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I can’t remember his face anymore.
They told me he was handsome, that he was pretty, that he had the greatest singing voice they could ever have the privilege to hear, they told me that we were in a relationship; then we were not; then we never talked again.
They told me he was dead.
What was I expected to feel? Sadness, despair, hopelessness?
The saddest thing was that I knew that I would have been the first person who had cried for him, this best friend turned boyfriend turned nemesis.
My friends told me that I tried to get him out of my head for years; never succeeding, always remembering all the moments we’ve shared together, all the moments we’ve been together, until I couldn’t realize that we weren’t together anymore.
I’d always hated him as intensely as I loved him, during those times. That hatred turned into something else, after a while.
It turned into an ever consuming need for forgetfulness, me wishing every day for just one minute without him in my head.
I guess I got my wish, then.
It had happened when one of my friends had come up to me and said, ‘I know you don’t want to hear me say this, but… he died. Just hours ago, actually.’ Her voice was trembling, even then, I knew that it wasn’t out of any sympathy for the deceased; it was out of sympathy for me, the person who was going to suffer the most.
But I didn’t know who he was.
I didn’t know that I had been wanting to forget about him; this boy who had used to be my best friend. In fact, I didn’t remember anything of him at all.
I tried to remember him, and I come up with a blank.
My life with him seemed to be some sort of invented fantasy, like Mitch Grassi was just a dream that all of these people had dreamed and believed it to be reality.
I had thought I would feel happy once I forgot about him, I recalled. (It was one of the only things I remembered about him; but it wasn’t about him at all, was it?)
I didn’t expect to feel lost and confused, like some vital part of my life was missing.
I didn’t want Mitch Grassi to make an appearance on my memory; but I wanted him to, as well.