when i met you, i thought you were good.

it was the summer before my freshman year and i was spending a lot of time at memorial park, because i could walk there from two different houses and still find somewhere to stay for awhile. i liked to sit under the tree and read, or just people watch, because i felt almost exactly like a ghost. neither here nor there, yet somewhere in between.

i can almost remember all the details if i lay in bed and think hard enough. a greyish umbrella. a mangy puppy. and a copy of a book which i eventually grew to hate (the picture of dorian grey.) those are the only details im entirely sure of time after time without fail. i had been reading the book under my tree, and it started to rain. i remember getting up to go into the library for awhile when everything happened.

i could hear someone screaming, calling out a name, and then i saw you running down the hill towards me. you were such a scene kid now that i think of it. i could see the panic in your eyes, and i guess you could tell, because of all the people in that park, you came to me. i wish now i had looked away like everyone else.

in half sentences and stammering cries you told me all about how you had been walking your puppy and he had gotten away. you were worried because the park was substantially big and he was not. i was nervous to help you, but like i said, i thought you were good. and so i got under your umbrella and we started walking.

we walked around calling for him for about thirty minutes, looking under the bridge, in the trees, even down the streets. there was no sight of him. you were handling it surprisingly well though, asking me questions about myself as we got to know each other. eventually, i suggested that we just make lost posters and then come back. you got nervous, and i just thought you didn't want me in your house, so i offered to stay outside. you reluctantly agreed, and led me towards your house. i still pass by it sometimes. you aren't there anymore, and the family inside seem nicer.

when we got to your house you got quiet. you had been talking the entire trip and now you just suddenly seemed to clam up. you avoided my eyes when you ran inside and i felt myself getting very confused
when you didn't come out immediately i sat down on your curb. when thirty minutes passed i knocked, and when an hour came and went i figured you were inside crying and didn't want to be bothered. i knocked one more time before starting home.

i was halfway down the road and, admittedly, thinking about you when i heard the patter of feet. i stepped to the side to let the person pass and saw that it was you. in your hands was a mangy puppy. while you fidgeted you told me how you had lied and how you're puppy was okay and that you were sorry but you wanted to meet me. i should've known them you were bad, just based off of how well you had lied. but i was 14, and you were cute, and i was flattered.

from that day on we pretty much hung out every day during summer. i learned so mucb about you, and some of the things you told me scared me. you were 16. i was 14. i didn't know. i didn't need to know. it started out with innocent secrets, just things like first boyfriends and girlfriends and stuff like that. you made fun of me when i told you i hadn't had my first kiss, and then you were my first kiss. you told me where to place my hands while i kissed a girl and what was okay and what was not. you were a lot of firsts for me that summer, and a lot of firsts after.

school started and it was hard to see each other, but we still talked almost nightly. my mom was getting mad becausw i texted too much and when i got my phone taken away for the first time i was worried. i didn't talk to you for three days. in that time you sent me 1000+ messages and blew up my myspace account, along with about 37 missed calls and a voicemail full of you crying. i didn't know what was wrong so i ditched track and went to your house to see if you were okay. i wish i had just cut you off then sometimes.

when you opened the door that afternoon you were wearing a long sleeve and your eyes were puffy. you hugged me tight and cried, and let me into your house. we layed on your bed and listened to music while you occasionally cried, and when you leaned over to kiss me i accidentally touched your wrist. you pulled away from me and i felt bad so i offered to leave.

when you told me you had done a bad thing, i thought you meant like stealing money or letting your dog mischa out. i didn't know what you were about to show me. i still remember how raw and red your wrists looked, and how much i wanted to cry but couldn't stand to see. i didn't know what self harm was. I WAS 14. you cried again and told me i couldn't leave you again, and i apologized for being grounded. you kissed me again, but harder, and then took off your sweatshirt and bra. i didn't know what else to do, but it seemed okay because you wanted it. i don't feel like talking about the rest.

that's how things were for awhile. you and i spoke every night, and hung out a lot, but you didn't want to be chained to me. sometimes when we hung out you would tell me about some guy you had wanted to **** but didn't, or how you had gotten drunk and almost hooked up. i never believed you, so i took to beating on walls and keeping quiet. i think i might have loved you too much to see that you were ******, which in itself is pretty ******. but i wasn't allowed to leave you. until the night you decided you would try and leave yourself.

i had just left your house and i felt strange. the air was thick and heavy and i felt something. i went home, and ate, and i probably called about a dozen times in the span of an hour because you weren't answering. i convinced myself you had gone out to a party, and tried to sleep. i didn't talk to you again for two months.

the first month was really ******* me, but i was starting to accept that you had moved on when your name danced across my screen for the first time in weeks. you asked me to come over, and so i did. when you opened up the door, you were wearing a sweater again. i knew what it meant, so i didn't ask. we sat on your couch and watched tv half heartedly when you told me you had tried to **** yourself. i didn't know what was going on, so i just sat there quietly. you talked and talked and talked, and i didn't know what to do. eventually, you looked at me and said "but it's okay now. you're here." and so we watched tv and kissed and i felt heavy. heavy. heavy.

and that's how it went for a few years, until you moved away or stopped talking to me for a few weeks, only to show up whenever you wanted and leave in the same way. it's so ******. i still remember the last time we talked a few months back.

we had gotten to the point where we were almost friendly, friendly enough to talk about our lives. i told you about my significant other and how i knew that i was in love with her, and although things were occasionally hard she was worth it and more. i was happy until you asked me quietly if you had been worth it. you asked if i know how much i meant to you.

you were asking me to tell you how you felt about me when even you didn't know. it was like handing someone a book with no ending and expecting the reader to just know that everything was okay. but sometimes things aren't okay, and the people you plan on marrying are already on the highway looking for the nearest exit.

i stayed quiet, suffocating under the pressure of your question. you cried a little, and yelled a lot, and then proceeded to try and destroy me the way you were good at, with lies and angry words and accusations of never being there. but i was too tired so i stayed quiet. eventually i heard you whisper good bye, followed by the line going dead. i hadn't heard from you since.

i blocked your number. i threw away your things. i started to forget you. and things started to be okay. i didn't think about you until today.

but today i got a phone call, from a number i didn't recognize. and because i wasn't thinking of you i answered. no words. no anything. just silence followed by the line disconnecting.

and i started to feel bad