Missing someone is a strange feeling that depends entirely on the context of why that person is gone. Missing someone who is away on a trip but will come back is entirely different than missing someone who has left you and has no plan of returning. And missing someone who is dead is different than any other feeling.
But Mark was not dead; he left Lane two weeks before classes began without any plan of returning.
Lane had gotten into the state university as well and Mark knew that she didn’t belong there. When they first started talking he asked her about college, in the customary high school way, and she said: “Oh, I’m going to New York City.” She was just a sophomore back then, but she knew she wasn't going to stay in this town for longer than she had to. But now she was making plans to come back every other month and saying how she could just transfer if she didn’t like it, and she probably wouldn’t.
So Mark left. It broke his heart, but he left. He packed up the Chevy and told her it was over.
Lane tucked away everything he’d ever bought or made for her and every sweater she’d taken in a cardboard box and placed it in her parent’s basement, hoping that it would flood. But she missed him.
God, she missed him.
Lane remembered that feeling as she looked at him across the tiny glass table. He was her best friend and the love of her life and he had just left her! She remembered how those first few months in New York were cold and lonely and nothing reminded her of home. She’d pray that he’d at least call and when she finally caved and called him, he didn’t answer. In every situation she’d think about what he would do or say about it; he was constantly in the back of her mind. A sharp tug, right by her neck.
But over the years the tug loosened and she began to forget. Forget how many creams he took in his coffee and whether he liked winter or fall better. She couldn’t remember that song he loved or the steps of their secret handshake. But she never did forget about him, and of course she always missed him.