Editor’s Note: “Begin Again” by Mackenzie Hoover is one of three winning entries in this year’s PENdemic short story competition sponsored by Fivesparks. Hoover is a student at the Bromfield School, and her story won the grade 9 through 12 category. Last week’s Press included the story by the grade 5 through 8 winner; the winning entry in the adult category will be published in coming weeks.
I remember the first time you saw her. It was a sunny Monday with the campus overrun with students. You wore an old basketball camp shirt from high school and baggy jeans to combat the October chill. Your black hair was a mess, whipping back and forth from the wind as we ran across the quad in an attempt to not miss our first morning class. I blamed our lack of self-control when watching Office episodes the night before, but you claimed that you needed your beauty sleep; either way, we were racing against the clock. We were dodging left and right when you suddenly toppled over the grainy sidewalk and crash-landed. You slowly stood up and then froze when you realized who you landed on: it was her. She had on a pale green sweater with black leggings and a pair of tan boots. Her light brunette hair was twisted in a bun and a pair of glasses was perched on her nose. It was like a slow-motion button got pushed, cliché I know, but how else would I describe it? Time stood still as the two of you took each other in, examining every mole, wrinkle, and crevice on their face. From that moment on, I knew nothing would be the same for you.
The trance was broken once I cleared my throat, reminding you of my presence. Introductions were made, jokes were said, and apologies were spoken before we realized that we had the first class together. She rushed with us across the lawn and in the nick of time and we made it to class without being late. But after she stepped through the door, I watched you pause in the doorway and trace your eyes to her before whispering her name once with a wisp of a smile on your lips. You followed her soon after and promptly began to learn chemistry with Professor Williams. That was when I knew you were a goner for the very first time.
You started as friends, but we all knew you both wanted more. She quickly became your new bestie (with the exception of me, of course). You did everything together: pulling all-nighters to study, binge-watching new TV shows, and bowling just for fun—quite awfully, may I add. It took a while but you finally asked her out once the nerves settled. I remember you came home that day with the largest smile on your face, the happiest I’ve ever seen, after she said yes. I was so excited for you. Expectedly, that joy quickly turned to panic when you realized you had no idea what to plan for the special night. After soothing your unreasonable worries, we brainstormed possible ideas over a box of cheese pizza. My favorite idea was paintball but you quickly dismissed it in favor of roller skating. You both didn’t see much of each other till the date, due to finals. But as the day finally came, I watched you change out of four shirts to find the perfect one and pace around the common room to exhaust your fretfulness. I sent a small prayer to the college romance gods that it would go well and you were off. With the words, “Wish me luck,” you stepped out the door to pick her up, leaving me alone at my desk to study for an exam. The next day you told me all about it with a dreamy twinkle on your face. I learned that her favorite color was orange, she was an amazing skater, and you were beginning to fall in love. You never revealed the last one, but call it a friend’s intuition because I already knew.
It was a whirlwind of romance; something straight out of the movies. You went on many dates after the first, hung out 24/7, and made me the honorary third wheel. I didn’t mind much, though, because I saw how happy you were. It wasn’t long until you realized you loved her. We were out at a diner, catching up, and you were talking about some funny story that happened with the two of you. Your eyes suddenly bulged out, your sip of water became a little choked, and you stared dumbfounded at me when you uttered, “I think I love her, man.”
I remember hyping you up to help you gain the courage to say those three little words to her. We planned and planned till we were certain that this moment would be perfect. It was a Friday when you took her on a midnight stroll in the park. While you two were stargazing you couldn’t wait anymore and blurted out, with clammy hands, “I love you.” And the best thing happened to you then: she said it back.
It was like a dream for a couple of months later but nothing perfect ever lasts. Slowly, she became more distant and aloof. The weekly movie dates turned monthly and you stopped bowling. Grins turned into looks of annoyance and small acts of kindness were forgotten. We saw it coming before you were willing to admit the truth, but deep down you knew it too. Needless to say, there was a big fight over something so small I don’t even remember. Unfortunately, it was the catalyst for all the hurt that would follow. Days later, she brought you to the park where the first “I love you” was spoken and gestured to a bench. You naively expected apologies to be exchanged but instead, she broke you with one sentence: “I don’t love you anymore … ”
Your heart shattered into a million tiny shards. After that day, your open expressions turned into stone and you stopped wearing your heart on your sleeve. Your smiles turned into frowns and your eyes became almost permanently sad. You were hurting and I was hurting because of that. I tried my best to help pick up the pieces she crushed. I was there when you needed a shoulder to cry on. I helped provide the ice cream and the late-night movies. I was there to hear all your anger and all your grief that came with it. And slowly, like a newborn bird learning to fly, you began to smile and your eyes became lighter.
Months later, you saw her again for the first time since that fateful night. We were walking down the street when we stumbled upon her and some guy. She introduced him as her new boyfriend and your slight smile turned into that familiar frown that I was beginning to know too well. Your fragile heart broke a second time. Days later, you questioned why you weren’t able to move on as fast. You asked why you weren’t good enough and shouted what was wrong with yourself. You had silent tears escaping and a wounded look that would forever be scarred in my memory. I did all that I could: I hugged you and promised that everything will be OK.
This time, more determined than before, I gathered glue instead of Band-Aids to repair the shattered mess. Carefully, I pieced together the shards with my unwavering support and time. I gave you space when you needed it and chocolate when you craved it. I pushed you into living as you did before and even got you back into bowling. But it’s important to remember that I wasn’t the one who fixed you; I only helped you while you fixed yourself. It took time until you started laughing again and gradually you moved on. Your heart returned to your sleeve and your grins became cheery once more. I remember it all.
Now I see you with a familiar faint blush on your cheeks, glancing at the blonde girl across the café on a Wednesday. You have a shy smile on your lips and I know I’ll watch it begin again.i
