***
Tuesdays quickly became “us days.” We’d go on dates or hang out or even just talk to each other on the phone. We did things on other days, too, sure, but Tuesdays were special. Whatever else we had going on, we made time for each other. Somehow.
On the third Tuesday, I was out of town with my family. My dad had taken a few days off from work to take the family on a short vacation before I had to go back to school. The university I went to was only half an hour away and I didn’t even live on campus. But still he acted like the start of classes would signal some sort of natural disaster, trapping me there and never allowing us to see each other ever again. So in order to make up for it, we had to spend as much time together over the summer as possible. He’d done this for about as long as I could remember. Ever since I was in elementary school. I know it sounds like it could be annoying – and there was a time when I thought it was – but it was sweet. It reminded me how much he cared. And as I got older, I began appreciating it more and more.
So, because we couldn’t see each other in person, Loren and I talked over video chat. It was nice seeing her face but I wished she could actually be there with me. A few times I felt the urge to reach out and grab her hand like I had the week before, and a couple times I almost did only to be struck by the realness of the distance between us, of the computer screen barrier locking me out of her world. I thought to myself how awful it would be for that distance to be permanent, and hoped that it never would be.
The fifth Tuesday was when we had our first kiss. She’d invited me over to her house while her parents weren’t home. We sat on the couch and watched TV, a marathon of a decade-old sitcom that for some reason people never stopped watching even though they probably should. Sitting on her couch, we found ourselves slowly inching closer and closer together until we were practically on top of each other. Her head rested on my shoulder and I had my arm wrapped around her. We were on our third episode when she looked up at me. She looked peaceful and calm, like everything was right in the world when she looked into my eyes.
She leaned in closer to me, out faces suddenly no more than an inch apart. My heart quickened and I forgot how to breathe. She stopped, backing up a bit, probably sensing how tense I was. I nodded my approval, my eyes willing her to continue. I remember how her hand cupped my cheek and her lips pressed against mine. I remember reaching my hand out and placing it on the back of her head, my fingers weaving themselves through her hair, her curls soft against my palm. I remember the way she smelled and I remember never wanting to separate my lips from hers ever again.
When we pulled apart. I felt like my whole body was smiling.
And our Tuesdays continues.
We hung out on the sixth Tuesday. And the seventh. And the eighth. We went on dates on the ninth and the tenth Tuesdays. And so on. And at some point along the way we’d started calling each other girlfriend.
On the thirteenth Tuesday, she met my parents. Well, they’d already sort of met. They’d said “hi” to each other in passing on days when she’d picked me up for dates or walked me home at night. But now my parents had invited her for dinner and they were going to really, officially meet.
I was nervous. So nervous. As nervous as I had been for that very first date. Well, not quite. But almost.
I’d done this whole thing with her parents not long before and everything went great. Still, I worried. I’d never brought a date to dinner before.
Turns out I’d worried for nothing. My parents loved her as much as I did. They must’ve told me nearly a hundred times after she’d left what a wonderful girl she seemed to be. They didn’t need to say it – I already knew. Yet, there was something so deeply satisfying about having my parents’ approval.
The months that followed were magical. I know – cliché, right? But there’s just no other word to describe it. I felt like I’d been transported to a faraway land full of mythical creatures and fantastical happenings. I was living my own personal fantasy, except it was way better than anything I could have possibly imagined on my own.
And then, all of a sudden, the magic disappeared. We had a fight. Our first real, actual fight. We’d argued before, but never like this. I don’t even remember how it started. It’s funny how that happens, isn’t it? You can have a passionate, heated argument so intense you think the world might cave in from all the tension. And when it’s over, you don’t even remember what it was about. All you remember is the intensity and the pain. All you feel is guilt and sorrow.
The thirty-second Tuesday was the first in months that I didn’t speak to her, didn’t see her. The thirty-third was the same. I didn’t know why I was still counting – it seemed silly, all of a sudden – but for whatever reason, I couldn’t bring myself to stop. Maybe I would eventually, but not yet. I missed her more than I’d ever missed anything else in my life. It was like she was a part of me and that part had been cut off and now all that was left was a gaping hole. It was a hole that, no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t fill. Because she was the only one who could fill it.
I’m not sure why I went back to that park on the Friday after the thirty-third Tuesday. But I did. I guess, maybe I wanted her to be there. Although, I’m not sure what I would have said if she was. I wished we could start over, press a reset button and everything would go back to the way it was before.
I walked the path to our bench. It’s funny how I thought of it as “our bench” – stupid, maybe – but I didn’t think I’d ever be able to see it without thinking about us. Without thinking about her. When I got there and it was empty, I felt my chest tighten like I’d just tried to run a marathon even though I’d never trained a day in my life. It was hard to tell it I was disappointed or relieved. A little bit of both, I guess.
I sat there for a while, watching people walk past. There were couples and families. There were people with their children. There were people walking their dogs. And there were people walking all alone. And there was me on the bench, trying not to cry. Eventually, I decided to go home, my trip to the park feeling useless and unsatisfying.
Nevertheless, I went back the next day.
As I approached our bench, I saw there was someone sitting on it. They were wearing a black beanie and an oversized sweatshirt. Their legs were pulled in close to their body as if to keep warm. I almost turned around and left right then and there. But then I heard someone say my name. At least, I was pretty sure I’d heard it. It was so quiet, though, that part of me was convinced I’d imagined it. Then I heard it again.
Turns out it was Loren, the person sitting on the bench. My eyes met hers from where I was standing. She smiled at me but it was different from all her other smiles. It was full of heartbreak and sorrow instead of happiness and life. I didn’t know what to say. Half of me wanted to hug her and the other half wanted to flee the country. But I did neither. I was frozen where I stood, feeling helpless like a lost puppy, longing to go home but unsure of how to get there.
Lucky for me, she spoke first. “To be honest, I- I was sort of hoping I’d see you here.” Her voice was still barely more than a whisper and it shook a little as if her vocal cords had forgotten how to do their job.
“To be honest, so was I.” I knew the words had come from my mouth, but I wasn’t sure when I’d decided to say them. It didn’t sound like my voice, either. It was too cold, too mechanical.
There were tears in her eyes and I hadn’t realized it until then but there were some in mine, too. I sat down next to her. Neither of us spoke for a while, and then we couldn’t stop talking. We both apologized about a million times. And we cried a lot.
We talked on the phone the next Tuesday. And pretty soon our Tuesdays were back to normal. It was rough, at first. I didn’t expect it not to be. And then everything was good again. Better than before, actually. We still fought sometimes, of course, but we handled it better. We understood each other better, I think. I also think we understood “us” better and what we were to each other.
We were still together when we graduated college. We got an apartment not long after. Living together took some getting used to. I thought I already knew everything there was to know about her, but living with her taught me so much more. And once we were used to it, it was more amazing than I could have ever imagined.
And Tuesdays were still special to us. We saw each other every day now, but it was nice to have that time set aside for us. Just us – the rest of the world irrelevant.
***
We dated for a few years before she asked me. We were at the park – yes, that park – having a picnic. We’d finished our food and were just sitting there. I was leaning on a tree and she was leaning on me. Her head was on my chest as I ran my fingers absentmindedly through her hair.
She sat up suddenly, grabbing my hand as she looked into my eyes. She looked just like she had the day we met. Absolutely beautiful. And she asked me to marry her on the two hundred and seventy-first Tuesday. I said yes, of course. And I kissed her. And I cried. I must’ve looked like a mess, but I didn’t care. I was so happy. Ecstatic, really.
The wedding took months to plan, but I enjoyed every minute of it. Neither of us were picky about things, per se, but we had a couple pretty specific ideas regarding how we wanted things to go. And when the day finally came, it couldn’t have been more perfect. It was everything you’d expect it to be. The white dresses and the cake and the dancing. And I loved it.
We got married three hundred and eighteen Tuesdays after that very first Tuesday. And we went on a honeymoon and, when we came back, we bought a new house. And we adopted a cat – her idea. And life was good.
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Eliza S. Morgan
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