About a Girl

“When you are suffering.. Know that I have betrayed you. When you are suffering.. Know that I have betrayed you,” whispered the voice in my ear.
Marilyn Manson tended to get me through a lot of things those days. It seemed liked I was beckoning his serenity more in more in those months. I called on him to help me deal with heartbreak, rejection, and true love. Heartbreak would come when I was rejected. Rejection came when I saw my true love.
His name was Alex Matthews. This isn’t a story of me working up the courage to talk to the guy in my dreams and fall in love. In this story, he happens to be my best friend. Alex was THE dream guy. Smart, nice, perfect sense of humor, common values and beliefs, respectful, and attractive. He wasn’t just, “Damn, look at him. He’s beautiful,” attractive. He was the epiphany of everything holy and good in this world. Seeing him was like watching God himself walk into a room and offer you his hand, surrounded by his blinding sheen. He was a good 5’11”. His face was framed by a collection of hair like no other. It was black, straight, and hung perfectly in his face to cover the left eye. Oh, his eyes! Even with his hair, you could sometimes slightly catch a glimpse of those shimmering green emeralds! Framing his eyes were the most gorgeous lashes anyone had ever seen. His jaw was strong. He was lean. He wore a variety of clothing. He created his own style, pairing things such as pocket bandanas, studded belts, skinny jeans, plaid button ups, band tees, Converse, and Vans. Another one of his signatures was a silver cross, though he wasn’t particularly religious in that sense. It was a heirloom, given to him by his mother on her death bed when he was six.
We’d been friends since we could barely remember. We met when we were five. Though we wouldn’t actually call ourselves friends until we were six. I knew everything about him, and he knew everything about me… except that I’m in love with the very sound of his voice, the sight of his name popping up on my caller ID, and the ever waking thought of his being.
Sometimes, I felt like he knew. Like maybe he was playing with me. And then I would remember the person he was. If he knew, he wasn’t playing with my emotions, but simply trying to avoid hurting them.
Our days were typical. The bus arrived at his stop at 7:00 a.m. sharp every weekday. By 7:20 we were at school. At 7:55, the bell would ring for us to go to our one and only class together. Advanced PE. Whatever you’re thinking it is, it’s probably spot on. An exercise program Bill Clinton would approve of. The only other time during the day that we would see each other was lunch and at our locker after each period. After first period, he took a bus to a dual enrollment German class at a community college nearby. I’d hurry off to Algebra II. Together again by 11:07. I would go off to Cosmetology II, and he would rush to English IV. Then, we would have lunch from 12:50 to 1:20. Neither of us had a fourth period, but we would still have to wait around until 3 p.m. daily for the bus. Neither of us had a car even though we both had our license. Alex was saving every penny for college and his everyday expenses. My father didn’t believe I was ready to handle the responsibility of a car.
At the time, Alex was seventeen. His eighteenth birthday was June 2nd, graduation day. I was sixteen and a junior. Alex was dreading everyday leading up to his eighteenth birthday. More and more responsibility was being placed on him each and every day. After his mother died, his father couldn’t cope, lost his job, and became an alcoholic. The day Alex turned eighteen, he would be expected to move out.
Although our days were predictable, he cherished each every moment of them because they were so sparse and numbered. For that, I was forever grateful.