollowed body and patching the hole in my heart with promises that someday, I would no longer feel anything. It had been the only way to exist without the broken pieces. Without her.
Until she moved back to town.
****
My mother had heard the news somewhere on the neighborhood gossip vine and, in a hesitant, careful voice, alerted me. And that was the only reason the sight of Jamie didn’t undo me one Monday morning, when I looked up to find her sitting in front of me in Math class.
She was turned in her seat to face me, her lips pulled into a dazzling smile that signaled the end of my relatively uneventful high school life.
Her appearance alone stunned me into silence. Gone were the long, curly locks of chestnut hair that hung down her back. Instead, her highlighted hair was straight and reached just past her shoulders, framing a face that had been beautiful to me years ago but was now breathtaking. Judging by the way she angled her head and poised her body, Jamie was very much aware of the effect she had on every single male student in the room.
It was her emerald eyes that stood out the most. They were a brilliant shade of green, and I immediately recalled a time when I used to listen to her speak for hours, just so that I would have a reason to stare into them. But I was also reminded of a time when the spark had left those eyes, and the knowledge that Jamie would never be the same had almost destroyed me.
But looking at her at that moment, I knew this Jamie wasn't the same lifeless person who had left town three years ago.
"Brian? It's me, Jamie."
Hearing her familiar voice was a blow to my gut. It was the only remnant of the person she had once been and I found myself wishing that it had changed like the rest of her. That way, I could do a better job convincing myself that the person before me was a complete stranger.
"I know," I choked out.
"Well, you're all grown up, aren't you?" She tapped a painted fingernail against my book. "But I see some habits never die. What are you reading?"
I cleared my throat, uncertain of how to respond. Was that all she could say? I hadn't expected us to go at it in the middle of a classroom but neither had I thought she'd act like it was still perfectly natural to ask about my reading habits.
"You're sitting in Scott Kingston's seat." As far as stupid comments went, that had to be at the top of the list.
"Scott Kingston..." She pursed her lips, unperturbed by my rudeness. "The name sounds familiar."
"He was our classmate since third grade." When her blank expression didn't change, I elaborated, "Blond hair, really good at sports, used to enjoy torturing kids by putting worms down their backs and in their lunchboxes?"
"Oh! How could I forget The King?" She said it mockingly and I almost smiled with her.
"He's still the school's self-proclaimed king - which isn't surprising, I guess, since he's the captain of the football team. He and his dumb jock friends rule the hallways. It's a lot like how things were when we were kids and the strongest boys hogged the jungle gym." I realized that I was babbling nervously and I took a fortifying breath before concluding, "Same players, different ballgame."
"I didn't realize you had started using sports metaphors," she teased.
As more students filed into the classroom, I became aware that we were starting to attract a lot of attention. Or should I say, she was. I wondered if any of them recognized her. If they still remembered.
"A lot has changed." My voice was soft and I didn't think she heard me. I wasn't even sure that I was answering her. But something flashed in her eyes for a fraction of a second. And then she was beaming again.
"Tell me about it. I barely recognized the town when I came back last Friday. It's hard to believe how much has changed in three years."
I saw him approach before she did. "You're in my seat."
Jamie turned around and I couldn't see her face anymore but I wondered if she was smiling at him like she had been while talking with me. But the flirtatious tone of her voice confirmed it.
"I'm new here. I didn't realize this was your seat, although I don't really regret the chance to meet you. Scott Kingston, right?"
I could almost hear the gears in his underused brain working overtime. Keep his seat, or score points with the hot new girl. His player nature won over. He glanced to his right and snapped at the boy in the chair next to her, "Move."
I was bewildered, not by the sight of Scott forcefully taking someone else's seat, but because Jamie would even want to associate with trash like him. I hated the lewd way he was looking at her, as if he was already planning out how to lure her into the back of his SUV without his girlfriend, Marissa, noticing.
"Thanks, Scotty," Jamie purred, like he was a regular knight in shining armor. "You're a sweetheart."
Scott grinned cockily. "You can make it up to me sometime."
"We'll see. I'm Jamie McClain."
I was surprised that she was using a different surname. I guess she was distancing herself from her old identity as much as she could.
She held out her hand and Scott shook it, his gaze lingering on the way her blue top strained against her chest. I could feel my breakfast rising and hastily returned to my book, trying to block out the sight of my old girlfriend flirting with the biggest jerk in school. But I couldn't make myself stop listening.
"So you're the captain of the football team?"
"Heard about me, have you?" Scott loved the idea that everyone talked about him all the time. The guy had an ego that needed constant feeding. And then I realized that I had spent the last five minutes before his arrival doing just that.
My stomach sank when Jamie said, "Brian was just telling me about you."
I raised my eyes and found her looking at me, a different kind of smile on her face. It had a mean edge to it.
"He said that you and your dumb jock friends think you rule the school. That wasn't very nice of him, was it?" She was still holding my gaze when she said it, watching me feel the barb of every word.
I avoided looking at Scott. I already knew what I would find if I did: Anger and the promise of retribution. Scott had left me alone for the past few years, except for the occasional comment or shove in the hallway that I could brush off.
I no longer had that luxury. In his eyes, I was a little insect he had tolerated only because it knew its place in the hierarchy of high school. Now that I had crossed the unstated line, now that I had dared to embarrass him in front of his latest potential conquest, I was a threat. And Scott Kingston didn't like to feel threatened.
"What does he know about being popular? He’s a freaking loser who’s spent more time handling game controllers than women.”
My face burned with fire. Not because Scott had insulted me - my feverish brain barely processed the sting of it - but because Jamie had caused it. Scott didn't realize that I agreed with him. I was a loser. I had been one for the last three years, since Jamie told me she couldn't stand to look at me without wishing to end her life. The day before she disappeared.
Losing her had almost killed me. And now, I realized, having her back in my life wasn't going to be all that different. I couldn't bear to sit there any longer, to feel the hatred in her eyes spearing me like a trapped animal. My hands fumbled as I gathered my belongings and I hurried out of the classroom, barely breathing until I got to the parking lot.
There in the solitude of my car, I dragged in deep breaths and tried to convince myself that things weren't as bad as I thought. Maybe I was imagining it. Maybe she had been joking. Maybe she had forgiven me.
Or maybe my past had caught up with me and I would finally have to atone for what happened to Jamie.
Gripping the steering wheel tightly, I started my car and drove home.
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