Forever Remember

Dear you,

We met on a Tuesday, the second one in June. I remember that day well. We were at a concert, but it was still early. The only reason I went was because my friend dragged me there. She spotted you and tugged me along, despite my protests. You had just finished scribbling in a notebook when I walked up and our eyes locked, your crystal blue ones with my dull brown. You smiled at me, a small smile, and I found myself returning it. I didn't know why, but I did. I remember how nervous and fidgety I was as I stood across from you as my friend talked to someone else. You smiled a little, tentative, but started a conversation with me. It was more like shouting though, over the loud music. My heart had thudded with nerves, but I didn't know why. We talked a lot that day. I thought I'd seen you around campus before, especially at the library, but I doubted that we shared any classes. Somehow, though, we started a friendship.

And that's how it began.

At first, you let me think that whatever it was you kept writing in that tattered notebook of yours was. . . well, you let me imagine what it was, and I didn't push you for answers. We grew closer in time though, and I learned that they were lyrics. I remember snatching it away from you once to look through it, and you let me. You seemed anxious, though, and when I asked why, you said it was because you were worried I'd think less of you since you wrote country songs. Apparently, it didn't seem manly enough to you. I laughed hard at that, and you seemed more relieved than anything.

You played your guitar for me a few times, but never one of your songs. Not then, anyway. About a year later, you sang your own lyrics for me. You told me the song was about us. You also said that I was the only one to have ever heard something you wrote. I had felt such a childlike triumphant feeling when you said that. Your voice was soft and deep both when you sang and when you talked. I didn't know how it happened, but somehow, I was falling in love with your voice and you.

You asked me a few times if I sang, but each time I'd closed my mouth tight. Remember the first time we sang together? It was in your backyard, under that big old oak tree. You lived with your uncle, close to campus. I was in such a good mood that afternoon; a gentle breeze floated past and leaves fluttered around in the cloudless sky. You sang my favorite song, and soon, I found myself singing along like I was seventeen again. Not that we were that much older than that. You stopped in the middle of the chorus and I didn't notice. I kept singing.

You said that I had a beautiful voice.

The months passed quickly with you. You weren't the first one I've loved, but you were different. I never told you that. Sometimes, I wish I did, but I never did have as much courage as you.

You were so egotistical. I acted like I hated it, but in reality, I didn't. You always made bets with me. Little things, but they were still fun. Remember that one time, when you bet me a kiss that I couldn't climb higher than you on the oak tree? All I did was grin as I climbed after you, but inside, I was terrified. I knew you were scared too—after all, we weren't seven years old—but you always held it back better, masking it with teasing, laughter, and pride. I wanted to prove you wrong though, turn that pride of yours down a notch or two. You climbed high, but halfway up, I froze. I thought you would tease me, but you didn't. You helped me get back down where you held me tight.

And you kissed me anyway.

That kiss. I would never, ever admit it to you, and it sounds silly, admitting it to myself, but it was so different from all the other ones. That night, when I was about to go to sleep, I could still hear your voice in my head and feel the gentle pressure of your lips against mine.

There was also that one time when I was so sick, I missed classes for about a week. When I finally did go back, my voice was almost nonexistent. You took one look at me, hugged me as tightly as you could despite the fact you could have gotten sick too, and grabbed a pad of sticky notes. We wrote little notes to each other all day as a way of conversation, and you made yours as silly as possible to make me laugh. Thanks to you, I felt better than I had in days.