To Spoon

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Rays of light spill across the room, a 9 a.m. wake-up call. The light brings shadows--they mock my hollow core. The sheets waft tequila and leftover spliffs. I roll over. He sneaks a peek through his curled bicep, but drowsiness wins over his eyelids. I wonder if he’s disappointed to see my face instead of hers. No matter, he pulls me close. 

            Whoever coined the term spooning? I can’t help but notice the irony in it. The lyrical curves of our bodies mirror the vacant ritual. We scoop the spoon to fill the void. The truth is I never went to sleep. My mind has been screaming out for you all night. I lay awake, tormented with the thought of you.

He snuggles closer, “Good morning beautiful,” in that wispy morning voice. My insides churn. I think of that summer, when the river reunited us.

            “What time do you have class?” I blink, unhinge the spoon and swivel to kiss him. He’s warm, just like you. He grins, “You’re amazing.” I have to giggle at this; it must have been directed at her. I moan and make a cute face, masking my agony. This is the universal language of lust.

            “Eleven,” I whisper.  

            “I just want to lay here all day with you.” I nod, give an acquiescing hum and a squeeze. In the safety of this bed keeps the emptiness from gnawing. We lie in limbo a little longer before rolling back to reality.

            We pull up to my dorm in his Volvo. He plops a pseudo kiss, the kind where you know he wishes you were her. “I’ll text ya later.” I feign a smile and skip into the building. In the elevator, you come to me; the day when I first had that horrid dream of you and her.

             When I finally worked up the courage to admit my angst, you assured me it was absurd.

            “Baby, that’s crazy. I could never see Jess like that. She’s your best friend. Come on. I love you. I only have eyes for you.” Your persuasion felt sincere. But if love were a coin, its flipsides would be euphoria and irrationality. That foolishness fed my denial.

            There’s no eerier feeling than watching a nightmare spin to reality. I sat, numb,  as a friendly glance turned into a laugh, a cig, a beer, a bowl, a line, a dance, a hug, an “I love you bro”. Me and Jess’ friendship deteriorated and yours grew stronger. I swam in my denial, but sought a new path. I knowingly abandoned you when I applied to study abroad.

            “Hi chica!” Sadie snaps me out of my daze, “How was your night with Dylan?” The daily recap commences as we walk to lecture.

            “It was really fun, we partied a bit. I dunno Sadie, sometimes I just feel like screaming when I’m lying in bed with him. Like a crazy recoil. I could only think of Sam… ” She senses weariness and jumps to refute; her words swift as a razor. 

            “Dude, he’s probably fucking your best friend. Like, game over,” slash. “You're gonna miss him and it’s gonna be weird dating other guys. But you have to just block him from your mind.”

“Well, we still don’t know for sure if they’re together,” I murmur. Sadie rolls her eyes. I dampen the sting from her words with the flow of students into the cavernous hall. Abstraction. I lose myself in their expressions; I wonder how many people are suffering from a similar defeat. “I just feel consumed by visions of him sometimes; of those pivotal moments, ya know?”

            “Well obviously, you loved him with all of your heart. Only time will heal that. Until then, don’t talk to his ass. I swear to God I’ll punch Sam in the face if we see him while we’re home. And Jesse too, what a slut,” she abandons the topic. “If I have to listen to this ‘Plain Jane’ professor ramble a lecture on flipping coins and rolling dice, I swear.” Someone shushes Sadie a few rows ahead. She laughs in his face, slings a gesture, “Check out this clown, yeah nice!” I can’t help but snicker, that girl knows how to spin a profane line. She keeps my mind off you though. My leg vibrates; it’s a text from Dylan, miss ur face. I cringe, he doesn’t miss my face. He misses the spoon. 

            After Math, Sadie goes her way and I go mine. “I’ll text you later girly,” she weaves into the crowd. Meandering back to the dorm, I spot a hookah circle on the oval. It reminds me of India, of the moment I told you I was leaving.

 “Well, are you gonna go?” Sam’s onyx eyes pierce through me. I pause; give the rings on my fingers a bony twist and meet his gaze, he already knows.  

            “Yeah I am. I feel like I can’t pass up this opportunity and they are only giving me a few days to confirm,” I ramble, spilling any pre-planned justification. That was all he needed to hear. His eyes glaze over; mind spinning into oblivion. I glimpse a single tear before his mask of indifference washes over. Silence envelopes us.   

            “Then I can’t do this anymore,” he says, withdrawn. I nod, his words sink into every vertebrae. The tears start to flow. Agitated, he stands, shuffles for his cigarettes. He slings a nugget of resent as he stalks out the door. “I can’t believe you’re leaving me again.” Slam. Withdrawal. Déjà-vu clouds my mind. His pup nudges a wet nose against my trembling hand; dogs always sense the strain. I pat his head and lose myself in the dancing willows outside.

            Back in the dorm, I pace, try to read, guzzle some coffee, anything to distract myself. This is the dumbing down of love. Looking back, I regret nothing. I remember levying the opportunities and acknowledging how my choices foreshadowed our demise. I left you once, oh how we pined for each others’ touch. The infatuation refused to flicker. During my adventures down under, the foundation for you and her must have been laid. I returned. We fell back into the blissful routine. I left you for a second time, and you must have dove for her, my best friend. All I have heard is rumors. My angst won’t abate until I have a confirmation that these rumors are true.

Anxious thoughts wiggle and scratch; they need to be unburdened. I rustle through my drawers, snatch my journal and hop on the bed. Favorite uniball uncapped, my pen begins to flirt with the page and like a distant memory, your ringtone echoes. Your face and those eyes light up my phone. I freeze. Nibble my nails to belie that devil touch screen. Luckily Sadie is on speed dial. She flings blasphemy at your name, says she’ll be right there.

In the fetal position, Sadie anxiously hovers, curious as to what the voice in my ear is spinning. I struggle to hide the staccato in my voice, “Don’t beat around the bush. You know what this conversation is about. All I need to know, is there something between you two?” Silence is deafening. Contradictions are the language of break-ups.

            And as if I should be at peace with the situation, he nonchalantly states, “Yes, there is something between me and Jesse. I wouldn’t feel right about going on with it if I didn’t tell you the truth.” Dissociation. The phone drops. Undulating sobs rock my body. Sadie braces the break down.

Many numb months ticked away after you told me the truth. Eventually, I peeled myself from bed and found a Zen in hiking. Trudging away from society, an ocean of wind lapped at my hair, washing away the angst. Sometimes I would imagine your face on the path, stomp, stomp, stomp.

I wonder if mountains remember the feet that surmount them. Footprints consolidate and carve a single trail, yet every sole that stomped the path is unique. One foot in front of the other, blood pulsates, breath quickens— passion fuels ascent. Surely these ruminations are a testament to my inability to forget, or forgive. I prefer the word acceptance. Forgetting would deem the lesson of the climb benign.