Page 5 of Delayed Intention
I want to say something cool, so I run through about five options in my head, and then I say, “Thank you.” Which is the same thing he said.
But because he’s Josh, he is still smiling at me. “Do you want to go outside?”
“I do.”
We go outside and, without a word, lie down on the grass in his yard. There are a million stars. We hold hands and look at each other, and then at the sky. I tell him how I feel as though I don’t fit in anywhere except when I’m here, with him, Nona, and his super cool mom. I tell him how I don’t like people touching me, but that his hand feels so good. His kiss felt even better.
He smiles and says he’s glad.
He tells me how his father decided to move to Kansas City one day while Josh and his sister were at school. He told me that his dad was not going to come back and that his parents were not going to live together anymore, but that they also would not get divorced. They are more concerned about their image in the community than being free to move on.
I remind him that there are worse things, like parents who don’t separate but seem to hate each other. I won’t say more because all of this has been so perfect—I want this memory to be about Josh and me, not about how awful parents are sometimes.
We talk about everything and sometimes about nothing, just lying there, hand in hand. And we kiss a few more times, which is mind-blowing.
I love you, Joshua Cohen.
After a while, it’s too windy, and we go inside. I climb into his bed, and he lies on the floor next to me. Before he turns off the light, he sits back up and kisses me again. Leaning his forehead to mine, he says, “Goodnight, Lily Anna.”
“Goodnight, Josh.”
I wake up to Josh’s mom nudging me in the morning, telling me she needs to take me back to my grandmother’s house. Josh is fast asleep when I leave his shirt and sweats behind. I’m barely awake, and my family and I drive off to the airport within an hour. When I took my seat on the flight, I realized I wouldn’t see Josh for almost a year. I feel my heart shattering into a million pieces while I lean against the plane window and pretend to sleep.
A week has gone by back home.
I hate my life.
The thing is, I already had a giant hole inside me. Now, my heart feels trampled on top of everything else, and I already don’t know how to handle it. My fears had already built a wall between me and other people. That was hard enough. Not to mention the disgusting secret I was trying to forget. And I’ll be facing that situation again soon because my mom is sending me back to where it happened, and she won’t let me get out of it. I function more like a zombie than a person. A zombie that has no super strength, frightens no one and cries every time they’re alone. Maybe that’s why I’ve been ignoring Josh’s messages.
If I’m being honest, I’m not sure why I can’t respond. Just today, Josh was calling me for the seventh time this week, and I declined the call. I can’t pick up, and I don’t call back. He wrote me some emails which I deleted without reading.
I want to answer; I want to reach out—he’s my best friend. Every time I start to think about talking to him, I panic. I just can’t do it. All I can think about is my secrets, and I don’t know what to say or do. My heart races, and I can’t breathe. My stomach has this stabbing pain, and I feel like I’m going to die. I don’t die, but when it passes, I wish I had because Josh is out there, trying to keep us together, and I’m messing all of this up. I thought about taking a few drinks of wine from my parents’ cellar. I felt it might give me the courage to call him or answer the phone. In the end, I decided not to do it—it turns out that the idea of me getting in trouble if I got caught scared me more than Josh being upset with me.
The thing is, Josh will be okay. He has a great sister and mom, and he lives in the best place in the world. He couldn’t possibly have the type of feelings for me that I have for him, and I know he’ll move on. My heart, however, feels like it will be broken forever. Part of me knows that I feel that way because I am still young, and this is my first love. But part of me is terrified that this is my only chance at happiness, and I am destroying it.
A text from Josh pops up on my phone.
Josh
I don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry. Please call me.
With tears streaming down my face, I delete the message. I had no idea that this loss would feel so much worse than my usual crap. The pain is too much. I need to protect myself from ever feeling like this again, and I need to avoid Josh for both of our sakes. In a few months, I’ll call him or send him a Hannukah card. By then, he’ll have forgotten, and we can just go back to the way we were.
So that is what I set out to do.
Josh, Lincoln, September 2005
Rage.
My feelings are down to tired, hungry, or rage. Right now,
I’m in a rage.Everyone leaves me because I am not good enough.Hot tears burn behind my eyelids as I try to forget. Erase them both.
Dad is gone.
I’ve gone over and over everything I could’ve done better. If I had better grades, if I kept my room cleaner, and if I’d made the soccer team instead of the football team.
I’m not an idiot. Part of me knows there’s nothing I could’ve done. But I can’t stop thinking this way.
