candy and let me eat the whole thing.
I remember that we moved into our loft apartment and I got the room with the circular window and the slanted ceilings that made me think I was living in a doll house.
I remember that my mother dyed her hair red for a few months and that I had a bright purple bikini with a bow in the center.
I remember that we roasted marshmallows on a burner on the top of the stove and we used them to make s’mores and that mom let me crawl into her bed if I was scared at night. She would tuck my hair behind my ears and whisper me to sleep.
I’ve always thought of it as selective memory and in a lot of cases it’s served me well. Two years ago it may have been the only thing that got me through each day. Now I’m wondering if this “selective memory” is the reason I am so blindsided by my boyfriend and my friend hooking up behind my back.
Honestly, how could I have not known that something was happening between them?
How did I miss it?
How long was it going on?
Who else knew about it?
After missing lunch and two entire class periods, I am able to pull myself together and come out of the bathroom stall. With the scratchy school paper towels I wipe my face dry and stare into the mirror at my reflection. Great. I look like complete shit.
The door swings open and Macy Jones walks in with a hall pass dangling from her hand. She stops midstride when she sees me.
“Are you okay Willow?” She’s whispering even though there’s no one else around.
I just nod my head as best as I can manage and throw the wadded paper towel that I’ve been clutching into the trash. Macie’s eyes feel like hands on my back as I walk out of the bathroom and down the deserted hall.
The rest of the afternoon is a blur. I stare vacantly at the board during Spanish and when Mrs. Freeman asks me to explain the answer to number twelve I don’t even know what page of the book we are supposed to be on. I am too preoccupied with the mess in my head.
I try to remember every time that I ever saw them together. Ever.
I start a list.
1. There was the time that Dustin drove her home from school junior year. Taylor’s car had a flat tire and she needed a ride home. Her house was on the way to Dustin’s house. It seemed innocent enough at the time.
2. Once, when Dustin and I were first dating I found out that their families had gone out to dinner together. They’d shared one of those big tables at a Japanese steak house. It bothered me at the time but Dustin told me that their fathers had a business arrangement and I was acting “clingy and jealous.” I didn’t want to be that girl so I dropped it.
3. They played tennis occasionally at the club where both of their families were members.
4. Last summer, the twins let it slip that Taylor and Dustin had kissed in the sixth grade. Apparently, it was just on a dare and nothing came of it and Taylor called him “slobbery.” Still, it irked me.
5. When we dressed as the Spice Girls for Halloween Dustin had told Taylor that she “looked hot.” He had said the same thing to me so I hadn’t been too annoyed at the time, but looking back, should a good boyfriend say that anyone but his girlfriend looks hot?
And so on…
By the time I get to my car in the parking lot, the list reaches to thirty-four. It might as well reach to two hundred.
The hurt begins to soak in. It seeps through my clothes and chills my skin. I remember the phone conversation I’d had with Taylor. Am I the dumbest girl in the world?
Of course she didn’t think it mattered whether or not Dustin was with someone else! He was with her!
I need to talk to Dustin. The idea starts out like a small seed—a tiny black pumpernickel seed on the crust of my brain, but by the time I’ve found a parking spot downtown and locked my car door, it’s sprouted into a
I remember that we moved into our loft apartment and I got the room with the circular window and the slanted ceilings that made me think I was living in a doll house.
I remember that my mother dyed her hair red for a few months and that I had a bright purple bikini with a bow in the center.
I remember that we roasted marshmallows on a burner on the top of the stove and we used them to make s’mores and that mom let me crawl into her bed if I was scared at night. She would tuck my hair behind my ears and whisper me to sleep.
I’ve always thought of it as selective memory and in a lot of cases it’s served me well. Two years ago it may have been the only thing that got me through each day. Now I’m wondering if this “selective memory” is the reason I am so blindsided by my boyfriend and my friend hooking up behind my back.
Honestly, how could I have not known that something was happening between them?
How did I miss it?
How long was it going on?
Who else knew about it?
After missing lunch and two entire class periods, I am able to pull myself together and come out of the bathroom stall. With the scratchy school paper towels I wipe my face dry and stare into the mirror at my reflection. Great. I look like complete shit.
The door swings open and Macy Jones walks in with a hall pass dangling from her hand. She stops midstride when she sees me.
“Are you okay Willow?” She’s whispering even though there’s no one else around.
I just nod my head as best as I can manage and throw the wadded paper towel that I’ve been clutching into the trash. Macie’s eyes feel like hands on my back as I walk out of the bathroom and down the deserted hall.
The rest of the afternoon is a blur. I stare vacantly at the board during Spanish and when Mrs. Freeman asks me to explain the answer to number twelve I don’t even know what page of the book we are supposed to be on. I am too preoccupied with the mess in my head.
I try to remember every time that I ever saw them together. Ever.
I start a list.
1. There was the time that Dustin drove her home from school junior year. Taylor’s car had a flat tire and she needed a ride home. Her house was on the way to Dustin’s house. It seemed innocent enough at the time.
2. Once, when Dustin and I were first dating I found out that their families had gone out to dinner together. They’d shared one of those big tables at a Japanese steak house. It bothered me at the time but Dustin told me that their fathers had a business arrangement and I was acting “clingy and jealous.” I didn’t want to be that girl so I dropped it.
3. They played tennis occasionally at the club where both of their families were members.
4. Last summer, the twins let it slip that Taylor and Dustin had kissed in the sixth grade. Apparently, it was just on a dare and nothing came of it and Taylor called him “slobbery.” Still, it irked me.
5. When we dressed as the Spice Girls for Halloween Dustin had told Taylor that she “looked hot.” He had said the same thing to me so I hadn’t been too annoyed at the time, but looking back, should a good boyfriend say that anyone but his girlfriend looks hot?
And so on…
By the time I get to my car in the parking lot, the list reaches to thirty-four. It might as well reach to two hundred.
The hurt begins to soak in. It seeps through my clothes and chills my skin. I remember the phone conversation I’d had with Taylor. Am I the dumbest girl in the world?
Of course she didn’t think it mattered whether or not Dustin was with someone else! He was with her!
I need to talk to Dustin. The idea starts out like a small seed—a tiny black pumpernickel seed on the crust of my brain, but by the time I’ve found a parking spot downtown and locked my car door, it’s sprouted into a
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