Finding Abby

15

"But, you know, all the big things hurt, the things you remember.

If it doesn't hurt it's not important."

Tim Winton, The Turning.

***

~October 1992~

It feels like it's gone beyond anything I've ever felt or done before. It's something unbelievable and I want to cry and laugh at the same time. No joke. This is weird. This whole situation. This whole thing we're involved in. It confuses me but at the same time, it's as clear as day. I need to write it all down so I never forget because I never want to forget! Remember this, Abby. Remember this forever!

~ October 19, 1992. 10.00am exactly~

I went to meet Ben at the library and he was with someone. They were standing at the top of the stairs. Ben had his same brown jacket and black jeans on but the other person I didn't know had long shorts, a black Silent Moth hoodie and Doc boots like mine. I remember his hair from the back – yellow, gold, long with streaks of bronze through it – right to his shoulders. I want to describe him but I know my words won't do him justice. But I want to remember it for later so I'll try. Suntanned skin and smiles. Broad, wide mouth and freckled nose. Rolling sand dunes backed by a brilliant blue sky. The opposite of me. He's all front and centre and out there. And it's so corny, but — remember this, Abby — the second we saw each other, it was a done deal. It's like my life never existed before him. There is my old life. And now there is only Matty.

The very first words he said to me were: "Are you sure you should you be out in the daylight?"

I kind of forgot I was a goth and wasn't supposed to laugh but I did. When he looked at me, I had to pretend I was cool with him. I'm such a big fat loser. I was so far from cool. My hands were shaking. I could hardly talk. Stupid blushing. Stupid cracking voice. Stupid, stupid me.

He has this wristband with a zigzag pattern and he reached towards me and curled one of the buttons on my jacket back into its hole.

And he said: "I think you're coming undone."

A few weeks ago he told me that when we met, it was like everything fell into place. Like I was the one thing he'd been unknowingly looking for his whole life.

Right now, nothing, no one else, matters except him. I know I'm a massive nerd and awkward and shy compared to other girls he's been with and told me about - but he says I'm like the sea – most people only see what's on the surface and because they don't make the effort to dive in, they don't know what's underneath.

To me, he's the most incredibly alive person I've ever met. And he makes me feel so very much alive.

He's watching me write this – lying on my bed looking all soft and open and curious. I think he knows I'm writing about him. I can see in his eyes that easy satisfaction he has with himself. He's stolen my journal of poems even though I told him not to, but maybe he'll understand me a bit more when he reads them.

Ha! He keeps glancing over at me - distracting me with a teasing raised eyebrow.

Actually, I can't believe I'm over here, writing this when I could be curled up next to him but I want to have this as a reminder of this moment. That he is here. Now. Over there. Watching me. Waiting for me. The warmth of his body is on my bed. His head is resting back on my pillow. His smell—the cigarette and coffee smell—that makes me feel safe and strangely desirous all at once is all over us. When he's here he fills my room like he fills my heart.