Timeline

There is no timeline for Love. Plain and simple. You can say you want to start dating at sixteen, fall in love in your twenties, get married and have kids by thirty, all while handling a career, and Love can stare at you and laugh in your face. You can say you want a tall, dark and handsome man to marry when you're twelve and end up with a lovely blonde lady at age twenty for a bride. Love never gives you much of a choice. You can be busier than ever, on the cusp of a workplace breakthrough, and you might just meet your soulmate. You won't have time, you won't have energy, but Love will always find its way.

You might spend a week, a month, or several years searching for The One. And you might meet many that seem like The One, but they always end up being The First, or The Second, or The Mistake, or The Suppressed Memory. But eventually, Love comes for all of us. You might see them at school, at work, at a coffee house. You might be out running one day, cross the road too slowly and get clipped by a mom in a minivan. As you lie in your own agony, a first responder arrives to patch you up, and you realize that if your injuries don't kill you, her looks might. You've fallen in many ways today, but sadly falling in love is what hurts the most. As you ride to the hospital in the back of the ambulance, you ask her simple questions. You get simple answers in response. You start to black out, and she's what you see first when you come to. You get to the hospital, get your thousand dollar x-rays, and walk out with only a broken arm and throbbing heart. You ask her to go to dinner, to thank her for her work. The lovely, life saving, EMT just smiles, and says no. She declares that anyone dumb enough to run into the road without looking, was not worth her time. Suddenly, your arm isn't the only thing with a fracture.

Still you're young, plenty of time for you. You continue on this quest of love. You laugh, you're still a high school senior, you've got college, you've got girls at school, you've got time. Time seems to creep along slowly, like a tortoise, as senior year melts away. You walk around the halls, counting down time in months, weeks, days, and minutes. You cannot wait for the release of summer. Then, life decides, as it often does, to change. However, Change isn't alone this time, he's brought a friend, Love. You never expected it. You never thought she was anything more than another student, another person, another body taking up residence in this depressing school. But she walks up one day, asks about the blue cast on your arm, and you are smitten. It was a simple question, innocent enough, but when you finish your harrowing tale of that broken arm, she offers you a reward: coffee, on her. Love has thrown his hat into the ring.

You decide that coffee is a good idea. Coffee with her is better than coffee with no one, or even better than coffee with the EMT. So you ask if she can drive, since your driving is sub par with only one, functional arm. She laughs, flashes her signature smile you're about to fall in love with, and says she'll see you at six. You look like hell, haven't showered and are wearing grey sweats. You must change immediately, you must make yourself presentable, irresistible even. What does this girl see in you? Why would she ask for coffee? Just to be nice? Of course it's only to be nice. You aren't the sharpest tool in the shed, your athletic abilities are lacking (clearly), and your looks aren't much. But somehow, this once unassuming girl has asked to take you to coffee, her treat. Girls don't just do that, there's always a reason for things like this. Always.

Six o'clock rolls around with time increasing ever so slightly. The tortoise pace is suddenly a snail's, which is just a bit faster than one would imagine. Your heart is racing, palms are sweaty, you worry about ruining your one good shirt you have on. You think about grabbing a jacket (or maybe a nice hat), when you hear a knock. It's not just any knock, it's the knock of fate, of destiny, it's her knock. She's waiting for you on your porch. Your stomach somersaults, your vision gets blurry, your breathing rapid. This is intense. This is terrifying. This is showtime. You open the door and smile. She greats you with a hug. She guides you to her car, helps you in and closes your door. You drive in awkward silence until you get brave and turn the radio on. The first station: country. You recoil in horror; she likes country? You fearfully ask about her questionable music choices, silently praying that this date won't end as abruptly as you think it will. She laughs.

"You learn to love it eventually, but don't worry, you won't have to listen to it," she says. Then she changes the station. You continue to chat about other things, but still wonder how you could ever love someone who listens to whisky lullabies.

Once at the coffee house you two fight over the bill. The barista laughs, believing in the budding love he sees before his eyes. She wins the argument, and you take note of this. In this moment you realize that you're never gonna win an argument with her. You both sit down, and start discussing the politics of school and such. Your drinks arrive, you sip yours tastefully, listening to every word she says. Regular stories about shopping trips and chores seem enthralling when she tells them. Everything sounds like an adventure the way she describes it. You start to imagine what adventures you two could have together. Your mind wanders to sunsets and beaches, snow and mountains, rain and forests, and blistering heat and highway pavement. You both talk for hours, never running out of things to say. This moment feels infinite, the snail's pace has slowed to a standstill. This one coffee date seems like it lasts an eternity, and it's the best eternity you've ever had. Then a tired barista informs you that it is in fact eleven thirty, and he stayed open an extra half hour for you. You both laugh, apologize and leave the coffee house.

Once back in the car, she decides that dates must end on the hour, so she keeps you out till midnight. Your laugh is audible, but your amazement is silent. She called it a date. She did have a motive, and suddenly you're on the best date of your life. You and some spectacular girl are cruising around town, blasting Grouplove out of her speakers, singing, laughing, flying though a tunnel of time unmeasurable by humans. You come to find out that it's not midnight anymore, and in order to end the date right, you have to be delivered at one in the morning. You don't care, you may have just met her, but you've decided that you'd go anywhere with her.

But, it is one o'clock when she pulls into your drive. You go to open your door and she scolds you, running out of the car to open it for you. You explain that you're perfectly capable of it, but she sighs and continues to walk you to your porch. You thank her for a good time, a good night, and a good date. She smiles and says that it was her pleasure. You laugh a bit and say that you know how to end a perfect date. You lean in as she does (you're already connected on the same wave length), and you kiss. It is the most perfect kiss you've ever had. Once again, you've been sucked into this everlasting worm hole, an infinite timeline, for just a moment, a paradox of love. You have to say goodnight, and you both finally do. You bid farewell as you walk into the house and watch her pull out of the drive. You sigh and think of what a wonderful night it has been. Then you sigh deeper as you realize that Love has caught you at last, and you're screwed.

Tortoise pace and snails pace are no longer acceptable methods of time measurement. Suddenly, November is gone, months fly by, your love grows stronger as time runs out. More dates, more late nights, more magic kisses, more love. You never feel alone as she is always with you somehow. She's your first thought in the morning, best part of your day and last thought at night. If she isn't by your side, she's in your phone or in your head and always in your heart. You can't help but smile when you think of her. You can't help but gush about her to all your friends. You get swept up in a symphony of emotions when you think of her, when you think of how happy she makes you. You can picture every detail of her. You can see her long, flowing hair. You can imagine her warm hands, that are smaller than yours. You can picture all of her little freckles that only come out when she gets enough time in the sun. You walk around without her, only imagining all of the wonderful things you need to show her. You miss her deeply when she isn't around, and you can't wait till you get to see her again.

Time seems to be racing past you now, it's already the middle of March. You have two months left of school, two months left of this prison, and only two months left of her. You hold her close in the dark of the night. You spend the weekends by her side, you run around the small world you inhabit, just trying to hold onto the moment. April arrives with pouring, driving rain storms. Your love becomes more choppy, more fights, more tears, and happiness isn't as consistent. You try to fix your faults, you try to keep her happy, you want to do anything for her. Some days, she won't return the favor, but others she gives you all of her heart and all of her love. You wouldn't trade any of these moments just for the guarantee that your life isn't filled with heartbreak. Prom is next month and you want to take her. You want to take her out, treat her like a princess and make that one night last forever. You want to spend one night avoiding the ugly truth: the fact that once you go to college, the relationship is over.

Long distance never works, you've read the statistics. You want her to be happy, and having her heart locked in a cage while the keeper of the key lives thousands of miles away, isn't going to do that. You push the thought out of your mind, ignore it for now. That's a summer problem, you decide. Still, you spend at least five minutes a day being sad, thinking of the end. You curse Time and Love and how they just don't agree with each other. Time can't measure Love. It's only been seven months, but after just four months, you knew it was her who you loved. But that was in December, when you had time to spare for love. In December, time hadn't sped up yet. In December, college applications had just been sent in. Now it's April, and you've heard back from the colleges, and you got in. Your career is looking optimistic now, but your love life is going to suffer. April isn't the time for love; not when you're a senior, not when your future is at stake. Somehow, you are in love, and it's the greatest feeling. But time has sped up. Time feels to gallop by you, as if to encourage you to run and feel free. Yet, time weighs you down, because it's almost May. It's almost the end. This great, galloping horse called time, is leading you towards the finish line. The last weekend in April, you take her out. You go back to that coffee shop, (the one where you had your magic, first date), and surprise her. It was staged weeks in advance with the help of that faithful barista. You open the door to the coffee house and it's warmly lit inside, a crop of candles glowing for you. She cautiously walks in, surprised by the darkness. Then she turns and sees what you've come up with: a pyramid of coffee cups, asking the question of, "Prom?" The answer is obvious.

It's May fifteenth now, the day of Prom. The theme is Starry Night, an over used theme you both joke about. Her dress is gorgeous, her smile is priceless and you realize that you will never meet anyone as beautiful as she is. She will never be more beautiful to you than she is in this moment: truly happy, truly young and truly free. You rented a limo, (cliched but treasured), and take her to the best restaurant in town. You pay for everything, make her feel special and try to hold on to everything that happens. You try to take it all in, capture snapshots of the dream that you're living. You arrive at the dance, flaunting your limo and your princess as you waltz into the hotel. A banquet room at the Holiday Inn has never looked so magical as it does that night. You dance for hours, spinning her around the dance floor. You chat with old friends, reminiscing and storing these memories for later. It's understood that everyone will be dearly missed when school is over. It's the final slow dance of the night, and you hold her closer than ever before. Time slows again, the horse has finally stopped on his haunches and allows you to spend a moment in that worm hole of love. Time may rush around you, but with her, it feels like it barely moves at all. One four minute song seems to last four hours and you shuffle back and forth, taking in the sight of her. You know that this is the most valuable thing you've ever held, and right now you are convinced that it will be the most valuable thing you'll ever hold. The song ends, the horse starts to gallop again, and the dance draws to an end.

You don't go home that night, instead you spend it together. You can't remember all of what happened last night, but you do remember the feelings. They were so indescribable, so genuine, so freeing that you're sure nothing will ever be like that again. You know that to anyone else, she is just a girl, but to you she is The One. You wish you had a ring to give her. You wish you were twenty five instead of eighteen. You wish you were a senior in college, not high school. You wish you weren't leaving. You wish and wish and wish, but it changes nothing.

Time counts down, a week left, then four days, then three, then two, then graduation. The horse is in the home stretch, Time is in the lead. Time will always win, in any race, in any contest, Time is the ultimate champion. You both walk to the gym, hand in hand, gowns on, ready to graduate, ready to leave. You know you have two months before check in day. You know you have time. You know life is still good for now. You sit down, away from each other (as you don't share a last name yet), and wait. The dean gives his speech, the principle hers, and everyone talks and lies and says how amazing everything was. Then they call out the names, you walk across the stage, and like that, you're done. The horse has crossed the finish line.

June is a fun month, but a cruel one too. Barbecues and luau parties occupy your days and college seems to loom in the distance. You spend more nights with each other, staring at sunsets and stars. You drive around a lot, her in the passenger seat, you at the wheel. You never have a destination to arrive at, you just drive around, copying the town in your mind. It used to seem so massive in your mind, but now it just seems small. You both try to memorize every detail of this place, in hopes you never forget it. At night, when you lie together, you run your hand down her back, trying to remember the curves and edges, trying to keep her in your mind forever. Now your five minuets a day has increased to ten minuets of sadness, and happiness is running low. Soon enough it's July. Fireworks, picnics, and goodbyes.

It's your last date. You leave for school tomorrow, you picked today for a reason. When you break ties, there's no going back, no wanting more, no extra phone calls or changed minds. You say goodbye and leave. She knows what's coming, you both know, you're both prepared. You thought about taking her to the coffee house, but you don't want to make Larry (your barista friend) sad. So you decide to drive to the beach. You imagined a sunset with her on a sandy blanket long ago, on your first date. A day in the sun would be an excellent last adventure. You arrive at her house at six in the morning. It's early but neither of you care, you want the whole day. She hops in, throwing her bag into the back seat and helps you load a cooler into the trunk. Then you turn up the radio and head to the highway. So begins your last ride.

You're determined to be happy. You arrive at the beach at eight in the morning and change in the public bathroom that is caked in sand. You each do your couple duty and apply sun screen on each other. You put too much on her face and she wipes it off and throws it on yours. She flashes her prefect smile, white teeth showing, crooked fangs and all. Your heart melts. You pick her up and throw her over your shoulder, rushing to the shoreline. She screams in joy and then horror as you dump her in the cold sea, the day not hot enough to make it refreshing. She pulls you under and soon enough you're both soaked and laughing. The day continues with sand castles, sun bathing, book reading and a picnic for lunch. As the rays hit you, you feel time slow to a crawl. By two o'clock, your shoulders are red and you just want to nap. As you take a rest in the warm sand, you watch her dance with the waves as they hit the shore. She shakes her long hair in the wind, running against the tide and splashing down into the water. This is her in her freest form, when she lets the wilderness escape from inside her. As she floats along the beach, you decide this is how you want to remember her. You want to remember her as this perfect angel, a wild creature, floating along a summer beach. You decide to get up and join her.

Time passes, the sky grows orange and the air cools off a bit. It's going to be a warm summer night, and you're certain the stars will be out in full force. The two of you walk down the beach and find a sturdy rock to sit on. You hold her tightly as you watch the orange embers of light disappear into night. You finish your Coke and stare at the glass bottle. You pull a napkin out of your pocket and suggest you both write one last message and send it to sea. After warning you of the dangers of glass bottles in the ocean, she agrees. It's a mutual decision to make it cliched and dumb, but also honest in the way that all cliches are. She writes, "love never dies" on her piece. You write, "love waits for no man" on yours. You hate the fact that it's true. You both hold on to each other as the last sliver of light disappears. She says, "We could swim for it, forget college." You nod, wishing it was true. You laugh and kiss her. You both decide it's time to go home.

A long drive is usually nice to spend with someone you love, but today it won't be. You realize that even she can no longer slow time down, and that's when reality hits you. You know that this won't be as easy as just pulling away and leaving forever. That's not how it's going to work. As you drop her off at her house, precisely at midnight, on the hour, you feel your heart sink. It's never been this low as you start to feel it inside of your stomach. Your pain grows as you walk to open her door. Your legs feel like lead as you take her to the porch, knowing that this is really it. She stares right into your soul as your body starts to fall apart. She shakes her head and leaves the porch, shuts your engine off, and pulls you into her house.

One last night seems appropriate, you decide. She falls asleep in your arms, as you stay awake, trying to remember everything. You're terrified of forgetting her favorite color, or her birthday, or the name of her first dog. You know that once you forget, it means its over forever. Everyone will tell you that's the right thing. You need to forget and move on. You don't want to though, you never want to forget. You want to pull out the ring, commit everything to memory and keep her as your constant reminder. You never want to change anything, you love it the way it is. You love this town, and your stupid part time job, and your family, and you love her. You love her. Madly. You can already feel your heart breaking and it's worse than the minivan hitting you, it's worse than that uncomfortable cast, it's worse than the EMT's rejection. This is the worst thing you've ever experienced and it's not over yet.

You wake up that morning, prepared for a goodbye. You explain that your family is waiting for you, you have to leave by ten. It's already nine fifteen and you can't be late. She nods, she kisses you, she hugs you, she cries. You do everything you can to not do the same. You get in your car to radio silence. You think better of turning on the radio and hearing a country song wailing, because it only make you think of her. You look at her one last time, but not for long. You don't want to remember this version of her. The version who's bright eyes have gone dark and shiny with grief. You don't want to remember this small girl, standing in front of your car, sending you off, but wishing you'd stay. You wave goodbye and will the memory of her standing in her driveway away.

Instead, you think of her spinning on that beach. You think of her at Prom. You think of her beautiful dress and her bright eyes. You think of her winning smile. You think of Time. You think of how cruel Time is. Senior year was the last year you would spend in your small town, the last year wasting away. College has come, you're gonna make something of yourself. But life couldn't make it easy for you. Life gave you Love, and Love is a bitch. She's the thing that gives you great times, and horrible times, and makes you want to sing to the world and stab yourself at the same time. Love won't work on a timeline. It never comes at the right time, because to Love, every time is right, even when it isn't. You knew you'd have to leave, but you didn't know it would be like this. You leave behind something amazing. But you're hoping, wishing, and even knowing, something greater is out there. And you'll keep searching for it. It won't make the current pain better. It won't change anything that happened, or anything that will. But in time, you'll stop thinking about that beach. You'll stop obsessing over her favorite things, and fill your heart with someone else's favorites. You won't have to remember her bright eyes, because a new pair will come that will absolutely blind you and make you forget everything you've seen before. It will take time. And Love hates Time. But, it will come. She wasn't the one. You know that. But even so, as you drive away, you'll conveniently forget all the strong words you told yourself before. Because as you drive away, you'll still be picturing that beach. Because for now, you know that there is no timeline for love. Plain and simple.