Teenager
I heard my doorbell ring. The bright sun had dimmed a bit and the horizon was not quite as blinding. The day had been far too hot, and my mood hadn't been very bright. I've heard my doorbell dozens of times, but none of those times had it sounded quite so formally dismal. I knew from the moment I heard the persistent buzz that I wouldn't like what was on the other side of the door.
I peaked through the eyehole to quickly make sure it wasn't a serial killer and recognized Michelle. It wasn't very hard, considering how easily she stood out in a crowd. Her lovely ebony skin was covered with an arty white shirt. Everything she wore was personally made or altered. I took in the spattered paint design, tight black jeans, and 'snakebite' pierced lips with ease. I loved the way she presented herself; it was very independent without being a typical hipster. Her mature brown eyes stared back at me, waiting. But there was something wrong.
I opened the door and she smiled easily, but not quite. A tiny twitch in her dimple clued me in. She had a reason for being here, and it wasn't one I would like.
"Hey Simon." Her voice was as smooth as chocolate but her eyes were dark. I played it cool. We had been dating for three months, so I knew not to get too spastic with worry. It would just make her even more nervous. At twenty-one, I suppose I had enough girl experience to realize when a chick was going to break up with you, and her expression of restlessness pretty much fit the circumstances. She anxiously twisted her raven hair, which was heavily striped with dark green. I couldn't count how many times I had run my hands through her hair.
"So, what's up?" I decided to stay generic. She responded with the typical request to talk. Which, of course, really meant that she wanted to dump me and get the heck out of here. Although I had been rejected countless times before, I still felt hollow when her words confirmed my suspicions. I silently lead her to one of the few pieces of furniture in my sparse apartment. We sat on opposite sides of the couch, facing each other, and I studied her as she studied the fabric under her crossed legs. As if she didn't know my apartment inside and out.
"Why?" My voice sounded a bit huskier than I would have liked.
She looked up, startled, and realized that I already knew why she was here. She bit her lip. I had never seen her like this, so timid. When I heard the name Michelle, I thought of a fearsome, opinionated, intelligent and self-assured female who could become a lady in a second. She was unpredictable and eclectic and upbeat. Confidence usually radiated off of her and people were drawn to her like flies are to light. Now, however, she looked like she was scared of me and even though she was here to leave me, it worried me. This was a side I never knew she had.
She took a deep, silent breath and her shoulders heaved and dropped. She looked straight at me with her strangely morbid eyes and said quietly, "I’m too young."
My confusion must have shown as I rambled, "What are talking about? One year isn't that big of a..." I stopped and realization hit me as hard as an uppercut from Muhammad Ali himself. It was my turn to steady myself and take a deep breath. "You aren't twenty." I stated it as evenly as I could, even though my insides were freaking out. The look she gave me confirmed my outrageous statement. But how old could she really be? Nineteen? Eighteen? I studied her and she looked meekly back. No, she couldn't be any younger...
I dared to ask, but my question came out in shocked parts. "How...old...are you?"
She bit her lip again. "Sixteen."
I could hear the air rush out of my mouth, but I couldn't feel it. It was like I was watching myself in a movie; I knew what was happening but I couldn't feel any of it. The noise of my racing and nervous heart filled my ears, but I couldn't feel my blood rushing. The only thing I heard for a moment was the steady beat and even that started dimming, as if I was underwater. I realized I was staring into space and I turned my head slowly back to Michelle. Her eyes were closed as she waited for my rage to kick in. I could feel her apprehension, and I snapped out of my fuzzy shock.
Sixteen. Sixteen. Sixteen. Maybe if I thought about the word enough, it would start to feel ok. I thought it over and over, like a sort of twisted mantra. But it wasn't getting any better. I tried to make my voice calm as I said, "I can't believe you never told me you were a teenager. I hope you know what this makes me. It makes me a -"
"No!" She practically jumped out of her skin as she lunged towards me and covered my shocked mouth. She was sprawled out over the couch and her face was a few inches from mine; it was a huge difference from just three seconds ago, when there was a whole two feet between us. She suddenly grinned, probably at my wide eyes, and said, "Everything we ever did had my complete consent." Her grin became wider and her eyes flashed playfully. "In fact, I probably wanted it more than you."
Like I said, Michelle was completely unpredictable. It took me a few second to adjust from solemn to slightly freaked out, but I was still guiltily grateful that she wasn't acting so serious. She was never meant to be nervous, so seeing her like that didn't feel right. I could never imagine her being depressed or going gravely to a funeral. But her sudden change in mood didn't change the issue at hand.
"Tell that to the judge." I said grimly.
Her eyes narrowed. "There won't be a judge. It's not like I'm pressing charges or anything."
"So why did you tell me?"
She thought for a while, tilting her head slightly to the left and staring right through me. The scent of her peach shampoo greeted me like a friend. "I think...I realized that I respected you too much to keep on lying to you. I knew that you would break up with me, so I figured I might as well do that too." Her voice had a thoughtful assurance and she blinked. Her smile was bittersweet. All I could do was gaze back at her. She was so beautiful. So graceful. So free. So lovely. So clever. So...young.
She leaned into me and put her ear to my chest. We lay there, silently breathing for countless moments. I closed my eyes, wanting to sleep after a hectic day, but not wanting to lose a second of the ever decreasing time I had with Michelle. We both knew this was the last time we would be together, alone and in my apartment, under the veil of a romantic relationship, for a while. We both knew that we both knew. We just preferred not to talk about it.
"Do you remember when we met?" I asked to keep myself awake. She moved and I opened my eyes. She looked up at me and gave me a sideways grin that told me to stop being such a sap. I grinned back.
"Of course. The guitar store." She paused and said good-humoredly, "How could I not remember the attractive, shaggy haired guy with the vintage Nirvana shirt?" She was, obviously, talking to me about myself. I feigned disgust and asked, "Is that really the only reason you like me?" Her face held with genuine worry at my inquiry until I started laughing. Her eyes narrowed and she told me my joke wasn't funny. Clearly, she said with rolling eyes, she liked me because I could get her a discount on an electric guitar. I acted offended.
We settled down and her head found my chest again. A few more moment passed before she said, "I really started liking you after our third guitar lesson." I took this in quietly. I had started liking her from the moment she walked in to the slightly shabby guitar store. After talking for a while, she had admitted that she didn't know how to play, but wanted to buy a guitar so she could learn. Offering her lessons came naturally and I was happily surprised when she accepted.
I zoomed back to the present when Michelle moved abruptly and lifted her head so we were eye to eye, staring at me with purpose. Infinite moments and then watching me profoundly she said, "Simon, I love you." And I knew there was nothing more true.
In her eyes was a question, a question so weighty that I knew she wanted me to tell the truth. Did I love her back?
Well, the question's answer was clear. While I couldn't tell when my liking had turned into genuine love, it certainly had. But the burden of why she was actually here still bothered me. Did I love a sixteen year old? That was the wrong question. Did I love the girl who was on my couch, the girl who I could never get tired of, the girl who had surprised me when I felt cynical and the girl who could put philosophical thoughts eloquently into words? Call me a hopeless romantic, but yes I did. She mirrored my silent enthusiasm. Apparently my joy had spread itself across my face and it had said enough.
The sunset had finished and the early night closed in on us. We tried to put it off, but we knew she would have to leave eventually. In the dark shadows, we got up and walked noiselessly to the door. I switched the light on and blinked to get rid of the spots in my eyes. She smiled halfheartedly and looked up at me. I kissed her soft forehead and opened the door. She stepped outside and turned to me. Her eyes shined and she whispered hoarsely, "See you in a few years." We grinned at each other for a moment and she left. I watched her leave. I knew her words were a promise.
posted by Esther @ 9:26 PM
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