Long-Distance Calls

47

Day Four

"Did we get everything?" My mom said, running around the house. "We're not forgetting anything, right?"

"No, mom," I said, "we're good to go."

And it indeed was time to leave. We had to reach the station where a train would get us to the airport. Evelyn's mom, Zoey, was kind enough to give us a lift to the station with her car.

She was already out front, that morning. Mom kept on going back and forth around the house, until eventually my father exiting the house convinced her to leave, too.

"Hi," Zoey said to my parents, "you're ready to go?"

"Guess so," my mom said, entering the car. "Where's Evelyn?"

"Oh, she's already at the station," she said. "We wouldn't have fitted in the car, otherwise."

And, during the short trip, Zoey asked my parents the usual boring questions about our stay in Cleveland. They thought so highly of their city, but honestly it looked just like any other city to me.

"Alright, have a nice trip back home," Zoey said all smiley.

Evelyn was indeed at the station. As soon as she saw me, she kissed me. In front of my parents, of course.

Then we sat on a bench. My parents sat on one away from us, so we could share this last moment alone. Unfortunately, though, that moment wasn't at all a romantic goodbye with hearts filled with hope of seeing each other again. It was a painful moment filled with awkward silences and no touching.

"So, uh, when's this train supposed to come?" I would ask.

"Any minute now," she would say. She was sad looking. I was already gone in her mind. I'd never seen her this sad before. She always looked so full of life, even in her darkest moments.

I was sad too, but not for the same reasons. That's why I could barely fake a sad face in that moment. Leaving her was the remedy to my sadness.

We just stood there. Side by side. Shoulders barely touching. In complete silence. Until the train arrived. And when my parents were already on it, that's when she kissed me. It was a felt kiss. No tongue, just emotions. I could feel her love but I couldn't give her mine.

I sat in the seat that faced my parents. Evelyn looking up at us outside. But when I looked at her, she looked away. And she kept on looking away. I could tell that if our eyes happened to meet, she would start crying.

Only when we heard the train starting again, she looked at me. There was sadness spread across her whole face. The train started to move. I raised a hand and waved it. She waved hers too and, in that last glimpse I caught of her, I could tell her other hand was already wiping away the tears.

And when her sad face was replaced by speeding landscape, when I couldn't see her anymore, and I was already thinking of watching something on my phone, I started weeping. It's hard to explain, but tears just came out of my eyes. I never sobbed, I never even thought of crying. Hell, I wasn't even sad. But, for some reason, tears were running down my face like they did only once before.

"You crying?" I completely forgot I had my father right in front of me. This was embarrassing. I put a hand in front of my face and looked at Mom. She was looking away. Those tears just wouldn't stop.

I swear, I didn't understand why I was crying. It lasted the whole trip. I cried my soul out all the way to the airport.

• — • — • — • — • — • — • — •

"It feels good to be home. Never thought I'd say that."

"It feels good to have you back home," Belle said. She was back to looking sunny. Her now longer hair shining brighter than the sun, her blue eyes like brush strokes, with her green t-shirt and short jeans, showing constantly goosebumped arms and legs.

"It's been a hard series of days," I said.

"You wanna talk about the crying part?"

"Well, you see, I don't know why I cried. It's making me crazy, because I really don't get it. Everything went to shit as soon as we saw each other, and that's for sure. It was 404 love not found. I couldn't wait— yeah, I just couldn't wait to get the hell out of there. So, as soon as I do, I start crying? And for what? What is wrong with me?"

"I mean, I could barely explain it myself," Belle said.

"Try."

She sighed. "I don't know. Maybe you felt bad for her. Seeing her all sad and already crying way before you were gone made you think about how much you actually care about her. And not necessarily in a relationship way, but as a person. You can't deny that. You've grown attached to her. She was your best friend for a while, wasn't she? So, of course you'd be sad if you see her sad."

"Yeah, that might be true. But would I go as far as crying myself? In front of my father, worse of all? Nah, something's off about it."

"I hope you're not seriously wondering if deep down inside you do love her." It's like she read in my mind. "Listen, Pete, forget for a second about the crying, and remember the actual moments with her. Just how much have you cringed? Just how much has she made you mad? And remember sex? Not love. Sex. Oh, and the kissing? Remember how kissing her made you feel absolutely nothing?"

I gulped, and then I looked at her, looking at me. I looked at her mouth. Her perfectly shaped lips, not one imperfection on them. They were surely shaped by some kind of God.

"Yeah." I leaned closer to her. Our faces had never been this close except for hugs. "You're right... kissing her made me feel nothing." I took a closer look at her lips. Her eyes now on mine. "I kinda wanna remember... what real kissing feels like."

And I went for it. My eyes closed themselves without my command. Her lips even softer than they looked, they weren't something you could emulate with the back of your hand. And that undeniable feeling of something moving around in my stomach. I put a hand on her cheek. So perfectly soft and smooth. Another hand in her hair. Same. And, soon, tongues danced around like I forgot they could do.

And the final smack, the perfect ending. Our lips slowly separated, with some friction between them. Her big blue eyes looking at me up close. She smiled. "I have to break up with her, don't I?" I said.

"You do," she said.

And that's what I did. I broke up with her the next day. It hurt for a while, but then I moved on. I accepted the fact that she wasn't the One after all. She wasn't my Wendy. So I got into the new school, I met some new, awesome friends, and I found the One. The real One. I found the Wendy. Sitting right there in front of me, in class, and her name was Africa--

"Peter," said Dr. Straczynski, "if you want to keep telling this story, you have to be serious. And you have to be honest. About everything. This novel is not a way for you to correct your past. It's a way for you to remember it, learn from the mistakes you made, and save your future."

Fine. Alright. Dr. Straczynski is right. I do have this tendency to want to change in my mind something that already happened in real just because I didn't like the way it happened.

I didn't break up with her. I told myself four days were not enough. I told myself she could still be the One. I told myself it was just my first experience and I didn't know anything about love yet. I told myself I could make that work.

And, soon enough, I'd live to regret that.