I’m sorry for ruining what could have been something beautiful. We could have been something special, something epic. We’re so perfect for each other. But I blew it. Because as sure as I am that you don’t have feeling for me right now, I’m equally as sure that at one time you did. But I didn’t go for it. I was scared. And if I was too scared to ask, obviously I didn’t deserve you.
As you know, I was crazy about someone else first. But she turned out to be someone entirely different than I thought. And it sucked. And you were there. You helped me through it. And all summer we had moments together. You shared personal stories, problems and allowed me to see you at your most vulnerable; you said hardly anyone sees you cry. But you seemed okay with me being there.
As I struggled to put this other girl in the past, I started noticing how amazing I felt when around you. I slowly realized how much more you meant to me than others. Remember when someone else said they thought you and I were together? I secretly thought that I’d really enjoy that. But I was pretty well scarred from the first girl. And there was third girl who was pretty cool, and I knew she was interested in me. There was no risk. None. That sounded so good to me.
So the fall came. I would hang out with each of you. I would even (holy shit how stupid was this?) tell you about this third girl. How we’d hang out. How she kissed me. And the more time I spent with you, the more I realized I didn’t care about the risk. We had so much fun together that fall, you and me. Baseball game, antiquing, getting lunch, and just sharing our day together.
I stopped talking to the third girl. Honestly, I was a jerk to her. But I didn’t care. That needed to end. It was hurting her, hurting me, and maybe hurting you. Then it was December. You and I went Christmas shopping. We even sat on Santa’s lap in the city. Cliche, but wonderful. You picked out ornaments for your family, but none for yourself. So I went home and ordered you one. A sunflower. You love them. And while I was doing that, I realized my feelings for you. Unabashedly. There was no one else. No “what ifs” no “I don’t know.” Because I did know.
And we were among friends New Year’s Eve. But the third girl was there. She was, in a way, hosting. She was still my friend so I wanted to make amends. So we spent time together. And you couldn’t stay as many days as the rest of us. You abruptly cut out one evening and gave me an amazing hug. And things have sucked ever since.
Calls go unreturned. As do texts and Facebook messages. I invited you down to Delaware, but you never responded. You said you became very busy, which I believe. You always throw yourself into so much stuff. But why no calls? Why no texts? If we can’t see each other why wouldn’t you at least take a few minutes to talk with me?
Finally, through almost coercion we hung out with some friends around March. Once more over Easter, again, only after I pushed really hard for it. I was to be gone for the summer so I asked if I’d see you again before I headed out, you said yes. I didn’t see you again, though.
And so as I made my two day trip south, I called you. Much like I did the summer before as I drove around the country. But unlike last year, you didn’t answer. Or call back. Why not? Last year you always answered or called back. We’d talk for an hour. You’d send pictures from your trip. But not this summer.
I didn’t call once in June. Or July. Stubborn. It runs in my family. But I arrived home in August and asked to get together. It didn’t take as much convincing as usual, but it didn’t come easy.
And we had fun. Didn’t we? I can so easily make you laugh. I prayed for lunch like before. You looked at me when I asked if you wanted me to pray, and things just felt right. And we talked. And we enjoyed our company. I enjoyed being with you while shopping for a dress. You came with me as I got fitted for tux. We. Belong. Together.
But then back to usual. Calls and texts go unaswered. And I think back to a year ago. How I would give anything to go back and tell you what you mean to me. To go back and prevent the tears that now well up in my eyes.
Did you find out my feelings for you? Did that distance you and me? Did you ever love me? Is this just something my mind is torturing me with? Was it never meant to be?
One chance. I just need one final chance to be around you. I’m tired of wondering. I’m tired holding this in. I can’t go on like this. I need to tell you. I need to tell you you’re beautiful. I need to tell you your faith in God stirs my soul. I need to tell you the way you love people challenges me and makes me a better person. I need to tell you that I would drop everything to be with you.
So my apologies. My apologies for messing up what could have been. My apologies for messing with our friendship.
One chance. To tell you all of this.
…It’s a good thing you (or anyone else, for that matter) don’t read this.
“So the other day I started talking to this guy who was down here on vacation.”
“Yeah?
“Yeah. But he was like a total jerk.”
“Why?”
“Well it was kinda slow so we got talking and he asked me what brought me to Nashville, and I told him that I came down to be discovered.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Yeah, and I explained how I was just working as a barista to make rent while I worked on my music.”
“Mmm.”
“But he kind of chuckled, and I said ‘What?’ and he was all like ‘Oh, nothing’ but I really wanted to know what was up. So I kept asking him until he finally just was like, ‘You’re so cliche.’”
“Wow.”
“I know! So I just asked, ‘What do you mean?’ and he was like, ‘Well you’re working at a coffee shop in Nashville while you try to make it in music. I mean, you might as well say you’re just stripping in Vegas to become a dancer, or you’re feature writing for the local newspaper while you finish up that coming-of-age novel. It’s just cliche.’”
“He said that?”
“Yeah! Can you believe the nerve? Who is that rude?”
“Yeah.”
“He was a real jerk.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah…”
“Go mop the bathrooms.”
“Fine.”
About 14 years ago there was this guy named Cecil. He was pissed off most the time. I mean, afterall, his name was in fact Cecil. He lived in a small suburb of Albany, NY and was approaching his high school graduation. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about it, though. Cecil didn’t like the idea of college.
“I don’t like the idea of college,” he said. “I mean, I don’t have to go to school for free anymore, so why would I want to pay a fortune to go four more years!”
Unfortunately for Cecil, his parents were basically forcing him to go to college. If he didn’t go, he had to move out and get a job. Or join the Army. Cecil hated those ideas even more.
Cecil didn’t have many friends, but one of them, Ian, was pretty stoked about college.
“I’m pretty stoked about college, dude,” he told Cecil.
“Why?” Cecil asked.
“We get to pretty much start our life over! I mean, we can go there and make it a whole new slate! We can pick our own major and classes, live away from our parents, and experience a whole new world! I can totally reinvent who I am without the social pressures of people who’ve known me for practically my whole life! I could even change my name. I think I’m going to go by my initials.”
“That’s dumb,” remarked Cecil.
“What’s so dumb about that?”
“Your middle name is Richard. Why would you go by I.R.? That doesn’t even make sense.”
“No, dude, I mean all three intials! I.R.O.! Ian Richard Orwell!”
“Still dumb.”
“But I could start a trend and be unique! College life is going to be amazing!”
Cecil rolled his eyes and let his friend ponder foolish thoughts. He knew this though: college was going to suck.
As graduation approached, Ian, or, I.R.O. discovered that he flunked too many classes and wasn’t going to graduate. He would have to repeat the 12th grade. Because of this, he dropped out, got a job at Burger King where one day he slipped on a wet floor, banged his head against the freezer door and fell into a coma. After we awoke he realized all his family had either died or moved away. He tried getting into his old home, which had been abandoned, but the state would not allow him.
Meanwhile, Cecil, who graduated high school with a 3.72 GPA, went on to study criminal justice and sociology at St. John’s University. Eventually, he earned his J.D. at the University of Pennsylvania and would later sit on the New York State Supreme Court.
One day, Cecil received a case about a homeless man trying to recoup his parents old home: Ian Richard Orwell v. New York.
