Noah

I never know what exactly to write about. Some people tell me to write about myself or where I come from. They tell me to write about my favorite foods or the color purple but I just can't stop writing about him. Although "him" is not his name. His name is Noah. The funny thing is, Noah isn't exactly a real person. It's hard to explain because not a lot of people do what I do in order to feel loved and needed. We'll just say that Noah was a persona. I'd never met the real Noah before, never even talked to him. Noah was the exact image of my dream boy. Noah was everything that I wanted.

It all started when he asked me to hang out, so I picked him up and he made me drive him to mcdonalds to get french fries. He was so cute yet badass. Tattoos covered his entire body and his hair was dyed pink. He asked me to tell him something about myself but I couldn't think of anything interesting so he suggested we play the game twenty questions. I laughed and told him that was a pretty fuckboy-like thing to say but agreed to play anyways because I somehow knew he was better than that. I remember we found an empty parking lot to pull into and I turned my car off. I remember pulling my legs up onto the seat and sitting criss cross. The sun was setting but I had turned all of my attention to him. We asked each other way more than twenty questions each and stopped when he asked me what my biggest fear was. When I said it was stupid he said that was nonsense and told me to spill it. So me being me aka not knowing how to keep things bundled up inside of me, I told him about my anxiety. About how it made me fear the worst about my health. I was scared that he would never talk to me again but instead this somewhat of a complete stranger comforted me. He could tell I was upset and offered to show me the way to the tattoo shop he owned that was attached to a bar he owned as well. I remember smiling, thankful that he didn't say anything more about my anxiety in that moment but thankful that he understood and didn't think that I was crazy. Soon we would be in his tattoo shop and I would run my fingers gently across the portraits on the walls, asking him if he drew them and hearing a yes in response. He asked me if I had any tattoos and I laughed before telling him about the smiley face tattoo I got on my thigh one night while my friends and I were drunk. He laughed and then offered to fix it for me. Really? I would ask and he would nod in response. He asked me if I knew what I wanted and I instantly said yes, showing him a picture I took of a rose that was in my camera roll and asking him to put my grandmother's birthday underneath it. He smiled at the picture and led me to one of the rooms where we would spend the next two and a half hours or so just talking and asking each other more questions. He told me I could play whatever music I want and I remember playing Knee Socks by Arctic Monkeys and staring at the ceiling while the needle dug into my thigh. I wasn't focusing on the pain though. I was focusing on the fact that I was truly happy. Happier than I had been in a long time. I remember looking at the tattoo in the mirror and trying not to cry because I loved it. I remember offering to pay him extra for doing it on the spot but he didn't make me pay anything at all. I remember feeling guilty but nodding before he would lead me next door to the bar. He asked me if I'd ever made drinks before and I told him I hadn't so he told me to get behind the bar and make him something. I laughed nervously as I looked at all of the alcohol on the shelves and ended up making a random drink I'd made at a party a couple months before and he ended up liking it too. I felt proud of myself for making a drink that an actual bartender thought was good. I remember telling him to make me a drink and him responding with some sort of provocative word as he would get up from the bar stool across from me and walking to the inside of the bar where I was. I remember him placing his big hands on my waist and picking me up to set me down on the counter. He made me a drink and told me not to down it or I'd be hammered in ten minutes. There was an old jukebox in the bar and I remember him not understanding why it wasn't working. I would laugh as I found that it was unplugged and he would snatch the cord away from me in a jokingly upset tone. We listened to music and sat on the bar stools, taking sips of our drinks in the midst of a comfortable silence. He asked me what I did for a living and I told him I walked dogs. I didn't have a real job at the time but I liked what I did because, hey, I got to see dogs every day. I remember him offering me a job at his bar and I remember me being surprised but accepting it after some reassurance from him. I asked him about his tattoos and what his favorite one was. He would pull up his shirt to reveal one on his shoulder blade and he told me that his mom had written the script that was now melted into his skin. He told me that he was really close to his mom and that she never liked tattoos until she saw that one. I remember reaching out to touch it but stopping myself and hearing his laugh before he would tell me that it was okay to touch it. I felt heat radiate up into my hand as I slowly traced my fingers over the tattoo and telling him I loved it. I can't remember much more of what was said after that but I do remember him asking me to take a walk and I agreed. I pulled a cigarette out of my pocket and went to light it but stopped and looked at him. I asked him if he smoked and he said he didn't but he didn't have a problem with me doing it. I'd feel the smoke pouring down into my lungs before asking him if he was happy in his relationship. Did I mention he had a girlfriend? Yeah, he had a girlfriend but that didn't matter in the beginning because I wasn't planning to fall for him. Anyways, I don't remember exactly what he said but I do remember asking if he was happy. He said, Do I love her? Sure. Am I happy? Not really, no. I asked him why and he told me that they had been drifting apart for awhile. I would just nod in response as we'd find a bench to sit on and I'd throw my cigarette to the ground to step on. We stayed on the bench for awhile while I asked him vague questions to try to get some sort of inkling that he maybe had some feelings for me too but I never got that inkling. I remember him walking me back to my car and hugging him goodbye, asking him again if I could pay him for the tattoo and receiving a denial in response once again. As I walked to my car, I couldn't hear anything except my heart beating of sadness against my rib cage. Noah? I would call out as I stood on the other side of my car, the open driver's seat door in my left hand. He would look back at me with one eyebrow raised. Yeah? I remember feeling my heart break as I spoke the words, I love you by the way. And I would hold back my tears as I climbed into my car and drove away with a single wave goodbye.