• Standstill


    The day I realized how screwed I truly was had actually been one of the happiest days of my summer. Two days, actually, seeing as I was awake until three in the morning.

    We were all camping. All my friends. The ones who really mattered at least. I came only after promises of girly bonding time and assurances that there would be no hiking whatsoever.

    And he would be there.

    I hadn’t really seen him since school got out, other than an awkward conversation on July 4th at the fireworks show. He’d introduced me to his new church friends and I had the sinking feeling that I wasn’t important to him anymore.

    I had stood there while he hoisted a little blonde girl on his shoulders, silent. I watched him interact with her and felt a deep longing in my heart. Why couldn’t I have had a brother like him? Why was my life such absolute crap and his so amazing?

    He radiated confidence and calm. He was so at peace with himself and I was so insecure about everything. Why would he want me?

    He gave me a hug goodbye that night. It was one-armed because he was still holding the little girl, but my heart still pounded. I had thought I was getting over this. Apparently not.

    So, almost a month later, I saw him again. And again, naïvely, I thought I was over him. Sadly, no. But I was resigned to my fate. I wasn’t the type of girl he saw as a girlfriend. I was solidly in the friend category, and he was comfortable with me there like I would never be.

    Despite the aching in my chest every time he smiled, I managed to have fun. More fun than I would have thought I could have while roughing it. I actually went swimming with Sara, who was pretty much okay with being “just friends” by now, and a few other friends. We played trust games and roasted marshmallows by the fire.

    But it was the late nights that killed me.

    Two nights in a row, it was just me and him by the fire while everyone else slept. He thought I was shivering because I was cold. It was because he was near. We talked about some serious things, and laughed at others until our sides hurt. Mine especially. He sat on me for about an hour. That was the best hour of my life. I could pretend, for just a short time, that I was as important to him as he was to me.

    When we had to leave, my sorrow, though not overwhelming, was overbearing. Something told me that I would never be that close to David again. But at the same time I was kind of okay with it.

    Sure, he’d never date me, or me my boyfriend, or anything substantial like that, but all I needed anymore was to be close to him. As long as he allowed me near him I would be fine. Eventually I’ll move on—I have to. I’m only in high school and I have a whole world to explore yet.

    Until then, I will endure. If he finds a different girl I will support him. Because if I’m not right for him, then he deserves someone who is and he deserves a better friend than a girl who would interfere with that.

    I’m still too shy, too uncomfortable with boys, too random and babbly. For now, though, I don’t need to be competition for anyone. For the first time, I’m starting to realize that I can be too much myself.

    And I like that.