I am still sitting in my chair, unaware, when my boyfriend lightly touches my shoulder. I glance up, and his earthy blue
eyes are bright beneath his forehead, which is wrinkled in thought. The chair makes an obnoxious noise when it slides
away from the table, and part of me is glad because it is fitting.
No classes tomorrow, so we decide to hang out on the boys’ floor. Only we run into some guys and end up talking outside
his room for a while. I am slowly closing in on myself, and I’m glad when the door finally shuts and it is just him and me.
But this time it’s not just me, and I’m thinking back and asking myself whether I’ve ever been in this mood with him and
when I realize I haven’t, I have a small panic. His eyes are reassuring.
He tells me that I’m beautiful. And that he loves me. But I’ve been taught that love doesn’t last; I’ve been taught that one
day he’ll wake up and find me as ugly as my green duvet, and then I’ll be some sob story from his past. Or if he doesn’t
have enough courage, I’ll become his biggest regret. I look down at the ugly green carpet and hold his words to my heart,
to hear them. When I avoid his eyes, he notices. “I love you,” I whisper. What is love to you? I look up and ask with only
my eyes. But he doesn’t answer. Instead, he says, “I love you, too.” And tells me that my eyes hold mystery.
Then he talks about the future, and I know that uncertainty will never leave me alone. He talks about not wanting to graduate from Wheaton early, for academic reasons, of course. And possible plans for graduate school. Then I’m feeling like
I have nothing else to say, and he changes the subject.
Before I leave, I look back at his room while he looks at me, and I hold his hand. I try to capture it with my senses so my
memory will have a clear image to remember, but I have enough life experience to know by now that I can’t. The edges
will blur. And if a day comes when he decides I’m not beautiful anymore, or that he doesn’t love me quite enough to keep
me, I won’t be able to make his brilliant blue eyes say what they do now. Maybe I won’t even remember the emotions
when time has had its way. Maybe I’m thankful for this. Maybe now is what matters. I turn to go and my hand is slipping
out of his, but he makes it hard, holding tightly.
I can sense the tip of his fingers on my hand along the path all the way back to my room as if they were still there. A secret
was given to him today, in the melancholy of a moment. And I’m wondering what he thought of my mood and my state of
being; namely, uninspired. I’m wondering if I can trust him. I decide that I can, and then I realize it’s the first non-default decision I’ve made. There were too many choices today that I didn’t actually make. At least this one is mine, consciously and sure. My full heart flows out in tears.
He didn’t notice my blue watch.