has taken
on an entirely impersonal level, she can no longer spot the subtle changes in
his eyes or smile, no longer listen for clues in his voice. She can no longer
access the part of him that she believed for years only she could access.
And
perhaps it is because of this complete lack of connection and contact that she
has recently—just this week, actually—started to overcompensate by
assuming everything Scott posts online is a secret cry for help, a secret cry
for her. Perhaps it is because of this absence of intimacy that she is so
willing to believe that Scott is harboring feelings for her. When you’re
desperate, it is easy to blindly, recklessly throw your hopes out into the
open; to rely on luck when there is nothing else to rely on. It is easy to risk
failure, really, when you don’t even know what to measure your life against
anymore.
Besides,
it is right there: Summer Love .
What more proof does she need? And when she receives a call from Meg informing
her that Scott has broken up with Roxanne (“I figured I owed this much to you,”
she begins, before even saying hello), Summer can almost picture Scott sitting
by the windowsill, pining for her, can almost hear him saying he loves her. It
is implausible and borderline delusional, but it brings a smile to her face.
She imagines the myriad of serendipitous events leading to their happy
ending—she and Scott will get there, no matter how long it takes. “They
weren’t right for each other,” Meg says, and although Summer is fully aware
that her ex-roommate is only buttering her up out of repentant obligation, she
agrees. “That’s true,” she says, taking advantage of Meg’s remorse and the
chance to feed her ego. “They weren’t.”
Over the next several days, Summer
keeps herself busy. But no one is too busy to escape those few fleeting moments
when you’re lying in bed at night, your body on the verge of sleep but your
mind wide awake and running a million miles an hour. Those moments are when you
strip the day—and your life—down to the very core, making a mental
tally of the good things versus the bad things, and deciding which side wins.
Those moments are when you’re at your most honest with yourself, and as you
drift off to sleep, you ultimately decide whether or not something is lacking,
and whether or not you are going to do something about it tomorrow.
In
those moments, Summer thinks of Ellie and Ken and Nick. She thinks of Zac. Then
she thinks of Scott, and the way she waited and waited and waited for him to
fall in love with her. She thinks of how her life has been a series of
incidents where she always ends up falling short, hoping for something
wonderful to happen but not quite getting there. Her life must have been
interesting and fulfilling or at least bearable at some point in the years
before she met him and the months after he left, but right now, she just can’t
seem to make herself think otherwise.
One
night, after a full day of work, she lies in bed and tells herself, I
don’t belong here anymore. There is nobody here who will ever make me feel the
way he made me feel. It is something she has
been mulling over for a while, but it has always been a question, a vague
possibility, a hazy, hasty thought—she has never allowed it to go beyond
that. But on that night, it is a statement. And if I don’t
belong here , she thinks, maybe I belong
somewhere else . If she can’t find herself here, then there
must be another place in the world where she can.
The
next day, she e-mails Scott, “I miss you. How are you? You haven’t tweeted in
days. I don’t even know where you are. I miss you and I can’t stand it
anymore.” It’s worth a shot , she
thinks, the way she does every time she clicks Send.
After
about two minutes, Scott tweets, “Working on a new song called ‘Come Find Me.’ And that’s exactly what I want you to do. Yes, you.”
She
hears his voice in her head, as clearly as if he were
on an entirely impersonal level, she can no longer spot the subtle changes in
his eyes or smile, no longer listen for clues in his voice. She can no longer
access the part of him that she believed for years only she could access.
And
perhaps it is because of this complete lack of connection and contact that she
has recently—just this week, actually—started to overcompensate by
assuming everything Scott posts online is a secret cry for help, a secret cry
for her. Perhaps it is because of this absence of intimacy that she is so
willing to believe that Scott is harboring feelings for her. When you’re
desperate, it is easy to blindly, recklessly throw your hopes out into the
open; to rely on luck when there is nothing else to rely on. It is easy to risk
failure, really, when you don’t even know what to measure your life against
anymore.
Besides,
it is right there: Summer Love .
What more proof does she need? And when she receives a call from Meg informing
her that Scott has broken up with Roxanne (“I figured I owed this much to you,”
she begins, before even saying hello), Summer can almost picture Scott sitting
by the windowsill, pining for her, can almost hear him saying he loves her. It
is implausible and borderline delusional, but it brings a smile to her face.
She imagines the myriad of serendipitous events leading to their happy
ending—she and Scott will get there, no matter how long it takes. “They
weren’t right for each other,” Meg says, and although Summer is fully aware
that her ex-roommate is only buttering her up out of repentant obligation, she
agrees. “That’s true,” she says, taking advantage of Meg’s remorse and the
chance to feed her ego. “They weren’t.”
Over the next several days, Summer
keeps herself busy. But no one is too busy to escape those few fleeting moments
when you’re lying in bed at night, your body on the verge of sleep but your
mind wide awake and running a million miles an hour. Those moments are when you
strip the day—and your life—down to the very core, making a mental
tally of the good things versus the bad things, and deciding which side wins.
Those moments are when you’re at your most honest with yourself, and as you
drift off to sleep, you ultimately decide whether or not something is lacking,
and whether or not you are going to do something about it tomorrow.
In
those moments, Summer thinks of Ellie and Ken and Nick. She thinks of Zac. Then
she thinks of Scott, and the way she waited and waited and waited for him to
fall in love with her. She thinks of how her life has been a series of
incidents where she always ends up falling short, hoping for something
wonderful to happen but not quite getting there. Her life must have been
interesting and fulfilling or at least bearable at some point in the years
before she met him and the months after he left, but right now, she just can’t
seem to make herself think otherwise.
One
night, after a full day of work, she lies in bed and tells herself, I
don’t belong here anymore. There is nobody here who will ever make me feel the
way he made me feel. It is something she has
been mulling over for a while, but it has always been a question, a vague
possibility, a hazy, hasty thought—she has never allowed it to go beyond
that. But on that night, it is a statement. And if I don’t
belong here , she thinks, maybe I belong
somewhere else . If she can’t find herself here, then there
must be another place in the world where she can.
The
next day, she e-mails Scott, “I miss you. How are you? You haven’t tweeted in
days. I don’t even know where you are. I miss you and I can’t stand it
anymore.” It’s worth a shot , she
thinks, the way she does every time she clicks Send.
After
about two minutes, Scott tweets, “Working on a new song called ‘Come Find Me.’ And that’s exactly what I want you to do. Yes, you.”
She
hears his voice in her head, as clearly as if he were
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