Living Backwards (18 page)

Turning the corner, heading towards his row of lockers, I froze, panic-stricken by the sight before me. Luke’s back was facing me as he leaned against his locker door. Facing him in all her spandex glory, was Val.

For weeks now, I waited for Val to ask Luke to the prom, knowing that seeing them together would hurt like hell. When he asked me to go instead, I thought that maybe I’d dodged a bullet even if going with him was risky. But nothing prepared me for the pain I felt seeing him leaning into her as she twirled a lock of her over-permed, over-styled hair around her skanky, little finger. I wanted to kill her.

I slowly inched my way down the hall so that I could hear what she was saying while trying to remain undetected.

“So have you thought at all about what we talked about the other day?” she asked, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Oh right,” he replied. “The bonfire. Yeah.”

“Really?” she exclaimed with a bounce, jiggling her partially-covered boobs in his face. I had always assumed it took years for Val to become the tramp I’d come to know so well. In reality, she’d always been one. “That’s fantastic! I’m so glad we’ll get to spend some time together. It’s been too long.”

I felt like someone punched me in the stomach. Luke was going to the bonfire with Val.

I barreled through the doors and down the stairs, desperately trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall. I couldn’t function. I couldn’t be here. I couldn’t deal with the idea of Luke and Val. I knew it was possible that he would assume I blew him off, and I was prepared to explain myself, but I never imagined that he would have given up on me so easily. The pain was so overwhelming—so acute—if I didn’t know better, I would swear I needed medical attention. But I knew better. I knew why it hurt so much. I knew why I had never felt this way before, not with anyone else.

When I reached my car I could barely see the door. I blindly reached for the handle, blinking back tears. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I passed his bike and tears began to fall. I waited too long and I blew it.

I was in love with him and I was too late.

During our first year as roommates, Danielle and Megan introduced me to many new and interesting experiences. I didn’t know what beer pong was. I’d never cut a class. I never stayed out all night or watched the sun come up. I never had a boy in my bed. Hell, I couldn’t even play “I Never” because I had never done
anything
. So, I relished each new experience feeling as though I was finally an active participant in life instead of a spectator watching from the sidelines.

One thing I was not pleased about was Megan’s insistence that I learn to love horror movies. She argued that it was a perfect activity for a first date that had some potential. If the date was going well, there was the opportunity to grab his hand or snuggle into his side when the action became too intense. If the date was a disaster, you could ask to leave because it was too hard to watch. So it was before a date with a cute guy from our dorm that Megan suggested we scope out
Final Destination
. If I was able to make it through the movie, I could suggest it for our date. While in theory any movie that involved the decapitation of Seann William Scott scored points with me, I still watched the majority of it with my hands covering my face.

Megan continued to force me into watching similar films. I never took a liking to the genre, but that one movie stuck with me. So now, sitting on my bed, my face red and splotchy, I was reminded of the premise. You can’t cheat fate. Luke and Val weren’t together in the future, this I knew, but it was clear to me that fate wanted them together now. Who was I to fight fate?

I found it ironic that after almost three weeks of running around in circles, the day I decided to throw caution to the wind and follow my heart, fate kicked me in the proverbial balls. Fate is kind of an asshole. I may have really wanted to be angry at Luke, and I certainly wanted to kill Val, but when it came down to it, there really wasn’t anyone to blame. Luke wasn’t meant for me and it hurt.

While I tried to come to terms with the fact that he was off somewhere probably getting mauled by Val, I knew there was no way that I was going to the bonfire to witness it. After having him so close and then losing him, the sight of them together would be too much for me to handle. The prospect of sitting on my bed and sulking didn’t appeal to me either. If I were back in 2011, Danielle, Megan and I would buy some obscure and ridiculously expensive bottle of chardonnay, order too much Chinese food from the cute little restaurant around the corner and watch reruns of Project Runway. We’d eat, drink and make fun of the designers until one of us (usually me) passed out or fell asleep. But I didn’t want chardonnay or Chinese food. And I obviously couldn’t watch Heidi and Tim Gunn either. I needed a distraction.

It took less than a minute to decide what I was going to do and where I was going to go. Hopping off the bed, I grabbed the keys from my desk and scowled at the Word of the Day.

Candescence: 1. The state of being white hot; 2. incandescence.

Oh yes, I’m just on fire these days.

I jogged down the stairs and began rifling through the storage closet in the back porch. Once I found an old duffle bag to use, I stuffed the old scratchy wool blanket my dad used for camping inside. I couldn’t find the kerosene lamp I knew we once had so I settled for one of the hundreds of Mag Lights we had lying around. It was one of the perks of living with a cop. I also needed reading material. While
That
Jillian would have nursed her heartbreak by flipping through the worn pages of
Sense and Sensibility
, I’d rather poke my eye out. I had already lost the boy. I didn’t need to be reminded that like Marianne Dashwood, my Willoughby was at the bonfire with Miss Grey. Only in my version, Miss Grey had a bad perm, big boobs and a knack for defiling antiques. So instead of torturing myself, I decided to bypass the reading material.

Fortunately, both of my parents were working so I wouldn’t need to hold a press conference, lying about where I was headed. Throwing the duffle into my car, I climbed in and retraced the route I had driven with Luke just a few days before. After taking a few wrong turns, I soon drove past the small parking area where we left his bike on Sunday night before traipsing into the woods. As I pulled into the lot, it occurred to me that there was a major flaw in my plan. Although I had my dad’s trusty Mag Light, the idea of walking by myself along the dark path was not very appealing. In fact, it was a really bad idea. I could come across wild animals, serial killers or giant spiders. It was the alternative that kept me going. I’d rather chance an encounter with a serial killer—possibly even a giant spider—than head to the bonfire.

I grabbed my bag from the front seat and jumped out, prepared to take on any spiders or serial killers head-on. On an intellectual level, I knew it had taken twenty minutes or so to walk from the parking lot to the ledge; however, alone at night, I was convinced I had been walking for hours and I’d never find my way back.

By the time I reached the end of the path, my fingers were sore from gripping the handle of my bag and my nerves were shot. At least in the open and away from the canopy of trees, the ledge was bathed in moonlight. I’d be able to look out for spiders.

Glancing up, I was overwhelmed by the beauty of the night sky with its scattered stars and constellations. My chest tightened as I located the Northern Cross. Pulling the scratchy, wool blanket from the duffle, I laid it out on the grass. It might not have been the most comfortable place in the world, but it was a hell of a lot better than pouting at home or watching Val and Luke at the bonfire.

As I began reflecting on the events of the past few weeks, I was reminded of what Suzanne had said to me in the library the day before. “You don’t get a do-over.” What about a do-over for your do-over? Where do you start when you’re allowed to rewrite your history?

I always thought I was a fairly happy person. I had great friends who loved me and a decent job. It didn’t bother me that I wasn’t in a relationship. Over the years, I had gotten used to being the fifth wheel in our little group. Now, surrounded by teenagers preparing to embark on the greatest adventure of their lives, I found myself feeling sad and wistful. Would I have done it differently? Seventeen-year-old Jillian might be slightly disappointed in how things turned out for her.
That
Jillian wanted to travel the world and write a novel, learning about new languages and new places. It was what I had meant to do, but I needed a stable job. When the position at the magazine opened up, I knew I had to take it—even if it meant that I was tied to a desk and not touring the globe. I hadn’t ever really given it a lot of thought. Not really what
That
Jillian had dreamed about on her graduation day.

And while I had never gotten hung up on the fact that I was nearly thirty and still single, I would be lying if I claimed I didn’t want someone to share my life. Knowing that I could feel the way I did with Luke made me hopeful, but it was bittersweet. I wondered who he belonged to in the future and what she was like. I wondered if he was as happy as he appeared in that photo. I wondered if I spent all my time in vain trying not to alter my life when now I had to live with the knowledge that I loved someone and he was out there somewhere…with someone else. If I were forced to relive my entire life, would I be able to move on? I didn’t have any answers, and dwelling on it wasn’t going to dull the ache in my chest.

I shot up when I heard a rumbling off in the distance. Pointing the flashlight in the direction of the noise, I squinted, attempting to see if anyone or anything was coming. I suddenly wished I had brought something more formidable with me to fight off the spiders and serial killers. There’d be no quick getaway for me on foot.

When nothing appeared, I reluctantly focused my attention back on the starry sky until I heard the unmistakable sound of branches snapping. Whatever was in the woods was heading my way and moving fast. My heart raced as I began to curse myself for being so goddamn stupid. I had no way to defend myself except for a few things I learned during the one self-defense class I took with Meg. To be fair, I did not quit this class. We were asked not to come back after Meg broke the instructor’s nose. Nevertheless, I was pretty defenseless.

Raising the Mag Light over my head, I prepared for whatever was heading my way. Despite any bravado I had somehow mustered, I let out a scream as a figure appeared in the pathway.

“Damn it, Jillian. Are you out of your mind?” Luke fumed, his eyes wild. I was startled by his hostility as he came striding over to me.

“You’re up here all by yourself with nothing but a…a flashlight to protect yourself!” he roared, grabbing it from my hand.

Confused, I ignored his tirade. “Luke, why are you…why aren’t you at the bonfire?”

This didn’t make sense. I heard him agree to go with Val and now he was here yelling at me about flashlights.

“Maybe you should be telling me why you
weren’t
at the bonfire,” he retorted, exasperated and annoyed.

“How did you know I wasn’t there?”

“Because I was,” he replied as if it was just common sense. “Danielle told me you were going together.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea why you’d want to go with her,” he quipped, straight-faced.

“I mean why were you looking for me?” I was shivering and couldn’t stop fidgeting with my hands as I tried to hide that fact that they had started to shake.

“Because I thought that we could go for a ride or something.”

He suddenly looked shy and unsure, the complete opposite of the picture of quiet confidence he was yesterday.

“When your car wasn’t at your house, I figured I’d check a few places. I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to come up here all by yourself in the middle of the night.”

“I saw Val ask you to the bonfire,” I added, ignoring him again, feeling jealous and stupid.

“Val? Seriously? I can’t believe you thought….Jillian, there’s no way I would go anywhere with Val,” he scoffed. His face softened and he looked uncomfortable again.

“You told her no?” I couldn’t get past this.

“I told her I was going,” he explained, “but I wasn’t going there for her.” His eyes smoldered as he looked up at me. “I don’t want
her
.”

We had been slowly moving towards each other, but with his admission I froze. I wanted to believe it was me he wanted, but I was very good at hearing what I wanted to hear. As I stood there shaking and staring at this beautiful boy in the moonlight, I wanted so badly to ask him to clarify what he was saying. I needed to hear it.

“I don’t understand,” I murmured, my heart racing.

“It’s not her I want.” He seemed to laugh at himself. “There’s this emotionally unavailable, future alcoholic I’ve had my eye on.”

I wanted so much to tell him that I wasn’t like that anymore. If he only knew how much he’d changed me...without even trying. I’d never be the same and it scared me to death.

Everything had been so carefully planned from encouraging Megan to pursue Nate to getting him to ask her to the prom, and then keeping Val away from Danielle. Not this. Not Luke. I thought he was kind of crazy and wonderful. He made me feel seventeen again, and I wasn’t sure I ever felt seventeen. At seventeen, I was in a book club with an elderly librarian, for Christ’s sake. I couldn’t trust myself around him anymore. The rational part of my brain was telling me to retreat because I was probably about to do something I might regret, but he was smiling and I couldn’t stop looking at his lips.

I’m so not leaving.

“She sounds like a pain in the ass. I didn’t know you had a thing for the crazies,” I replied nervously. Sarcasm was like a second language to me. I couldn’t be straight with him even though I knew he’d see through it.

“Not crazy,” he insisted. “She’s just been difficult to figure out. That whole emotionally unavailable thing. But I think I understand now.”

His head was down, but when he looked up—all deep eyes and eyelashes—he was smiling that smile again.

“You understand?”

“Yeah. You see, she thinks too goddamn much. So I made a decision,” he announced, moving in closer and running the back of his knuckles up and down my arm.

“A…decision?” My inability to communicate coherently had apparently kicked in again while his confidence had clearly returned.

“I’m not going to wait for her to figure out her shit anymore. I’m not letting her avoid
this
anymore,” he added, staring me down. “Because I know she wants me too.”

As he leaned toward me, I lifted my head up to meet his gaze. He was challenging me to run again, knowing this time I wouldn’t. I was frozen.

RIP Jillian’s brain cells.

“Luke….” I sighed as my eyes shifted down again to his mouth. True to his word, while I was trying to figure out how to respond, he placed his hands on my cheeks, making it impossible for me to look away. Before I could even acknowledge what was happening, his mouth was on mine, and I was swept away once again by the sensation of his soft, warm lips. The familiar scent of mint along with the faintest hint of his Marlboros washed over me.

What started out soft and gentle quickly turned desperate and needy. We were pulling and pushing, and I was on autopilot. Jillian’s brain had left the building. It was a familiar feeling—the buzz that pushes you to sing an obnoxious and overplayed karaoke song with your girlfriends, or that gives you the courage to dance with the hot guy sitting at the bar. It’s a happy buzz that makes you feel like you’re invincible and no one can touch you. I’ve spent a lot of time feeling this buzz. Now I stood at the edge of the world, in the eye of the storm, with this beautiful and frightening boy. I was sober, but I felt it. I was pretty sure that I was drunk on Luke, but I knew that didn’t make any sense.