It didn’t matter that we got caught, in the end. My whole life, it seemed like I was waiting, and then this boy, with his shaggy brown hair and deep sea blue eyes, he kissed me awake and for a few weeks, I really felt alive, you know. My food tasted better, colours seemed brighter, and I never wanted to sleep. I didn’t want to waste my hours with him. I was gripped by a madness that took me whole, swallowed me up and I was lost in a dream I never wanted to wake up from. When you go about your daily lives, you can’t imagine what such a feeling might mean. For several weeks, I felt like I was sitting on top of the world, not in it, not a part of the constant atrocities we do to each other. But I was part of a gang, led by the two of us, completed by the two of us. After years of being afraid, and biting my tongue, feeling like I didn’t belong, and always searching, and lost amongst the crowds, it felt like a home coming. I soared with my laughter, and I had no idea where my heart was, but I was sure it was with his, somewhere. Even the nights we spent sleeping on the hood of his car, or under a tree to shelter from the rain, I wouldn’t have wished to be anywhere else.
Even the hard times never changed that. I’d cry and shake, and he would shout and punch the walls. But he’d always come back and hold my face in his hands. He’d kiss me on the forehead, look me in the eyes and say ‘It’ll be OK. You have to trust me.’ before pulling me close into his chest and holding me tightly.
I don’t regret running away, or stealing anything. I feel bad for the people who lost their lives, but we never set out to hurt anyone. They should have listened and everything would have been fine. He told them what to do, they should have just listened. I remember the night after I heard the shots, I was scared and glued to the seat of the car. I couldn’t move. When he came running and jumped into the car, all I could think to do was speed off. I didn’t ask what happened inside. All i cared about was that he was here.
We spent that night in a motel, on a bed spread with money. I could feel it crinkling beneath me whenever I moved, and some bills were sticking to my back. He traced a hundred from my neck down past my breastbone, towards my belly button, and then he’d kiss where the money stopped. Whenever he got close to me, I couldn’t think. I was so in love, he made my head spin. The room around us, and the world outside, everything fell away and all I knew was his body, and mine. The sounds of his breathing, and his voice when he whispered to me.
When they found us, they shot him. They said I hadn’t done anything, I’d probably get off on the charges, and they let me stay with him. I sat next to his hospital bed, and I laid my head on his chest and looked up at him. We talked, or rather - I did. He had an oxygen mask over his face, he was having some trouble breathing. We were going to get married, you know. He said that he’d always known, something inside him just knew. He always said “When I first saw you I thought, damn, she’s the one. that’s the girl I’m going to marry”. So as he laid there in that hospital bed, we talked about where we’d get married, who we’d invite, and laughed about who we’d avoid. We talked about a little house in the country, and we’d have a little girl, with a beautiful name. He’d wrap his fingers around my hand, and squeeze gently. “You’re the one” he’d say. And I believed him, the way I always did.
I guess I shouldn’t complain, I knew the angels would come and take him. They wanted him as much as I did, and who could blame them. The last time I kissed him goodbye, I didn’t want to, but I cried. And my tears didn’t roll down my cheeks, but his. And I promised him, “I will never love anyone again, it’s only you. Always you.”
I haven’t broken my promise.