Forever Ago - Short Story

To Marianne, forever ago.

There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t, at some point, think of you.

They aren’t long thoughts.

I just saw a woman pass me on the street and she had hair like yours. An acquaintance talks the way you do. Or did. Maybe you don’t talk like that anymore.

When my girlfriend smiles at me, with the morning light hitting her face having left some shadow, I see you, not her, lying in bed next to me. There is something about the expression, the sadness under her skin. You both share a vulnerability brought on by sleep.

I see you even when I’m not looking, when I don’t expect to see you at all. Is it wrong to see someone everyday that I might never see ever again? Please know that I don’t see you in a way that is tangible, in a way that feels close enough to touch. I see you like a photograph and with all the time, you’ve become two-dimensional and out of focus.

Forever ago. That’s how long it’s been. Does it feel that way to you?

Do you remember us sitting, on your wood floor, with no furniture, no bed, no money, nothing at all, laughing until daylight? Do you remember that summer two years after we got together? When we made dinner in the dark every night? You had taken to wearing jean shorts and combat boots, flowered dresses and ripped tights. You lined your eyes, thick, like permanent marker. You’re hair hung so long down your breast.

Do you remember how happy we were?

Or did I make that up? Were we sad? Were there flowered dresses? We were happy, weren’t we? Was it my fault that it changed? Do remember that night it rained and the apartment flooded? Do you remember how Seinfeld was always on?

I forget how your voice sounds. Isn’t that weird? The hours we spent talking and I can’t remember your voice. It feels unfair. There must be so much else that I don't even know I've forgotten. Small moments that we shared together just up and left, forever. Is it like they never happened?

Do you sometimes think that if we’d taken a left down that road instead of a right, if we’d stayed home instead of going to the bar, if we’d seen that movie we were considering going to, if one small insignificant thing was different, we’d still be together? If we’d met later, if we’d met earlier, if we’d never met at all?

Why am I thinking like this, when it all happened forever ago?

I'm sure you're very different now. I'm different. I know the people we were together don’t exist any longer. You always told me that when two people are in love they create a world together that didn’t exist before. That’s true. My world is different now that you aren’t in it. The women I've loved are not all like you. Some, yes, some, no. But it’s in a touch, a gesture, a sound, and you’re right here, all over me again. I wonder if it’s in the way they make me feel. If all those feelings are somewhere rooted in you, in what we felt together.

I wonder if the man you’re with is like me. I hope you find ways to stay warm when it’s cold. Did you end up moving to California? Why don’t you have Facebook? How’s your Mom? Is your British accent still funny? Do you still cry when you don’t want to, but never when you do want to? Do you still stumble over words when you’re nervous? I bet you still smell pretty. I also bet you still wrinkle you’re eyebrows when you’re annoyed. You probably still hang up on people too.

I'll always know you in a way that time can't erase. Do you think its fair I get to know you like that? Am I being foolish in thinking that I do know you? Because I don’t, do I? I don’t know who you’ve become. I just know who you were.

Is that more valuable?

I thought I saw you about a year ago. It was Christmastime, and you’re hair was shorter, as I assume it now is. The woman I thought was you was carrying a brief case. But you got lost in the rush hour crowd of the New York City subway. Since then, I wonder if I’ll see you again. If cosmos will throw us together. Sometimes I get off at that stop for no reason other than that you might be there. If you were there, would we have this conversation? Would I know what to say?

"Do you really carry a brief case?"

Do you remember when we went to Europe? Do you still have the pictures? Do you remember how I would make you tea anytime you asked me? Do you remember the way you would fall asleep on my chest? Your hair felt so soft against my skin. Do you remember how I would blow air into your mouth, filling your lungs? It was like an exhale for me, an inhale for you? Then you’d force that air back into me? And together we’d be like one person, depending on the other to finish a breath?

These things all happened forever ago. That’s how long its been. So why do I still remember them?

For some reason, I want you to know, that I do love the woman I’m with. I don’t love her how I loved you. I can’t decide if that means I love her less. Maybe I’ve loved them all less. Do you ever love people more or less, or is it just different? Or maybe it's that I don’t love her enough. She’s not the one that disproves everything I thought I knew. I’m still waiting for that one. Stupid, right?

Do you remember the day things ended? Just one more cup of coffee before I go, that’s what you said before you left. Did you end up drinking the coffee I poured you, black with sugar, full to the brim? Or did you leave it on my table, like you left strands of your hair, that tiny bracelet, that black t-shirt?

I can’t remember. I want to believe that you drank the coffee, slammed it down on the table, and then stormed out. But I know that’s not how it happened. Our goodbye was slow. I don’t think either of us knew when it really began, how it became complete.

I got that letter you sent me a year later. I should have replied. I didn't because I was young and stupid and mean. I didn't understand that things aren't people's faults until you get a little older.

But its my fault that so much time has fallen between us. I didn't intend it this way. It was like I woke up one morning and suddenly, I didn’t have your phone number, I’d lost touch with everyone you knew, you’d moved with no forwarding address. Why did it feel overnight? Is time passing this fucking fast for you, too?

Forgive all the stupid questions. I have no business asking them, no business thinking of you every day, no business contacting you at all, when all of this was forever ago.

There’s just one thing I want to know.

Do you, at any point in the day, think of me?