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42 - New

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42 – New

Maya Sumedh

 

  Things would have been more comfortable if I could call what happened a ‘break-up’ – but it wasn’t. A break-up would have involved a phone call, a text at least, some mutual understanding, some consensus, but what happened did not involve any of these – it was an e-mail, and that was all. For the first few days afterwards, the explanations I had to give were painful – to my parents, to Alia, Arjun, Natasha and Jackie – and after that I simply said ‘We broke up’ and when asked why I said ‘Things didn’t work out’ and we were reduced to yet another failed teenage relationship. My parents didn’t take it well. Dad got pissed off and demanded how the hell he could do ‘such a thing’ and Ma was shocked and almost didn’t believe me – and when she did, she stayed quiet and hugged me for ten minutes. A few of my friends asked how he was and I felt like muttering well fuck me if I know but I shrugged and said he must be doing alright – people asked if we were still in touch, if we would get back together, and I hated it, I hated how everyone knew, how everyone was hungry for gossip, so I simply told everyone that we broke up and that we were not in touch and that is the end of it.

 I kept telling myself that I should hate him. Or at least not care so much about what he did, because if he had the fucking cheek to break up with me by e-mail, that he wasn’t even willing to try, why would I want to be with a guy who was capable of that anyway? Did I not have the self-respect to move on with dignity?

 (That was what I told myself)

 In actuality, I felt like shit. I didn’t even know what it was – I was not depressed or angry or lonely, or maybe I was all three, but I just felt…off. I didn’t feel like myself anymore. It was a feeling I knew would pass and it definitely was an improvement from the week before, because at least I knew he was alive. The hollowness I was feeling was sometimes overcome by my relief over the fact that he had survived the plane crash, and then I reminded myself that we were not together anymore and went back into my bitter shell.

 Christmas came and went. My family went over to Lay’s for a small dinner party and Sam and I stayed the night. Even being around Sam and Layla got hard for me to sometimes – to see another couple holding hands, kissing; it was too much.

 Thankfully I was kept busy by college applications – the deadline was upon us and they were sent out quickly to all my choices – Harvard, MIT, Stanford, Chicago, UCLA, and UC Berkeley. I remembered the sunny afternoon so many months ago – “I’ll see you at Harvard in twelve months?” And then he had kissed my nose and said, “I promise.” I found myself wondering if I would see him in Boston if I got accepted. I found myself wondering what I would do in that situation. Then I told myself not to be stupid and carried on with my things.

 But I missed him. I craved the feeling of his arms around me, his scratchy stubble tickling my skin, his clear blue eyes, his American accent, his imitation of the way I spoke, the enthusiastic way he would gobble food at the dinner table, the way he laughed at my jokes, the way his jokes were completely un-funny, the way he would scratch his nose while studying, the way his eyes would crinkle when he smiled, the way he would look at his camera, at me, the way I could see that he utterly loved what he did with all his heart, with a passion so rare in many people. I missed it all.

 I told myself it would pass. The New Year was approaching. Layla’s family was throwing a big party at their house – Layla was pumped about it and dragged me dress shopping. The days before the party I actually felt normal as we flitted in and out of salons and fitting rooms, lounged in my room and listened to music. On those days I reminded myself that I was still me, still normal, still happy, and that I would have a good time at the party.