Every Girl I've Loved A Lifetime Ago

Fiona

I met Fiona when we were fifteen and I was wrapped around Izzy.
She was just one of my twin sister's soccer friends, a kid I was friendly with but not close to.
I remember her father was sick in the hospital and she had the best parties in the neighborhood.
She was bold and boasting and bright even back then, but she had somehow faded into the blurry background.
Now, her hair was dyed silver, she had a slit in her left brow, and a spray tan that looked like something a celebrity would pay thousands for.
Fiona played on her college's soccer team and was whip snap smart.
I re-met Fiona at a pizza party my twin sister held.
I was constantly glancing at my phone wondering if Alex would text when Fiona started talking to me, but I wasn't listening.
When I finally looked up at the girl who was talked at me, my brain froze peering into her icy eyes.
She grinned all crooked as heat brushed my cheeks and she snorted in amusement as I stammered to introduce myself.
She had silver banded rings on almost all of her fingers and smelled musky and warm.
I hung onto her every word after.
She invited me to her next soccer game, bought me ice cream, and laughed at all my jokes.
I went to her soccer game, cheered whenever she scored a goal, and took her out for lunch when her team won.
Fiona's arm was wrapped around my shoulders and my feet were laying on her lap.
Her voice was deep and low and chilling. Every syllable she spoke sent all the right vibrations through the soles of my feet.
We talked about Shania Twain, the Golden Globes, school, and my twin sister's new boyfriend over club sandwiches and too sugary pink lemonade.
We were curled into each other like we were fused together and our waitress, Lolita, suppressed her smile.
I liked Fiona a lot.
We fell asleep on FaceTime together, texted each other memes, and shared secrets at two am when the city was asleep.
Fiona was like my long distance lifeboat.
My heart whispered words of fancy to my aching brain.
There were times where I was drowning in schoolwork, was smoking too much weed, and was waking up in stranger's bathtubs.
There were times where I was lost and confused and probably dead.
There were sleepless nights, xanax bottles, and pretty girls in bikini tops.
There were times where I was afraid and stubborn and dishonest.
Fiona kept me grounded during those times.
Fiona was my emergency contact, the girl who I could trust, depend on, need.
She's seen me at my worst and she hadn't ran away yet.
Fiona visited me at my college once.
I was sniffling like I had a cold.
She said if I kept this up I'd get nosebleeds.
I told her I had an English final on Friday.
So she  brought me the strongest coffee she could find and helped me study.
I aced that exam.
One day, Fiona got a girlfriend. Her name was Rosemary and she was sweeter than ice tea.
They were happy together, and I was happy for them.
But Fiona's calls came less and less, she started leaving me on read, and her advice wasn't as well thought out.
I was fine with it, I knew that I couldn't expect her to keep cleaning up my mess forever.
But it was still scary, not having her helping, supportive figure in my life.
And some selfish fibre of my being ached for their breakup.