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Summer 1988
It was late.
2am to be exact.
The soft glow of the moon peeked through James’ curtains illuminating the room. Posters hung on the wall, bands and tv shows that had special places in his heart. His room had a comforting atmosphere to it, making you feel warm inside, although that could just be from his laugh at your very unfunny joke you had just cracked.
“It wasn’t that funny Jimmy—“ You giggle trying desperately to hold down your own laugh.
You both sat on his bed, legs crossed and an ash tray sat between you both, tendrils of smoke being emitted from the cigarettes sat in the tray.
“It definitely was.” James laughs, out of breath from it all. His hand reaches down, picking up a cigarette, taking it to his mouth and smokes it before fumes fall from his lips.
You turn your head over to James’ bedside table, a brown bottle sits, lid open. You lean over grabbing it by the neck taking a large sip letting the horrible taste burn your throat as you swallow. You never enjoyed beer but you learnt the more you drank the better it tasted.
You place the bottle back down holding onto its taste as you did before turning back to face James.
After a couple seconds of oddly not awkward silence James speaks up, “Shouldn’t you go home soon? It’s getting late…” He pauses “Not like I want you to go or anything—“ He realises how rude his first question was, immediately feeling bad.
“No, it’s fine man I promise!” You reply chuckling softly at his awkwardness, he was unbelievably cute even if he didn’t try. “My mom said I could stay out as long as I wanted so I'm good.”
“Okay that's a relief, wouldn’t want you to get in trouble like last time.” James reminisced back to one of their last hangouts when the two of you had gotten drunk and you were home late past your in-time resulting in being grounded for a month.
“Oh don’t even remind me of that Jimmy…” You lean across the bed hitting his head, messing up his short brown locks.
“Hey—!” He pushes you back, messing your own hair up giggling as he does.
“James!” You laugh loudly pouncing on him, attacking his head as his back pinned against his bed sheets. You briefly stop, waiting for a comeback in the form of a slap but it doesn't come.
You look down meeting his warm brown eyes except they were mostly a black void from how enlarged his pupils were. He should not be allowed to be so god damn handsome.
His lips were parted slightly, his breath coming out slow and shallow. His puppy dog eyes staring up into your eyes.
Fuck he was beautiful.
“James..” You mutter and he mutters yours back.
You lean down closer, your chest pressing down against his as you properly straddle him. God you wanna kiss him so bad. Nobody would even know. It's just you two…
Just as you’re about to shake your sinful thoughts of kissing him he cups the sides of your face pulling you down fully into a kiss.
It felt like sparks went off. This wasn’t the same as the kisses you had shared with some girl in your calculus, this was different.
So different.
So perfect.
You slowly pull back meeting eye to eye with Him.
“James, I—“ You stutter, shocked by his sudden action.
He looks back with slight disgust on his face and a hint of regret. He pushes you off and cowers back.
“Never mention this again.”
You nod.
Autumn 1988
It's been 2 months since James Wilson moved cities.
After that hot summer night he ignored you at school, pretending you were just another face in the crowd, unimportant and just a filler character in his life.
It was weird, it ached.
Why would he leave you behind so quickly like that? Were you that unimportant?
You sit down at your designated lunch table, the one you and James sat at at what seems so long ago.
Why didn’t you just push him away so none of this would have never happened? So you could stay friends? So he wouldn’t have to move away?
You stare down at your tray.
Baked beans, a chicken sandwich, yogurt and a soda.
You feel sick. All this thinking of James makes you want to throw up. Why do you want to throw up?
Winter 1988
You sit on the church pews hands together in your lap.
You feel disgusted.
It’s sickening silence, leaving you with a deep sense of existential dread.
“Amen.” The priest at the front says aloud, everyone around you repeating it, God in their hearts, you do the same but God’s not in your heart.
Why did you have to be like this?
Spring 2006
You sit in the examination room, you’ve been feeling under the weather for about a month, probably a cold but better to check then not, right?
The light above you flickers, turning the room dark for a split second; it also smells weirdly clean, like bleach.
The light blue door at the left of the examination room opens, a tall man with short brown hair, puppy dog eyes, a lavender tie, white button up, black slacks finally paired off with a white lab coat walks in holding a clip board.”
“Is this Maya Jacobson—?” He says before looking at you, stopping immediately in his tracks.
James? James Wilson?
He really made it as a doctor like he wanted?
He looks you up and down, verifying it's definitely you.
“I'm definitely not Maya.” You joke awkwardly.
He doesn’t reply and is stunned by his obvious wide eyes.
“I-I— wrong room.” James leaves immediately, not bothering to say hi or notice you after nearly 20 years of no contact.
Was what really happened that night so bad?