Erasing Innocence

I slept in his room the last time I was at his house. His sister and I watched bad movies on Netflix the night earlier that summer in his room, and I slept in his room when she went to hers. That night, I went upstairs to wash my hands and was about to go back down to hang out with her, but then I noticed his door half open, across the hall.

He was playing my favorite songs on his guitar in his bedroom. We took shots of tequila together. I don’t even like tequila. It’s for the effect, nothing more. I opened his closet and tried on one of his shirts, struggling with the buttons in my tipsy state. I told him to do one of the buttons for me, laughing. I sat against him on the floor, and he wrapped his arms around me. Then he touched me and I did nothing to stop him. I stayed still and melted into his arms as he continued touching me through my jeans.

Later we were sitting outside with his sister and another friend. I said I was tired. That was our cue. He offered me his bed for the night, saying he’d sleep in the living room.

I stripped down to nothing, and waited for him, sitting under his blankets. Then he came into the room and undressed. He got in bed and and kissed me, holding my shoulders. I did not realize the words coming out of my mouth until after they reverberated in my mind. I said his name. His real name, not the nickname everyone usually calls him. His kisses tasted like cloves, sweet and smokey. Everything was perfect. I trusted him. I took his hand and brought him outside into the blackness of the summer night. Behind a big oak tree, he lifted me up and held me against the tree’s bark. He told me I was beautiful. I felt beautiful with him.

I went upstairs and tried to sleep. I couldn’t. I went back downstairs to look for my purse because my keys and underwear were in it. I found him in the laundry room and kissed him there. I said goodnight and went to his bedroom again. His boxers lay on the floor by his bed, they were fleur de lis printed. It was kind of cute, but mostly entirely lame and I kind of laughed at them. I smelled the cologne on his dresser. I traced the stitching on the quilt on his bed with my fingers. I slept for two hours before I woke up unable to fall back asleep. I stayed there for a long time, not wanting to leave, but unable to interact with him much in the morning. I was nervous that I’d give us away to his sister.

I left at 12:26PM on Sunday. I felt broken for three days. I wanted some kind of closure because he told me to call him on Monday afternoon so we could meet when my house was empty.. He never responded when I texted him. I couldn’t pay attention in class. I filled up half a notebook with angry words about how abandoned I felt and how he was so mean. I skipped my last class the day on Monday because of it. I left my phone in my car all day on Tuesday. I wondered if he sent me a text.

Later that night, about 20 minutes after I finally began to give up on caring about the whole ordeal, he sent a message. I spent an hour trying to figure out how to say the right thing back. Finally I got it right. It was more complicated to find the right words than it should have been. I never saw him again, but for years he reached out, missing me.