Every Girl I've Loved A Lifetime Ago

Meredith

She looked just like Virgina.
Same wildfire hair, same jade eyes, same countless barely there freckles.
But she was warm and soft and slow.
She grinned often, spoke sweetly, and never cried.
She was a junior at Golden View High a couple cities over.
We met at a bar, the lighting was ugly, the men were sleazy, and the music was overplayed and trashy.
Yet, her enticing smiles as she winked over at me from across the bar almost made up for the crappy atmosphere.
And by the time we were both spread out on a yellowing mattress at a yellowing motel, she completely made up for it.
She was a rebound in my mind, like Elle but prettier, younger, kinder.
But there was a number and name, Meredith, written down on a slip of paper laid down on the chipped nightstand.
I saved the number and remembered practicing saying her name.
How the syllables fit inside my mouth, how the consonants rolled off my tongue, how her name was dripping in vibrant colors, drenched in expression.
I texted her after one day, we met up the day after that.
In two weeks time, we were girlfriends.
After one month of being around Meredith- her morning breath, the funny way she says wash like warsh, the irritating way she'd roll her eyes as if she's above you- I plucked up my courage and invited her to a family dinner.
She sat there, fingers tapping nervously on the table as my parents discussed her in Spanish.
I rubbed her foot with mine in, what I hoped, was a comforting manner.
"She is quite beautiful, you must admit Edith."
"Very true, your daughter could have done worse. But the girl is wearing jeans. I got out the fancy plates just for her to dress up like some kind of hobo."
"Edith, they are nice jeans."
"Mamá, Papa. Meredith is right here, she understands that you are talking about her. Can you please talk to her now?"
Mamá and Papa loved Meredith, despite her jeans.
They thought she was charming and easy going, gorgeous and respectful, intelligent and positive.
Meredith loved my parents, said they were thoughtful and hospitable, warm and kindhearted, knowledgeable and entertaining.
My twin sister glared at her the whole time, brown eyes trying to burn off Meredith's perfect skin.
We were in my bedroom, reading The Hobbit together like we often do when neither of us can sleep, when I asked her.
"Do you like Meredith?"
Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Her grip on the book tightened, her knuckles turning white. She avoided my eyes.
Finally, after a fortnight of waiting,
"Julie likes girls."
"I know."
"You like girls."
"Really? I never noticed."
"...Did you ever like Julie?"
"Yes."
"How long have you known?"
"Known what?"
"That you liked girls."
I thought back to Carmela, to her motherly hugs, her sisterly advice, her friendly grins.
"I've always liked girls. I just didn't realize till, like, fouth grade."
"That long."
"...yeah."
"I thought we were best friends. I thought we told each other everything."
"I'm sorry. I wasn't ready."
"Well what changed?"
"Meredith, I guess. She's probably the best thing to happen to me since-"
"Since?"
"Izzy."
"Izzy? There were more?"
"Yes. Can we not talk about this?"
"Fine."
"You never answered my question."
"What?"
"Do you like Meredith or not?"
"No."
"Well why not?"
"She broke Julie's heart."
Meredith painted hearts all over my cheeks. Pink, purple, yellow, blue, red paint. Her brush bristles tickled my skin, but she scolded me when I giggled, so I held it in.
I wrote poetry verses all over her back. In red, black, blue, orange, and green ink. She always complained that she couldn't read them, so I whispered them to her in the middle of the night.
I met her family in October, two days before her birthday.
Her mother had a hooked nose and frown lines so deep I could swim in them.
Her father's red hair was graying but his smile was kind.
Her sister, Ansley, was quick to laugh and had skin so light it nearly blinded me.
Her brother, Fred, looked forty-eight but was only twenty-two.
Her other brother, Donald, had deep set eyes so mean they nearly burned me alive when I looked into them.
Her Granddad, Aaron, had twinkling blue eyes and a thin-lipped grin.
Her Grandma, Ginger, had snaking blue veins painted on her hands, arms, feet, and legs.
With them, I felt right at home.
On her birthday, I took Meredith to Amos' Sweets in Garden Valley. I bought her apple danishes, key lime pie, and pumpkin spice tarts. She bought me chocolate chip cookies, double fudge brownies, and caramel macarons. We ate so much baked goods, we almost threw up.
I still had a hefty wad of cash in my pockets and hours to blow off.
Meredith had more to lose than me from skipping school, being a junior and all, but she grabbed my hand and let me lead her all over this city.
Meredith wasn't adventurous, curious, or wild. She wasn't impulsive, rash, or brave. She wasn't humble, emotional, or perfect.
But she was as in love with me as I was with her.
She'd do anything to make me happy and I'd do anything to keep her so.
We'd catch butterflies in the cemetery, dance in empty parking lots, play tic-tac-toe on the roof of her house.
I'd help her with her physics homework, she helped me research in-state colleges with cheap tuition.
My friends thought she was cool, her friends thought I was funny.
Her extended family thought I was exotic, my extended family thought she was a phase.
Her favorite flavor was pumpkin, her favorite season was fall, and her favorite song was We Fell In Love In October.
She could be stuck up, annoying, stuffy. She could be a liar, a know-it-all, and a pushover. She could be distracted, distant, insensitive.
But I loved her.
Her favorite animal was a fox, her favorite color was red, her favorite food was ravioli.
She smelled like cinnamon, sounded like the wind, tasted like the moon.
When she grew up, she wanted to be a paleontologist.
I took her to the Le Brea Tar Pits with the money I saved up from my last summer job.
Her leaf eyes lit up at the skeletons, she whispered facts in my ear before the tour guide even mentioned them, I had to remind her we weren't allowed to touch the displays more than once.
Meredith hated scary movies so the only films I put on when she was over were the Stephen King kind.
Meredith hated when my music was too loud, so I turned it up so high that we could feel the bass vibrating through our souls.
Meredith hated when I drove too fast, so I stomped the gas pedal so hard that my little blue, beaten up Toyota zoomed through the open road like it was in a NASCAR race.
Meredith hated everything to do with peanuts, so I told my mamá to stop buying Jif To Go's and Nutter Butters even though they were my favorite midnight snacks.
Meredith hated the smell of weed, so I never smoked when she was near and washed all my stenched clothes before we met up.
Meredith hated her paintings, thought they were ugly and she was unskilled, so I hung them on the wall in my room like the masterpieces they are.
Meredith loved to wear my clothes, so I made sure half her wardrobe consisted of my sweatshirts.
Meredith loved ice hockey so I forced myself to learn all the rules so she could talk to me about it.
Meredith loved the park, so I took her every chance I got.
Meredith loved the color red but every time she let me paint her nails, I chose the green polish because I thought it looked better on her.
Meredith loved to eat at Toni's Pizzeria but I ordered from Papa John's every time because I liked their crust better.
Meredith loved country music but I never let her play it when we were together, because Luke Bryan and Keith Urban make me sick to my stomach.
I hated exercise so Meredith always dragged me on her hiking trips claiming they'd be "romantic."
I hated watching cheesy straight rom-coms, so Meredith played them every time I came over to watch movies with her.
I hated sleeping on the left side of the bed so Meredith always took up the right.
I hated fish, they creeped me out, so Meredith convinced me to go to the aquarium just to watch my face when I caught a glimpse of common mollys.
I hated talking about college and careers and my future, so Meredith always redirected the conversation whenever mamá brought it up.
I hated the smell of sandalwood incense, so Meredith threw all the sticks out at her house, even though they were Ansley's favorite and her second favorite smell.
I hated looking at photographs of myself, so Meredith pinned up the Polaroid photographs she took of me on a clothes line hung on her wall hoping I'd grow to love my image.
I loved reading so Meredith bought me a new novel every other Sunday, because she had money to spare.
I loved chocolate fudge pudding (possibly more than I loved her) and had a tendency to get hungry when bored, so Meredith never forgot to pack a pudding cup on long drives.
I loved the art of calligraphy so Meredith signed me up for classes at the community center where she worked.
I loved hanging out at Meredith's house, but she always insisted my place was better.
I loved watching the news, but Meredith hated knowing all those gloomy, depressing events of the world, so she forced me to change the channels.
I loved gazing at the stars, but Meredith would rather me accompany her to the museums and art galleries.
Our love was selfish yet giving. Push and pull.
We annoyed each other, we supported each other.
I highlighted her flaws, she underlined my strengths.
I circled her talents, she italicized my fauls.
I was in love with her, and she was in love with me.
But, as much as I tried to ignore it, time was moving. It'd never slow, halt, rewind.
Suddenly, it was time for me to leave for college and there were tears in my eyes and wind in my hair.
I hugged my mamá until her bones crushed and crumbled, my papa waved so much and so frantically that his hand fell off, my twin sister smiled so much so sadly that her jaw ached and her eyes burned.
Meredith cried until her tears were all gone. It was the first time I ever saw her cry. We made promises that would soon be as broken as our hearts.
We held each other so tight, mourned our eight month romance, and loved so hard that my life without her flashed before my eyes.
I kept in touch at first. Texting, calling, video chatting.
That didn't last. I was busy, she was alone. I was living on caffeine and remorse, she was dredging through her day with adrenaline and jealousy.
And the guilt ate me up when I stared at a new girl's hips for too long or noticed my seat mate's nice smile. And the envy consumed her when Sera and Bryant kissed at his locker or Billie walked Felicia to class.
I cried when she ended it. She didn't, she had already lost tears beforehand.
I looked in the mirror and my face looked like Lucille's. Tanner, rounder, older, fuller. But just as ugly.
Snot running down my nose, squinted eyes, wrinkled nose, hiccuping sobs.
I burrowed myself up in blankets as wails racked my body, I called my twin sister all the way in Michigan.
She offered me kind words as I drowned in loss.
I texted my older sister in Oklahoma, she never met Meredith.
She told me that I deserved better.
My roommate patted me on the back when she saw my puffy, red eyes and hoarse, lonely voice.
Said that long distance never works out, it was only a matter of time, and that there's plenty of fish in the sea.