We were meant to be together
She was mine.
I knew it from day one. It was October the first time I saw her at the other end of the subway car, head bent over the book she was reading. I didn’t know any girls who read as much as I did, or at all really, so I assumed she must be older than me. The day she looked at me without turning away, I knew she was. Girls my age were never so bold. I was a junior in high school at the time. I figured she was in college. I needed to know her. For weeks, I looked forward to my commute home from school, hoping she would be there. The day I finally got the nerve to approach her, she was with another woman. Too nervous to interrupt their conversation to introduce myself, they exited the train together while I was left kicking myself.
Despite my efforts to always catch the same train, it was months before I saw her again.
By Christmas break, I had given up hope although I had not forgotten her. How could I? She was the piece I was missing.
Then one spring day, there she was. When she got on the train, she looked around. When she saw me, her eyes lit up and she walked over to me.
“Finally,” she said.
“Finally?” I repeated.
“I’ve been looking for you for months.”
“You’ve been looking for me?” I had become a parrot.
She laughed a husky laugh that warmed me. “Yes. For months.” She paused. “My name is Alyssa.”
“Alyssa.”
She laughed again. “Yes. And your name is…”
“My name…”
“Your name…”
“I have a name.”
“I would be surprised if you didn’t,” she said, still smiling.
“You’re more beautiful than I remembered.”
“That is not your name. But thank you, Curly.”
“Curly?”
“Your hair. I have to call you something.”
“Oh. Ha. Thomas. Tommy. My name.”
She extended her hand. “Nice to meet you Thomas, Tommy.”
Her hand was so small in mine. I held it as if it were glass, afraid I might break her.
“So, where have you been, Curly?”
“Looking for you, too.”
“I guess the stars finally aligned.”
“I guess.”
“Where do you go to school?”
“Regis.”
“Cool. Good school. What year are you?”
I thought about lying. I didn’t want my age to turn her off but figured that’s not how I wanted to start my relationship with my future wife.
“I’m a Junior, rising senior. Just took the SATs. Looking at colleges now.”
“Nice. Where are you looking?”
“Mostly local. I need to work and study at the same time. Hopefully I’ll get some scholarships and federal student loans.”
“Do your parents not want you to go out of state?”
“They could care less. I don’t even know where they are. I live in a group home.”
She looked concerned. “Oh. Wow. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m used to it. They lost custody of me when I was four. Alcoholics. I have six older brothers and sisters. The one closest to me in age, Billy, was with me until I was 14. He and the others are all on their own now. I see them sometimes. What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Where do you go to school?”
“Dominican Academy.”
“High School?” Yeah, I was surprised.
“Yes. Finishing up my freshman year.”
I suspect my eyes bulged.
“What?”
“You’re a freshman?”
“Yes.”
“How old are you?”
“Fourteen. I’ll be fifteen next month.”
I was seventeen. I’d be eighteen in six months. “Jailbait” flickered in my brain, but I didn’t care. She was mine.
We dated for the next three years. I attended all her plays and recitals. She came to my graduation. I filled her closet with new clothes. She balked at first, but accepted I had her best interest at heart when it came to how she dressed. Especially since I couldn’t always be there to protect her. My senior year, I would take the train with her to school and pick her up. Once I was working and going to college full time, I got a used car and would pick her up whenever I could. She came with me to family get togethers. I went to her prom having not slept in 48 hours because of work and school. (I fell asleep at the after-party, but I was there.)
When it came time for her to apply to colleges, she only looked out of state. She was smart: Harvard, Stanford, Johns Hopkins were her top choices. I had hoped she’d come to my college, but her parents wouldn’t hear of it, and I didn’t want to push too hard. So, instead, while she was applying to colleges, I was hoping she’d get pregnant. I can admit now that I was afraid if she left, she wouldn’t come back and that was not an option.
She broke up with me during winter break, her freshman year at Harvard.
I called her. I called her mom. I called her again. I asked to see her. We went for a drive to Turtle Cove. We were quiet for a while, as we walked by the water.
“This is a mistake,” I said. “We were meant to be together.”
“It’s not a mistake, Tommy. We’ve been over for a long time. I just didn’t know how to break up with you until we had distance between us.”
I stopped walking and turned to her. “Don’t do this. Please. We were meant to be. I’ve already found us the perfect house. In Long Island. Like I always dreamed. We’ll get married in your mom’s church. We’ll have six kids and they’ll all be smart like you. I’ll take care of you. All of you. Please, baby. I’ve known since I first saw you that you were the one.”
“I’m sorry, Tommy. I’m not the one. I’m seeing someone else.”
Everything went black. She was mine. I had imagined our future, and it was beautiful. Perfect. I grabbed her shoulders and started to shake her.
“Is ‘seeing’ a euphemism for fucking? Are you fucking someone else? One of your classmates at Harvard? I’m not good enough for you anymore? Is that it?”
“You’re hurting me, Tommy!”
“I’m hurting you? I’m hurting YOU??” at which point I threw her on the ground and threw myself on top of her. “You belong to me,” I said, one hand around her neck, banging her head into the ground as the other pulled at her clothes.’’
“Don’t do this, Tommy,” she said, struggling to push me off.
“I did everything for you! I would do anything for you.”
“Then let me go,” she said, her voice a whisper.
“Never.”
It’s possible she took her last breath as I pounded into her body for the last time. When I rolled off her and pulled her close, her head fell at an odd angle.
I stroked her hair as I held her.
She was mine.