All I Ever Knew Was Your Name [Nick Robinson]

THIRTY THREE

my body is a cage by arcade fire

When I was in the seventh grade, we played flag football outside for gym class. It was September, the weather was still nice, and all of us kids had a lot of pent up energy from the summertime that the gym teachers wanted to help get out of our systems.

I was never one to participate much in gym class. I did my best to blend into the background and hope to god none of the Gym Class Heroes came anywhere near me.

Well, on one particular September day, I ended up in one of those gym class try-hards' paths, and got the wind knocked out of me when a spiraling football drove right into my stomach.

And I mean, really knocked out of me. I remember doing everything I could to breathe in, but nothing happened. I stood there like a deer in headlights trying to catch my breath as everyone watched me with panic stricken gazes that I'll never forget.

I remember panicking myself, wondering when and how I'd be able to breathe again and why I couldn't just do it right then and there.

It's so easy, it's involuntary. But I just couldn't do it.

Just like right now.

I feel Owen watching me, and Alex too. All I see is the other boy— Nick. My Nick.

He's different. His hair is a little longer, he looks stronger, he has very light stubble along his chin and above his lips. His eyes are just as heavy and sad and shocked as mine.

I don't move.

I can't move.

I can't fucking breathe.

The hairs on my arms stand up when goosebumps begin to shower over my body. I feel Penny leave her bedroom and stand behind me, but I don't acknowledge her. I don't even acknowledge her when I hear her say: "Holy shit."

Holy shit.

I watch the boy I thought was dead blink, allowing a tear to slip down his beautiful face. I'm sure if I blinked, the same would happen to me. But I haven't. I can't believe what I'm seeing. I can't look away.

"Mary," he murmurs so softly, taking one step towards me.

It sounds like the last time I heard his voice. Only then, our tongues touched desperately while we pulled each other close beneath the July sunset. And that was almost two years ago.

We couldn't be farther apart now.

But my name on his tongue cuts through me like a knife. I never thought I'd hear the sound again. I never thought I'd hear someone say my name with such passion again.

Every moment ever spent with him flashes through my mind in that moment. The fights, the talking, learning each other mentally, then physically, learning about his dad, the kissing, the times I fixed his wounds, the crying.

The crying, the screaming, the yelling.

All of it.

And even though I want to run forward and touch his face and his hands and his arms to believe that he's actually here, I step back.

He suddenly looks physically pained, like I stabbed him in the chest. He knows things are different now, just from that minor step backwards of uncertainty.

"Mary, I don't know what to say," his voice trembles with every possible emotion flooding his body faster than it can comprehend.

I'm angry. I'm livid. I don't know why, but pure rage is pulsating through my body in a way that I've never experienced. Not even after my physical altercation with Greg.