Never Too Late by Amber Portwood, Beth Roeser

he was so interesting because he was so different, and he was interested in me for the same reasons. He was the football player, the good Christian boy, playing his guitar all soft; I was the wild child, listening to loud music, partying with these crazy people. But opposites just attract, and we had things in common, too. We both had come from rough childhoods, we were both virgins, we both had jobs and worked really hard, and really wanted to move up from where we’d come from in life.
    Honestly, our relationship in the beginning was a fairy tale. It was what everybody wants. We’d sneak out to hang out all night, going to church parking lots and just sitting there for hours, talking and making out. It was so interesting being with him. We would have these really, really long conversations where we would just be staring into each other’s eyes, talking about nothing. It was really one of those special things.
    There was one night when we were at the movies and he was holding onto my hand, kind of petting it with his thumb, and I felt his grip getting tighter and tighter. When I looked over at him, he had tears in his eyes. I was so surprised I asked him if he was okay and what was wrong. And what he said to me was, “I’m just so happy that I found you.”
    That was the moment when we both just went, “Okay, this is for real.”
    We had a few areas where we clashed, of course. As much as I was into him, it wasn’t like he was suddenly the only thing going on in my life. I was still blowing off school, and par-tying was still pretty much at the top of the list of things I wanted to do. He became the only person outside my friends who knew anything about that side of my life, and he did a lot to balance it out. He really tried to get me back into going to class and doing my work, because I was missing so much that I was getting kicked out and sent to alternative school.
    He tried to influence me in other ways, too. One huge thing he helped me get over was my eating disorder. I can’t even tell you when I started making myself throw up. I know it was very young, and I think I was seven when I realized I was chubbier than some of my friends. I always thought I was ugly, and I always thought I was fat. So I’d been starving myself, overeating, and then making myself throw up since I was in elementary school. He found out about that, and when we got together I was finally able to cut that behavior out and learn to be a little healthier.
    I used to tell him when we got together that he saved my life. Sometimes I had a pull on him, too, but we kept each other in check. For example, sometimes he’d skip school just to be around me when I was doing it, and I’d have to be like, “No, you have to go to school.” I had no desire to drag him down with any of my bad behavior. But for the most part we had this natural balance that put us both in awe. Each of us knew what the other was thinking, exactly how the other person worked. Our bond was so close and we shared so much together that I really think of my personality as molded around him. And that’s not bad, because we had an amazing relationship. When it really comes down to it, I think the most innocent times of my life were the times I spent with him.
    But it couldn’t go on being perfect like that forever. He probably didn’t even know half of the shit I was doing back then, but he hated the pills and the partying. I remember him smacking a bottle of pills out of my hand one time, and another time I remember him finding a different bottle and throwing them out into the road. And that, I could handle. It pissed me off when he wasted my pills, but I wasn’t nearly so bad that I couldn’t see where he was coming from. I could handle him trying to keep me on the right track, because that was something we did for each other. Unfortunately, what was pushing me away at the same time was how controlling he got. He always wanted to know exactly what I was doing and where I