I’d like to start off by reminding you that our love story can be traced back to an old bra I found in the back of my closet, two fidget spinners, and some super glue. But incase you forgot, let me refresh your memory.
It was late summer when I biked home through the streets of Isla Vista and couldn’t help but notice the rising electricity in the air. There’s always something about I.V. before the prime party hours of a Saturday night. During this time in this fantasy world, blaring music escaping open windows become siren songs to students who once prided themselves on self-control. By the time I got home, my plans of staying in and studying vanished as the promise of nightlife lured me into its seductive streets.
When I checked my phone I noticed that my roommate had drunkenly invited me to a normal party with no particular theme or dress code – but for some reason I still panicked on what to wear. So without hesitation and for no apparent logical reason, I fished out an old bra I found in the back of my closet, and on both of its cups, superglued fidget spinners that lit up neon lights as it spun in hypnotic circles.
This was what I was wearing on the night we first met.
Before I continue further into our story, I must first remind you the three rules for having a temporary lover: First, you must meet each other at a close friend’s mutual friend’s party. Not a close friend’s party, because if both of your friend groups are too close then this would cause complications further into your short-term relationship. All the connections must be distant enough so that if anyone were to find out about you two, they would just be like, “Oh.”
Second, the way you meet each other must be spontaneous and unplanned. Later into your short time together, when the two of you discuss the circumstances of the night you first met, both of you must say something along the lines of, I wasn’t even planning to go to that event anyway. This way, when things don’t work out, both of you are reminded that it was nothing but an accident. These are the first two requirements you’ll need for a temporary lover.
And so there I was, neon fidget spinner lights radiating from my breasts as I stood in the middle of a close friend’s mutual friend’s party. The first time I ever saw you, you were with your two friends huddled and observant in the corner of the room like social wallflowers. As your friend played wingman and beckoned me to come over, my ever so watchful brain automatically rated the three of you. As I walked over I thought, The one on the right’s okay. The one on the left’s acceptable. But definitely not the one in the middle. You turned out to be the one in the middle. That really backfired because two weeks later, I fell in love with you.
From that night on, whenever I was with you my world felt like it was at a standstill. Time and reality became irrelevant, and all I could do was become more and more mesmerized by your simple existence. I fell deep. I fell hard. It was unbelievable. It was awesome.
I always had the feeling that our time together would be short, so when I was with you I made an effort to memorize the lines on your face, the way you walked, the sound of your voice. The way you covered your mouth when you laughed, the way you looked down every time you smiled. The way you liked the cold, the way you wore beanies in the cold. The way you liked hunting, camping, and driving. The way you gave me a fidget spinner to commemorate the first night we met. The way you made me a Spotify playlist and put it in a USB when you could’ve just texted me a link. The way your calloused hands felt on my soft skin. The way your hair smelled like sweet gel. The way you tried feeding me a spoonful of your melted yogurt because it grossed me out. The way you brought me roses when I invited you over for dinner. The way your blue eyes looked when they looked at me. You were perfect. I could go on.
The last night we saw each other intentionally you parked your truck halfway in my driveway. This is the universal sign for a temporary stay. It says that you’re a busy guy, and this visit was only nothing but an errand.
Halfway in my driveway.
You didn’t even have the patience to find proper street parking even when there was a perfectly good spot only a few feet away. There was also my apartment’s back parking lot – but then again, this was only an errand.
When I heard your signature knock on my door my eyes immediately lit up in habit. But then I remembered the unspoken reason of why you asked to come over, and the legs which once skipped to the door to greet you now dragged themselves as slowly as they could across the carpet. Leaning against the wall by my door you looked exactly like you did that night you brought me roses. Blue eyes sparkling, left knee bent, hands in pockets. Except this time, instead of wearing clean jeans and a nice sweater, you wore basketball shorts and smelled like sweat. I’ve always hated the smell of sweat but I liked it on you. Looking and smelling like a long day, you finish it off by completing this errand.
Without saying anything I invited you in. We sat on the couch. You sat with your elbows on your knees, hands clasped together, not facing me. As you looked at the floor in deep thought I looked at you and thought of how much you embodied the essence of logic. You were always rational. You thought with your head, and never with your heart; this was the source of your pride.
Before you spoke out loud what I already knew you were going to say, you took a deep breath – a soft intake of air through gritted teeth. You always did that before saying anything of calculated decision. Trying my best to not let my trembling hands show how I really felt, I picked up my cup of tea from the coffee table and raised it to my lips. I sipped slowly, letting the hot water travel down my throat to find its way and drown the butterflies which once fluttered in my stomach. It was scorching but I didn’t care. There were other things that hurt more.
You began slowly.
“I think,” you said.
A beat of still silence. Then you said what you said.
When the deed was done my mind blanked. My heart protectively buried itself deep into my chest. Away from the reaches, away from anyone else who could do this to me. Aphrodite herself gasped in offense. My whole insides felt washed out by the remnants of love and the freshness of heartbreak. When I finally found enough control over my body I shifted my blank gaze from the floor to you. And even then I thought you were perfect.
The final requirement for temporary lovers is that one of you must be totally and entirely unobtainable. Impossible to have; unrealistic to even think about having. One of you must want the other more than the other wants you. I mean this in the sense that one of you must be utterly wanting something serious, and the other must be entirely wanting utterly nothing. It’s either all or nothing. I wanted all and you wanted nothing. This is the only way the temporary relationship will work.
After you left I couldn’t help but think of the woman you’ll one day end up with. She might be the girl you meet in a coffee shop in Portland. She might be the girl you had a crush on in elementary school. For all I know, she might be with you right now. But I’ll always be that one girl you dated in college who wore a light up fidget spinner bra when you first met her.
And that’s the story.
