100 Miles and Running

PinkyPromise

I would see him again in the two weeks I had off between spring and summer semesters at school. It wouldn't be the best visit we had, and I've forgotten most of that weekend by now. He was really busy those 3 days I was in town, so I would only see him for about 6 hours across the entire trip.

I spent most of that trip alone, sitting in my hotel room watching basic cable or walking around local stores that I couldn't afford to shop at. But I have one clear memory of that trip.

It was the second day, and we were in his room. He got so excited all the time to show me silly videos he found online. My sense of humor is a little different, so I wasn't as amused by them as he was. But to see the way his face lit up when he was trying to show me something new, it was worth a few boring videos.

But like the emotional wreck I am, I felt a sudden sadness. I laid down on the bed and turned away from him. It was always the little things that got me about him. He wrapped his arms around me, attempting to comfort a sadness I had no explanation for. I couldn't stop them. The tears came so easily to me. He got me to sit up and face him. The part that always gets me, the part that I'll never forget about him, was something you wouldn't expect from someone with his emotional capacity.

I sat on the edge of his bed, looking at the carpet and hoping I would disappear. He was so tall, that to get on my level he sat on his knees. We were face to face, making it harder to avoid my feelings. His hands cradled my cheeks and he lifted my face to look at me. I couldn't stop crying, but he wiped away my tears.

I would calm down every few minutes if I avoided looking directly at him. But he held my face where I didn't really have an option but to see him. That face. Those eyes. It shouldn't be legal to feel that way about someone. His eyes made every muscle in my body relax. I looked at every little curve, edge, and facial hair stubble that surrounded those eyes, hoping that if I looked anywhere else I could stop crying. Then he said the words that I would hold him to every day for the rest of our time together:

"I'm here. I'm here. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."

He knew that when I cried and felt like I was being too dramatic, that I worried he would get tired of me and leave. Every other man had, so this would be the same. But he always promised me he would stay. He said that the others were shit, and he was better than them. That he understood what pain was, and that he would be there for me. He was never going to let me go. He promised.

I ended up getting a tattoo later on, of two hands in a pinky promise. It was simple but symbolic. We promised to always be there for each other, through everything that life could throw our way. We would never walk away, never throw in the towel and call it quits. He promised because he was a genuinely good guy who cared about a girl who had become a best friend. I promised because I was so hopelessly in love with him, that I knew I couldn't be the one to walk away. I couldn't let go. And I told him a dozen times to leave me, because I would never get over him. I would love him every day, with every breath, with all my heart and soul, until he chooses to walk out of my life. But every time, he said he still wouldn't leave.

"Sorry, babe, you're stuck with me."

"Then you're stuck with me too. All my annoying love letters and 30 texts while you're sleeping. I'm going to tell you every day how much I love you. And I won't stop, for anything, until you disappear from my life and I'm forced to get over you."

"Well that's not happening. I'm never leaving."

"Promise?"