Two Years Later

I knew from the start that I was doomed to fall in love with him. I knew instantly that we shared something many other couples couldn't compare with. And it wasn't just the looks we gave one another or the butterflies I felt, but how we knew each other--how we could read one another so well.

We met in a literature class in college. I was constantly late, sweaty after practice. He sat across from me, always making jokes and using pompous words. We were instantly friends. After two years of a strong friendship, we took the relationship plunge while watching Sideways in his bedroom. We talked about it, discussed the pros and cons as if we were purchasing a new computer. We agreed by shaking hands and then laughing. He always knew how to make me laugh.

He walked me to my car, that first night, promising the things we'd do together in the next few days, weeks, months. We kissed quickly at his car with his arms wrapped tightly around me, not wanting to let me go. He fought for too long to have me, he waited for so long.

The switch from friendship to relationship came so easy, as if it were meant to be all along. There was no awkwardness, we felt normal. And we were inseparable. Always with one arm touching me somehow, he'd show off our relationship. I liked how he said "girlfriend" with his British accent, so regal, so prestigious. I liked the title and I liked him. He gave me confidence I never knew I had all while being patient with me. I was hurt so many times before, I didn't want to rush into this and have it end the same. I was closed off, I was scared. But he slowly helped me open up again with kind words and soft eyes.

I knew him better than anyone, physically and mentally. I would touch the red part of his skin on his left arm that was burned from hot oil. I knew his eyes always looked tired and the yellowish brown skin underneath never helped. Always wanting to be at his best, I knew he'd overcompensate his humor when he felt self conscious in front of friends. But never in front of me.

After a couple of months, we moved apart. Knowing we were stronger than distance, we continued dating with determination and hope. Even when my job and his schooling came between us, we kept trying, knowing it was worth it. And it was.

I know the exact moment when I realized that I loved him. We were in a pizzaria in Gainesville, waiting for our food. My hands were in front of me on the table and I was carelessly tearing apart a napkin. We were talking about something far from monumental, the weather, a film, a book, and I was sucked into our conversation. The waitress came by with our food and I jumped. So absorbed in the moment, I never realized that the pizzaria was crowded, that a stereo was playing some 80's songs and that this waitress was asking us questions.

I never wanted to say it first, so I waited for him. In bed at night, I waited for him to roll over and confess his feelings. He never did. For our one year anniversary we went to Chicago, seeing friends and new sites. We went to the Field Museum because I like dinosaurs and he knows that. He never once said "happy anniversary" on the day, even though we acknoledged it. That always bothered me.

I never let religion get in the way, not once. I didn't mind that when I met various relatives I couldn't touch him because of his culture. I didn't mind that he couldn't even tell certain relatives about me because he is Hindu and I am not. His parents were welcoming and that reassured me. My parents, being Jewish and Catholic, know religion should never be an obstacle, so they didn't mind, they just wanted me to be happy. I learned his customs and his religion. I showed interest and dedication. I remember wishing he showed the same. Regardless, I started imagining a future with him in it. White picket fence and all. In my mind, I couldn't see a time without him. I didn't want to. He gave me confidence and hope and I liked it. I gave him confidence and compassion and he appreciated it. We worked well together. We could read each other well. In his arms, smiling, I was home.

But the days grew on, some good, some bad. Some visits made me leave with tears in my eyes from laughing and smiling so much. Some visits made me leave with tears in my eyes from worry. He put law school ahead of me, and I told him it was okay. I compromised what I wanted for his hands holding mine, arms holding me still, and whispered reassurances. All those months later, he still looked at me the same and I knew it was worth it. For the last few months, I started to feel like something was missing--like something would happen. An edge in his voice before saying "goodnight" on the phone. His arms barely touching me when we slept.

It ended on January 1st, twenty one months later. He couldn't do it anymore and he didn't see a future for us. My plans and heart were shattered. In a fit of sorrow, fear, and anger I told him I regretted the whole thing. I didn't mean it, but I could see the hurt in his eyes.

We've started speaking again. Slowly, unsure. He's determined to keep us friends, as I'm learning to live without him. I want to keep him around, I do, and I'm thankful for his determination, but sometimes it's more work to say hello than it should be. And as hard as I've tried to let go and move on, I knew that I wouldn't truly be able to until today.

August marked four years of a friendship and today would have marked two years of a relationship. When I drove away from his house that last time, I left a piece of my heart. He was my first love and will always be known as that. And as my heart grows, pumps, and fills, I revel in the fact that it will one day be whole again.