I Wasn’t Ready

It all started a few months ago; I was at a coffee shop and witnessed a girl spill her drink. When I saw her, my heart skipped a beat. I could feel my boiling, viscous, blood ascending towards my rosy cheeks and forehead, only furthering their bright red color. To say I was nervous is an understatement—my chest felt like sheet iron and my throat tightened like a noose, barely allowing enough room to breathe, let alone speak. After spending more time than I would care to admit convincing myself to relax and act confident, I finally approached her: the girl who quickly invaded my thoughts and instantly had an unyielding vice on my heart. I desperately scoured my brain trying to conjure up something witty and cute to say in hopes of seeing her gorgeous lips trace themselves into a smile. Without even touching me, this girl I hadn’t even met yet put me in a strangle hold and refused to let go, even after I tried to tap out. Unfortunately, my nerves quickly got the best of me, and I walked past her without any attempt at a conversation. However, as I looked over my shoulder and realized nobody even acknowledged the incident, I rushed back to help her clean it up.

I introduced myself and, after thanking me, she introduced herself as Amber; she stood at a slim five foot eight, with lovely golden-brown hair and a smile that would light up the darkest of nights. Her most notable feature, however, were her mesmerizing eyes; one being jade green, and the other hazelnut brown, it was impossible not to become enthralled after just one glance. I bought her a new drink and we started talking—it turned out she went to my high school, although she was two classes ahead of me which was probably why we hadn’t met before. After a few minutes, Amber said she had to get back to class at PCC which, coincidentally, is where my older brother goes to school. Before she left, however, I made sure to get her phone number.

“555-555-5555. Nice to meet you, Nick, text me sometime!” Amber said with a smile.

And with that, she left.

The next day I was talking to myself, pacing around my bedroom, trying to muster up the courage to text the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. Finally I did, awkwardly reintroducing myself in case she forgot my name, and asked her if she wanted to hang out later that day. She happily accepted the invitation, so we went bowling and got lunch. After that, we began seeing each other frequently, and soon my feelings for Amber began to escalate even further.

One day, Amber invited me over to her apartment, where she had just moved. I only planned to stay for an hour or two, but I ended up staying for seven hours because we were having so much fun. She shared the apartment with two other girls her age, and they all attended classes at PCC together. Her room was small, but not uncomfortable, and I enjoyed being in there with her because we were always very close to each other. Amber was very open with me, and didn’t hide much; she tossed clothes around, which included many of her “delicates” being sprawled randomly on the ground. As I was helping her unpack, I glanced across Amber’s bedroom at her night stand, saw her collection of CDs, and noticed many of my favorite band, Oasis. I mentioned this to her and she responded with:

“You know Oasis? Oh my god, wife me now!”

She was obviously joking so I laughed but, under my breath, I said,

“Yes please.”

When we finished unpacking, Amber ensconced herself on her bed, taking it all in.

“I can’t believe I’m living without my parents now, I feel like such an adult,” she said.

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so I just laughed it off, hoping it was a rhetorical statement. At that point, I wanted to tell Amber what I had been thinking since the day I met her. I wanted to tell her that I felt something for her that I have never felt before; I wanted nothing more than to make her happy but, as hard as I searched, I just couldn’t find the words. However, I knew I needed to make some sort of gesture, and what better way to do it than by exploiting the cheesiest, yet most romantic, line in the book?

“Wonderwall” by Oasis was serenading the room and, just like a scene from a romantic teen movie, I held out my hand and asked,

“May I have this dance?”

Amber grinned broadly and accepted the invitation; so I wrapped my left arm around her waist, her right arm rested lightly on top of my left, and my right hand grasped her left. I’ve danced with a few girls before, but it was always uncomfortable because neither of us knew what we were doing; however, this time, there was nothing uncomfortable about it. Back and forth we strode through the confined area of her room, never once creating space between our bodies. I was leading, pretending that I knew what I was doing, even though I was just as diffident as she was. Despite both of our lack of surety, neither of us seemed willing to sunder from the other’s body; I felt her warm breath on the side of my neck, her chest pressed tightly against mine, and her hips swaying to the beat of the song. She lightly caressed my back with her fingertips as we fell deeper and deeper into an endless trance. Amber moved her hand slowly up my neck, which sent a chill down my spine, and I let out a deep breath that felt like it was trapped in my chest for an eternity. We were both profoundly caught up in the moment, and it felt like we were cemented in time. As the song began its leisurely descent to silence, Amber tripped on one of her white-lace bras that she forgot to put away; she stumbled forward, falling on top of me as I toppled backward onto her bed. As we lay there unmoving, even closer to one another than we had been just moments previously, Amber gazed deeply into my eyes, and I into hers—both of us trying to decide what to do next. Finally, after a few moments of undeniable, yet enjoyable, tension, the driving force of the interaction came to a sudden halt. I almost kissed her when the song struck its final chord, but as they had the day of our first encounter, my nerves got the best of me. I couldn’t bring myself to show Amber how I felt due to fear of rejection, and that was a big mistake.

Amber was throwing a housewarming party that night and knocking on the door was heard moments after the song ended. She struck me with an apologetic grin, then pushed herself off of my quivering body to let her guests in, as I layed on the bed for a few more seconds trying to collect my thoughts. When I heard voices, I went to the living room to introduce myself, and understandably got some interesting looks from Amber’s friends—non-verbally asking why a blushing boy just awkwardly sauntered out of their friend’s bedroom. After a fairly lengthy, and extraordinarily uncomfortable, silence, Amber introduced me to everyone as a very close friend of hers. They were all nice enough, but I felt very out of place because they had known each other for years, and I had only known Amber for about a month. It also didn’t help when one of them asked if I go to the same school as Amber, and I had to admit that I was two years younger than all of them and still in highschool. After a few minutes of general pleasantries, because of the noticeable tension in the room, I thanked Amber for inviting me over and made up an excuse to leave. She walked me to the door and planted a kiss on my right cheek, leaving a prominent trace of red lipstick. I had a difficult time washing the lipstick off my face that night, though not nearly as difficult a time as trying to get the thought Amber out of my head.

The main reason I did not tell Amber how I felt was because she was dating this guy, Chris, and it seemed like I didn’t really have a chance— despite the multiple signs that I thought Amber was sending. However, not even two weeks after that night, Amber ended her two-year relationship with Chris, whom she thought she was in love with. He had cheated on Amber multiple times and treated her like dirt, yet for months she thought he could change. When she realized that he couldn’t—or at least wouldn’t—change, she finally broke off what was already broken. Subsequently, Amber became extremely depressed: she didn’t eat for days, she didn’t sleep, and she stopped going to class. I had to do something, so for the next month, I visited Amber every single day; I brought her lunch and dinner, often spending much more money than I would on myself, which forced me to skip a few of my own meals. I helped her with her daily chores and made sure she went to class. I sacrificed most of my free time just to make sure Amber was OK, yet I had no such obligation, so why did I do it? Precisely because of, in the wise words of Freddie Mercury, “a crazy little thing called love.”

For a while I was content to just be Amber’s friend and help her through this difficult time in her life; but then, things started to change. It seemed like Amber became annoyed with me, as if I was bothering her. Was I being too clingy? Was I helping too much? These thoughts were keeping me up at night so, after bringing her lunch one day, I asked her what was wrong.

“I thought I was being obvious enough after I broke up with Chris,” she said.

“Obvious about what?” I retorted.

“That I like you, you idiot!” she exclaimed.

I was shocked to hear Amber say that, but also relieved to know that those signs were true, albeit ill-timed. The girl I had liked for months finally told me how she felt, and it seemed like my life was about to take a turn for the better. For hours we talked about life and our feelings, both in general and for each other. At the end of our conversation, I asked her out. Not to hangout, but on an actual date. We got dinner and saw a movie, then ended the night with a walk under the star-lit streets of downtown Portland. We had fun, and although we were very comfortable with each other, she seemed a little disinterested with the romantic stuff: hand holding, the candles at dinner, and the very expensive flowers I bought for her.

A few more dates followed before Amber took me back to her apartment and things got intimate. I thought I was ready for what happened next but, during and afterwards, I realized it was a mistake. I was not ready. I promised myself years ago that I would never lie to anyone, including myself, so I told her what was bothering me. Although she played it off graciously and respectfully, I could see that she did not like what I said. After that our relationship was never the same; we still went out on dates, but they lacked the comfort that they used to have.

A few weeks later I battled through a particularly tedious day of school, and was intensely relieved when the last bell rang, which meant I could finally relax. I texted Amber to see what she was doing that day, and asked if she wanted to grab lunch, but she didn’t respond. After a ten minute drive home, I trudged through the front door of my house and saw my older brother, Mike, sneaking out the back door, obviously hiding a girl— not an uncommon occurrence when it comes to my brother, so at first I did not think anything of it. She was wearing Mike’s basketball shorts and a white-lace bra with no top; after examining the situation, I felt my face twist in confusion because I could have sworn I had seen that bra before- then I remembered. I immediately felt sick to my stomach, and almost did not pursue them in order to save myself from the pain that I knew was coming. Nevertheless, I followed the two outside and caught up with them, praying that the person with Mike wasn’t who I knew it was. At first, they did not acknowledge me when I tried to get their attention; but when they finally turned around, my heart sank.

It’s amazing how fast something can be built up and destroyed, like a kid building a sandcastle on the beach, when an unruly wave comes through and wreaks havoc on anything in its path. I’ve tried to talk to both of them but, anytime I mention it to either, they get extremely defensive and can’t seem to comprehend the pain they put me through. I fell for Amber, and wanted to be cared about the same way. Thinking back on our split now, I’m still angry and sad how, and that, it ended. However, all she wanted was sex, and I was not comfortable with that. I thought I was comfortable with anything but, contrary to popular belief, it turns out thoughts and actions are two very different things.