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This was not how you thought your first kiss would go. This was not how it was supposed to go.
You were going to sleep over with her. You could help her, befriend her, love her. An easy enough plan. Of course, you'd have to try to pretend that you hadn’t already been daydreaming about her before the two of you even exchanged a word. You'd even start skipping lunch with your clique to sit with her. You wanted, needed, her to trust you. Then, it was on her. You could wait for her to say something. You did not need to make that first move.
The two would sit on that playground, and it would be dusk. She would ask you “Is this okay?” as she got closer to you. You would say yes, of course it is, barely hearing your own voice over the sound of your pounding heart and gently kiss her back. And then maybe, just maybe, you could begin to tell people. You would decide to call yourselves girlfriends, and because of Hannah, you would stop caring so much about what other people think. You could shut out the world because she would become your new one.
Instead, the first (and only) time you kiss, it is the first time you stay over. You could never stick to a plan. In this version, you do not wait. The first move is of your doing, and it is because you are tipsy and can’t seem to remember why you would want to wait. You trust your primal instincts. It isn’t worth it.
The kiss is desperate, but she does not kiss you back with the intensity that you are giving her. You do not, you cannot, ask if this is okay. In real life, you do not have the luxury of deciding what the two of you are. In real life, a picture of your mistake gets out without careful consideration. As if it wasn’t already humiliating enough to kiss the girl you love without her kissing back, without you realizing what is going on. The move is not either of yours. Tyler’s photo of your heartbreak is on every screen but yours. You have to shut her out because the world is going to know your most guarded secret.
In daydreams, you think you could tell people. In real life, you know you don’t have a choice. If you don’t keep your guard up, you get attacked.
You thought there could be a second chance. There wasn’t. In a life you craved, you could fix your mistakes.
You would tell her. Tell her you’re gay. That you’re in love with her, that you have been since you saw her in geometry at the beginning of sophomore year. You didn’t mean a single thing from before. You would ask for a second chance. This time, you could wait for her to say something. Not necessarily that she loved you back. Not even that she forgave you. You wanted, needed her to trust you. You would give it all for her, right?
Hannah made you - makes you - want to be better, or at least pretend. This would take time. You could go on a few dates. You could fix up a friendship that was barely there to begin with. You wouldn’t immediately parade your lesbianism around (even though you thought they all could tell, the way they looked at you). You and Hannah. This time, you could be better. You could go dance together. She would call you pretty, and you would feel the familiar flutter in your stomach and a flutter of her eyelashes as her face pressed against yours for the second kiss you had been yearning for. You would be better.
There is no second kiss. The dance is a disaster. There, you tell everyone that you aren’t gay. That Hannah’s a slut, you were just along for the ride. Of course, you don’t mean a single thing, but it’s difficult to stop this waterfall of words when you know that they are your last line of defense. This time, there is no forgiveness. You want, need her to trust you but you cannot seem to trust yourself. You do not parade out of the gym. You slink away from the crowd of people and the mistakes you know that you have made.
No manner of dreaming, of wanting to be better, will make you forget the way she yelled at you. You know you deserve it. There are no more dates, no more dances, no more conversations. Hannah kills herself because you were so shitty to her, because you abused every chance you got. You pretend she’s lying in her recordings, but either way, she’s dead. The next time you hear Hannah’s voice is your tape. That’s also the only time she calls you pretty.
“Courtney Crimsen. What a pretty name, and what a pretty girl.”
Your stomach flutters, and you know you deserve whatever comes next. If only, if only you had been better.
There are no more daydreams of being with Hannah, of loving her. Those have morphed into nightmares. Now, your only daydream is to move on. From Hannah, from hiding. You need to talk.
In less foolish daydreams than the ones that have failed you so far, you tell your dads. You picture sitting them down at the table in Monet’s and revealing what has been plaguing your brain. There is not much to explain. You tell them about Hannah, too, about how guilty you feel. Papa would laugh. Dad would to shush him about taking this lightly, but both of you join in.
They would still love you. After all, weren’t their parents asking them about grandchildren once, too? Weren’t they feeling guilty of a love they could not control not so many years ago? They could cry with you about Hannah, chastise you for your mistakes. What are you scared of? Gay dads would still love their gay daughter. You feel silly for thinking otherwise. This is the truest dream you have, and you are moments from making it come true.
The case for Hannah isn’t over. No matter how centered your daydreams are on moving on, not everyone does. The prosecutor pulls out the picture, the one that crushed your first daydream of Hannah. You don’t lie. You come clean about what has been plaguing your brain. Papa is sitting in the corner of the room, shushing you, saying you can keep quiet. He stops to listen to your confession. His head is in his hands. He is crying for you.
You can’t keep quiet any longer. Were you not asking too much of Hannah once? Didn’t you owe her this much? And for once in your godforsaken life, you tell the truth. That picture is of you. You wanted it. This move is yours. Hannah is gone, but she changed you. You are sick of feeling guilty for a love you cannot control, so you talk about the guilt about the actions you can. You are scared. That is okay. You have done something unforgivable. Honest Hannah could no longer love an honest girl, and that’s your fault. You still want to be trusted.
Gone are the days you protect yourself over Hannah. Gone are the days you stoop to the level of a rapist just to hide who you are. This is the moment you make everything Hannah stood for in her last moments come true.
And your family still loves you. Your friends still love you. You still are learning to love yourself. Hannah did a terrible thing by releasing those tapes. You sit in the park, the gym, Monet’s, you see Hannah and you know she just wanted the truth. Except now, in your waking life, you are living it.