Puddle Jumping

  Under my palm, the erratic cadence was more apparent than I’d ever noticed before.

  “I dream of you. And I don’t like it when I can’t talk to you or see you or touch you.” His eyes found mine again. “That’s love.”

  A sob broke through my chest as he pondered it. “Yeah, it is.”

  “Does my loving you make you sad?” Concern pulled at the corners of his eyes.

  “No, I’m not sad you love me.”

  “Then why are you crying?”

  I had to laugh a little, then. “Because I’m happy.”

  He was more confused. “Well, that doesn’t make sense. Crying is for sadness.”

  “Sometimes,” I laughed louder, “it means happiness. But . . . girls are strange.”

  His head tilted a little as he thought. “You would be more of an expert on that than I would be.”

  I pulled him closer, circling my arms around his waist and listening to his breathing while we stood, pressed against one another. I apologized, he accepted and we were fine, once again. It was the beauty of us. It was what it was. No games. No pretenses. No blame or guilt to deal with unnecessarily.

  “Do you need me to help you finish packing?” I’d asked with my face smushed into the front of his gray t-shirt.

  “I’d prefer to kiss you for a while before you have to go home.”

  My smile started and then faltered. “I forgot to bring a toothbrush.”

  He was gone and back in less than five seconds, holding a brand new one in my face. “My mother bought an extra one for my trip.”

  Once again, I was thankful to Sheila for something.

  He watched, as he always had, causing me to take a mental picture of him leaning against the wall as I spit and rinsed. And just as fast as I could get to him, I was in his arms.

  The door was locked. The music was on. I mean, there weren’t any candles or anything like that, but we were together one last time before he was going to leave for a year. Our recent absence from one another did nothing to slow our passion. It only made it more forceful. Our touches were heavy handed. Meaningful. Lingering. I wanted him to remember all of it.

  I wasted no time taking off his shirt. There was no hesitance in his hands as we fumbled with my own.

  It was hot needy kisses of the here and now.

  It was: take this with you when you leave.

  It was: keep this in your memory when you lay in bed at night.

  It was: You have all of me now.

  Our fingers explored one another. I was committing him to memory with my eyes closed and body erupting in goose bumps while becoming overheated at once. He studied my scar and his fingers trailed over the raised flesh again, so softly . . . I knew he remembered how he’d saved me once. But the truth was, he’d saved me again since then.

  My touch was rough, just like he wanted. My kisses were insistent, just as they needed to be.

  When I realized I was flat on my back on top of his bed, there wasn’t a thought in my mind. I savored every touch. Every kiss. Each graze of my lips to his skin, willing my brain to just remember.

  And when he pulled back off me, his lids half open and his hips dipping forward like before, I didn’t stop him. I watched, fascinated.

  Books and movies make it seem so much easier, like it just happens. But there’s more to it. It just seemed to take a little longer than I had anticipated. I wasn’t going to complain, because in that moment I wanted to be with him in one last way.

  If he was leaving, he was taking everything I had to give with him.

  His forehead was creased with . . . worry? Pain? I couldn’t tell because I was trying so hard not to cry over the finality of it all. I was too tense. It was too much.

  It suddenly occurred to me he must have been experiencing that times a million.

  “Colton, look at my face,” I called to him and he did as I said, his eyes watching my lips as I spoke. “Relax . . .” As soon as I said it, I think we both loosened up at the same time, and it finally, finally happened.

  It wasn’t painful with Colton. He didn’t rush the experience. It was so overwhelming for him that he was struggling to breathe. I shifted then, only minutely, to pull his face to mine with my hands, gripping the back of his neck tightly. Then I crossed my ankles behind his back. And squeezed my thighs against his torso.

  Hard.

  I believe we both had our eyes closed for just a moment, but I opened mine at one point to see him staring down at me in wonder, his mouth open as if he were struggling to speak.

  But we didn’t need to talk. We were communicating just fine.

  A lot of girls probably lose their virginity and it’s fast or painful, careless or upsetting.

  Mine was not like that.

  It was awkward and it did hurt a little. But I was with Colton. He was my first. My only. And it caused me to shake as his head fell to my shoulder and he pressed his lips to my neck.

  “Lilly. Lilly.” He just kept repeating it over and over.

  I loosened my grip around his waist and I held onto him as he squeezed my side with one hand, using all the strength he had, pinning me to the mattress, making a breathless sound against my neck before it was over.

  My shaky fingers touched his face, waiting for him to relax. I was afraid he would freak out. But as he pulled away from my neck, his eyes appeared serene. His fingertips traced over the side of my head and then lower across my ribcage until I could feel them on my hip.

  Ever so gently brushing love against my skin.

  * * *

  Afterward, I just held him, lying on his chest until he fell into a deep sleep. My ear stayed pressed to his sternum, listening as his breathing evened out and heartbeat slowed. Only a few tears escaped when I closed my eyes, caressing his side and across his chest with my fingers.

  He’d said he loved me in more ways than one.

  I whispered into the darkened room I would miss him more than he would ever understand. That I loved him more than my heart could take.

  But I didn’t allow myself to fall asleep. I couldn’t justify wasting that precious time. A while later I heard his mom walk in the front door and I waited to see if she would come up to his room, but she never did. Maybe the silence in the house was enough for her to know things were all right.

  With as much as it made me sick to my stomach, I forced myself off his chest and out of his bed. After one last look at his handsome face. Touching his chin with my fingertips. Watching his eyes move behind their lids

  I kissed his nose. Once.

  Before I could talk myself out of it, I dressed and left his house. Not looking back. I couldn’t handle the thought of sleeping through the night and waking up to him saying goodbye. Or having him change his mind and staying because of me.

  He needed to go.

  It wasn’t until I got behind the wheel of my car that the seriousness of what was occurring hit me so hard. I’d lost my virginity to the boy I loved. And he was leaving in less than twenty-four hours.

  I cried the whole way home, allowing myself to feel what was happening and accepting it for what it was. There was no turning back. It was set in stone and the faster I mourned the loss and moved beyond that pain, the faster I could focus on other things.

  * * *

  I don’t believe there’s such a thing as conventional love. Love is bending. Love is breaking. Love is constantly learning about the other person until you go crazy because it will never be perfect, but there’s no fault in trying.

  I’ve loved a boy who was extraordinary beyond words, in my eyes.

  I don’t think I’d ever wanted to live an exceptional life before him. A life filled with color and knowledge and feeling beautiful.

  But for a little while, I had it.

  I suppose I thought maybe as much as I learned from him, he would have learned something from me, too. It’s not easy. Not in any capacity. But I can’t begin to wish it had never happened. I can’t find it in myself to regret a single second we
had together.

  What I wanted was for him to see me and want me to be with him. What I wanted was for him to say he loved me – with words – and mean it. I needed these things that were out of my reach, and yet I continued to hold out hope.

  And it happened.

  He’d always be sweet and kind. He would always be the boy I had fought so hard for. But when there’s separation involved, I couldn’t be sure it would all stay the same. I worried about the change in his routine. That he wouldn’t adapt to his new surroundings. I was thankful he had someone from the museum going with him, but I had to wonder if they knew him like I did. If they were going to take the time and effort to really learn and provide what he needed.

  I wondered if he would miss me.

  There’s no shame in it, feeling sad and broken hearted over things I can’t change. There’s no magic formula. No time machine to go back. There’s just what we’ve been handed and how we deal with it. I made mistakes when it came to a lot of things.

  But no one, anywhere, could say I didn’t give it my absolute best.

  When I imagined Colton’s face as he would be boarding his flight with his mentor, my heart broke all over again.

  But there was nothing I could do about it. It was out of my hands.

  I just wish I had started writing about it earlier while things were fresh in my mind, instead of with hindsight of what was to come. It makes it a little harder to be impartial.

  I always wanted it to work out between us, but even if it doesn’t, I guess I can say I’m grateful for the ability to have met someone like Colton, much less been able to love him as much as I do. I just have to keep telling myself that. Every day. All three hundred and sixty-five of them.

  This could be where the story ends. And it hurts a million times over to think it could be true. That this is it.

  Because, regardless of where my heart is going, my body is still here.

  It really is a shame more movies aren’t like real life. Maybe then we wouldn’t have such high expectations and feel let down by our own existence so much.

  Who knows? Maybe someday I’ll be his and he’ll be mine. And space or time won’t matter because we were meant to be.

  But I won’t hold my breath. Life doesn’t usually work out the way we hope.

  More than anything I want him to be happy. And maybe one day I will be, too.

  There was a time when I believed I wasn’t going to fall in love. But I did.

  This was followed by the thought that the boy I fell in love with could never love me back. But he does.

  And he loves me in the very best way he knows how.

  Four months passed while Colton was in England. My fears slowly dwindled the first time his face appeared over Skype. He didn’t make much eye contact initially and his attention diverted from me to the things around him, especially if his mentor was watching the television too loudly.

  But we learned.

  He had to find his way on his own. Make friends. Adapt to change. I could tell, even in those brief moments I had with him that he was changing. It was hard for me, knowing I didn’t have a part in it. But maybe, in some way, I did.

  So we kept up the routine. Every Thursday at eight p.m. my Skype would ring. I made sure I was always in the dorm. And my roommate was out doing something else. She and I had an agreement.

  “I miss you.” I watched his face through the screen as he stared at mine.

  “I’ll be home in twenty-seven days.”

  I smiled. “I know. And I’m really happy about that.”

  “I’m glad you’re happy.” He grinned, like he meant it.

  “Do you have anything you’d like to do when you get home?”

  He nodded, his focus floating to the left of the screen. “I’d like to kiss you, if that’s all right with you.”

  “I think that can be arranged.”

  * * *

  College was stressful that first semester, but the little moments I could get with Colton made me feel less anxious. More grounded. I had papers and homework up to my ears, though I couldn’t say that to the boy behind the screen.

  I went out of my way to meet new people. Go to parties. Experience college. Never once did my friendship with Harper suffer. I didn't allow space between the new friends we’d made to alter the relationships we’d already had.

  Friendship, as I’d once told my boyfriend, is important.

  But I had space. I had time to find myself again.

  The best thing about being apart was that I decided on my major. I focused on me. Set a goal that I would accomplish on my own.

  I’ve had a lot of accomplishments in my life. I didn’t die. I graduated high school. I got into the college of my choice.

  But I would never call loving Colton an accomplishment. It was an honor. It changed me. It made me actually become the person I’d tried so hard to be all those years ago.

  So I don’t think it came as a surprise to anyone that being with my boyfriend had made me see things in a new light. I never would have known the type of person that I could be without having met him. If I had it in me to make a difference in one person’s life, why not others? Maybe one day I’d teach my own PEERS class and some cute boy would lean against the wall in a hallway and tell the girl that loves him, ‘Whatever’.

  And I’d be there to see it happen.

  The night I declared my major, ironically, was the first time he asked me about our situation.

  “Do you wish I hadn’t left you?”

  “Of course. I miss you. I wish you were here every single day. But you’re glad you went, right? Look at all you’ve accomplished.”

  “I wish you could have come with me.”

  “Me, too.”

  It was something we hadn’t discussed before and my chest was hurting when we hung up.

  I dreamed of him often and I worried about him constantly. And I thought, maybe when he came back home for Christmas, it would not be the same and the distance was too great for us to reconnect.

  Maybe that would be the way a Hollywood movie about the subject would end.

  But we’re more than that.

  When that day came, I stood right next to Sheila, holding her hand, and raising a yellow sign with my boyfriend’s name on it while he departed the plane. I wasn’t surprised he hugged his mom first. But it was only because once his arms were around me, he didn’t let me go. Not through the airport. Not in the car. Just barely at his door to greet his dad.

  Otherwise . . .

  Nothing had changed. Not for the worse, anyway. No, in fact, it felt a hundred times better. Knowing what it was like to be apart made reconnecting so much sweeter.

  He smelled the same. He felt the same. His eyes searched my face while he smiled and said my name over and over until I kissed him to quiet his whispers.

  I stayed at his house and my parents didn’t even mind. I was an adult and could make my own decisions, and as long as the Neely’s didn’t object, I was free to do so.

  On Christmas morning I held Colton’s hand while his parents stacked gifts all around us. Right before the unwrapping began, my parents showed up. I should have thought it was unusual, but it was Christmas morning, after all.

  They settled by the fireplace and passed out their own presents, until we were surrounded by what felt like a wall of festive paper and shiny silver bows.

  It didn’t take long for us to get through every single box. Thank yous were exchanged, and just when I thought I’d be free to change out of my pajamas and take a shower, Mrs. Neely bent down in front of me and placed an envelope in my lap.

  “What’s this?” I had an inkling it was another pass to the museum, so I narrowed my eyes prepared to tell her I didn’t really need them since her son had unlimited access to the exhibits. But just as I opened my mouth, my boyfriend cut me off.

  “We asked your parents if it was okay.”

  I stared at his face, confused while I held the envelope in my hands and waved it at him.
“There are museum passes in here, right?”

  Mr. Neely leaned forward and I caught a glimpse of my mom as she covered her mouth and tears welled up in her eyes. My father took a deep breath and exhaled loudly.

  Sheila reached out and ran her fingers across my cheek. “We want you to go.”

  My fingers trembled as I tore open the envelope and I lost my breath staring at the ticket in my hand.

  “Really?”

  It was Colton who answered, his voice steady and unwavering. “I want you there, Lilly.”

  I was blinded by tears. “Are you sure? Certain? Are you certain?”

  He didn’t need me to go with him so I could be there to make sure he was okay. To ensure he kept his routine and didn’t feel lonely.

  He wanted me.

  “I’m sure and I’m certain.”

  “The flight leaves on the third.” Mom’s voice was shaky and my dad reached for her hand.

  My mind raced with every unanswered question and every promise of tomorrow. But when I looked at my boyfriend and how he was really, really smiling – that his eyes were finally looking at mine for longer than a second’s worth of time – I knew.

  Hollywood has to get their happy endings from somewhere. And even though the road is filled with bumps and bruises along the way, there’s always the possibility of happiness in the end. I’m living proof.

  My education won’t be within the confines of a brick building while I sit in plastic chairs. Not anymore. Life is meant to be lived, and if you’re offered the chance to experience exceptional things with an extraordinary person, then there isn’t one reason in the world to say no.

  And I didn’t. I said yes because our love is no different than anyone else’s. It’s ours and that’s all that matters.

  It’s a true story of a girl falling for a boy.

  Nothing more.

  Nothing less.

  And I wouldn’t want it any other way.

  Amber is a full-time mom, full-time wife, is employed full time, and writes when she can. She believes in Happily Ever After’s that occur every day - despite the obstacles that real life serves up on a regular basis. Or perhaps they're sweeter simply because of them. She always has two rubber bands on her wrist, a song in her head, and too much creamer in her coffee cup that reads 'Cocoa' - because she's a rebel. If she's not at her desk, with her boys, or behind the computer, she's supporting live music with her arms raised above her head and eyes closed, waiting for the drop.