forgetting charlie

one

one ::

How do you forget someone you really never knew?

It seems like it would be so easy, but I'll tell you, it's not. I keep running through all of it in my head: the conversations, the letters, and the interactions. What we confided in one another seemed so genuine, so pure in it being solely our moments, but now I'm not so sure. I never knew what he felt; I had only assumed. And now, instead of forgetting, I keep remembering and remembering and I keep thinking and wondering what could have been.

It's kind of like that one tragic romantic story that you always found to be your favorite. You love the tale of star-crossed lovers, their love overcoming all of the obstacles that are trying to keep them apart. You love the romance and all of its nuances found in every word of the story, in every line, and in every scene. You revel in the tragedy, your denial deeper than any other emotion you expressed throughout the entire story. You begin to romanticize all of the "what ifs." What if they hadn't died? What if this happened or this and they lived happily ever after in the end?

We can't change something that is. It's definite, like death. You can't change it no matter how hard you dream. You can dream up your entire world, but it still won't be real. He still won't be here.

There really wasn't a beginning or an end. Just a when: a series of fleeting moments that happened and just were. We were. Just the two of us, meeting, talking, smiling, pushing and pulling but never really going anywhere. It started as a spark out of thin air, and then evaporated like smoke to whence it came.

I can still remember the day we met. American History. I remember following my friend Emily towards the back of the lecture hall, much to my own dismay. I usually preferred sitting in the center towards the front, but it was a new year and I finally had a class with someone that I knew, and of course, she was one of those types who preferred the back, drowned out by a sea of students. She turned into the second-to-last row, her long dirty blond hair bouncing behind her as she made her way towards the center waving at some guy perched dead center in the last row.

Marc. I knew him by name, mostly. I don't think we ever had a class with one another, but he was just one of those guys that somehow you knew and he, at most, knew you by name as well. He was overly popular. A tall, hulk jock type, yet, he wasn't snobbish. He was friendly towards everyone and rarely did he have any known enemies. He was simply a very chill guy, with the occasional brown-glassy-eyed stare that was cool and always up for anything. To me, he was simply a friendly acquaintance.

I turned into the row as Emily jumped into conversation with Marc and his friend who was sitting next to him. I said hello to them as I approached, Marc regarding me with a nod as I placed my things down on the seat in next to me. I didn't know his friend, never seen him until then, so I simply flashed him a meek smile and sat down in the seat in front of him.

With Emily's back turned to me as she stood, still in deep conversation with Marc, I leaned into my bag and pulled out a fresh new notebook and pen, pulling up the wooden slab of a desk to place them down on. Opening the notebook, I habitually turned the first blank page over and proceeded to write my heading on the second page. I don't know why I did this, to be honest. There's just something about a brand new notebook that makes the first page sacred. It's a fresh beginning, and generally, I don't like ruining fresh beginnings.

"Hey, do you have a pen I could borrow?" He said to me, leaning over to speak into my ear. I instantly fiddled around in my bag and pulled out a spare pen.

"Yeah, here you go," I said turning to hand him the pen.

"Thanks." He smiled at me and we looked at each other for the briefest moment before he added, "I'm Charlie."