Hindsight

By Amber W.

“Hey, I am having a party and there is this guy here who won’t shut up about you,” said my friend. “When I told him that you were my friend, he begged me to call and ask you over.”

“Well, why wasn’t I invited to begin with?” I asked, teasingly, “And who is this guy talking about me?”

I pretended to lack interest, but I hadn’t had any good fun in a while. My unexceptional boyfriend was in Japan, not to return for six more months.

“He says ya’ll go waaay back,” He slurred slightly, which suggested he had been partying for a while. Then he told me the mystery guy’s name.

My heart clenched. It felt as though it were a lead weight and had dropped in to my feet. I didn’t know whether to be thrilled or furious.

“I didn’t know he was home.” I said, a little too quietly.

“Wha??”

“Nothing, never mind.” I said. “I will be there in about an hour.”

I looked presentable, but I wanted some time to compose myself. I needed some time to rehearse, out-loud, the impending conversation I was not prepared to have.

“Hey.” I said to my reflection. I practiced a look of nonchalance with a touch of sexy. I batted my eyes just right, and opted for a different pair of jeans that better hugged my award-winning ass, if there were such an award.

“How are you?” My reflection replied.

“I am good.” Practicing my best sly smile. “I didn’t know you were home.”

What would he say, though?

“I am really sorry.”

“Oh, are you? A little late for that, don’t you think?” I snapped, surprising even myself.

“I didn’t mean to leave things as we did.”

I rambled about ten more versions of the dialogue, only coming to the same conclusion: I had no idea what was going to happen. I promised myself that I would not let his smile work this time. During our friendship, I never held a grudge, but I wanted to now. I wanted to be hurt and angry.

Even as I said these things I could feel my heartstrings pull and couldn’t ignore the current of anticipation that was building inside me. It had been five months. Our last parting had left me crushed, drinking heavily for days, and crying to my friends.

I chain smoked my way to the party. I blasted motivational heavy-metal music like an athlete before a game. I was preparing for battle.

I arrived at the party and parked a block away so I could walk slowly in the crisp air. It was Christmastime in Colorado. My breath billowed around me. I walked in the gutter, crunching the glassy ice that had formed, remembering similar times on walks home from school, walks with him.

I took a massive breath before opening the door to the house. I immediately saw several of my friends, and walked through a cloud of smoke as I passed the entry. I gave a few hugs and hit a few joints before making my way to the garage. He was sitting on a folding chair, chatting with people I didn’t recognize.

He smiled big and slow. I found myself involuntarily mirroring his expression.

To break the tension, I introduced myself to the others and grabbed a Guinness out of the refrigerator. I fumbled for a moment looking for a bottle opener.

“Still drinkin’ like a man.” He said, more than asked. He rose and stood in front of me. He took the bottle from my hands. I shoved them in my pockets.

“What in the hell is wrong with you?” I thought to myself. “You know how to deal with this. You know this guy better than he knows himself.”

“And he could say the same thing about you.” My conscience answered.

“Fuck off!” I told my self, but I knew I was right. He didn’t have to see my hands to know that they were shaking.

I nervously caught, avoided, and re-caught his gaze as he opened my beer, and handed it back. He had lost weight.

“You look great.” I said, before thinking it through.

He chuckled. “The Marines will do that to you. Kicking my fuckin’ ass.”

I laughed. He looked fantastic. I had seen him after he had returned from basic training, but only for a short while, and only to end in heartbreak. He looked even better now, as if he had relaxed in to his new lifestyle. It suited him.

We chatted nervously, tip-toeing around anything remotely sensitive, each of us aware of the last time we had spoken. I wondered if he was reliving it in his head as I was.

I remembered the look on his face that day five months prior. Complete indifference. In the years that I had known him, he was never cold, never distant. He was my best friend and, even though we never admitted it to anyone, he was much more than a friend when no one was looking.

I asked him to stay with me on that night. We had not seen each other since graduation and only had a few days left before we both went off on separate adventures. My parents were out of town and…

He said no. He never said no. We had a house, with a bed, without parents, for twenty-four hours. NO?

I said nothing, only sat, perplexed. He was in the drivers seat, staring out the front windshield. It was the only time that I could not read his thoughts.

“Okay.” I finally said, quietly. I leaned over to kiss him and was met by motionless lips and a blank stare.

“Did I do something to upset you?” I asked.

“We can talk about it later.” He said, without looking at me. “Bye.”

And with his “bye”, I felt a pang of panic. That “bye” was different. In the weeks that followed, I replayed the events of that day over and over hoping to discover what went wrong. He came back from basic training, his mother had hosted a party, and then I asked him for a ride home. That is all I knew.

He had shut me out. He never explained it, and he had not contacted me until…

I pulled my attention back to where he stood, looking down on me as he spoke. My heart was pounding. I was shocked to find that my beer was approaching empty.

He caught me looking at it and chuckled again.

“You killed it, Chiquita,” he said, using the nickname he had given me in seventh grade.

“I like Guinness.” I replied, absently, just looking for something to say.

“It’s okay,” He said, looking me in the eye, “I’m nervous too. Let’s mingle,” and he offered me his arm.

We walked around the party, enjoying brief conversations with clusters of people. We took a shot of tequila together in the kitchen. We eventually found ourselves outside. I took out my Marlboro Lights and lit one.

He scolded me, using my full name, and then winked as he lit his own. I had a sudden burst of courage, perhaps fueled by tequila.

“So, the big elephant in the room… “ I began.

“It was a huge mistake.” He interrupted.

“What do you mean?”

“I was acting like an idiot, for stupid idiot reasons. I was mad. My pride was bruised. Instead of telling you, I let it fester, and then proceeded to make the biggest mistake of my life.”

“What were you mad about?” I asked, trying to fight the tight swelling in my throat.

“I wrote to you when I was in boot. You never wrote back.”

I took a deep breath and thought. I had been traveling when he was in boot. I had received his letters all at once, when the mail finally caught up with the bus I was on. I received them only two weeks before his post-boot camp party, only two weeks before he had stopped talking to me. I never wrote back, because there was no time.

He was still talking as I remembered this.

“… and I know that I had no right to be upset. You were having fun, and it’s not like I’m not your boyfriend but I still missed you and you have the right to do whatever you want and… and who am I to be jealous when I don’t get all of your attention? It was a stupid thing to…”

I stopped him and explained the situation with the letters. As I did, he looked down at the ground and shook his head slowly.

“I am so sorry.” He said.

“So am I.” I agreed, sincerely.

He hugged me then, making me feel tiny in his frame. I continued to swallow the ball in my windpipe.

With our hatchets buried, we were feeling lighter and happier. We toasted to ourselves and joked about growing up. I smoked a joint, he drank a beer, we both had a shot, and around and around again.

After many hours of shenanigans, the party died. Guests found designated drivers while we sat on the back patio laughing drunkenly, enjoying each other thoroughly. My friend, the host, clumsily said goodnight and told us we could crash on the couch if we wanted to.

We looked at each other. We did not hear a bedroom door shut before I was in his lap.

We made out passionately, the way we always had. His tongue and mouth found all of their familiar spots on my lips and my neck. It was not long before we groped our way inside to christen the couch with clothing, sweat, and musky scent of fulfillment. We talked to each other, breathless. He kissed me on the end of my nose. I memorized all of the little freckles and hairs and spots.

We stayed until early morning. I woke first, needing to head to work only a few hours later. I sat with him on the couch. He held me and told me again that he was sorry.

“I will call you soon.” He promised.

I smiled and kissed him. This time, my kiss was returned. Warm and soft and complete; a kiss I had experienced thousands of times and I always wanted more.

It was snowing outside. I listened to Chicago on the way home. I forgot to light my cigarette.

Crossroads sneak up on us, giving us ill time to consider outcomes, giving us an excuse to say something about hindsight.

…

Everyone is finally asleep. It took some time to get the little one down, but my loving and devoted husband is such a great help. He is sleeping peacefully as well. I kissed him good night and said a silent “thank you” to the powers-that-be for my family. I have made a cup of tea and am taking some time to return emails.

Ding! I have an instant message. I don’t recognize the screen name…

“Hey Chiquita.”

My heart is lead. I close my eyes and remember; it was snowing. I remember the date today. It’s been almost 10 years.

”How are you? Great! I am good! Yea, me too thanks. Two kids now, you? Wow, how old? That’s great! It’s so nice to hear from you…”

I knew the pause would come.

“So, the big elephant in the room…” I start.

“Oh god, it was a huge mistake.”

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