21 October 2004

A week or two before my seventeenth birthday, I met this guy... Technically, I'd met him before then, but only for a couple of seconds. My friend was busy whisking him away. So I didn't really meet him until a week or two before my birthday.

There was an impromptu bonfire party at my house, where I was living with my dad and my brothers. It had just started out as a bonfire that my dad had lit to get rid of some scrap wood or something. I was there, and my boyfriend at the time, Erich, was there. Erich had a not-so-secret crush on my friend Marianne, so he asked me to invite her over. And Marianne had a brand new boyfriend to show off, so she brought him with her. Marianne was kind of a slut, even then, and had a new boyfriend every couple of hours, and I had a mental image of some sleazy, creepy fellow with gold teeth and greasy hair, and probably a forty-ounce bottle of Big Bear tucked away somewhere on his person.

But the new boyfriend was nothing like I'd imagined. He had the most unearthly beautiful eyes. They were blue that night. Other times, they had sprinkles of green or grey in them. He had this look to him that I'd never seen on anybody before: simultaneously gentle and dangerous. He put a CD in my stereo, and when he sang along with it, his voice was the same way. Kind of like an airplane contrail: soft and pretty, but strong and kind of ominous at the same time.

I was sixteen and still terrified of most boys. I couldn't talk to most of them. And I sure as hell couldn't talk to this one, who was one of the most attractive specimens I'd ever laid eyes upon. For most of the night of the bonfire, I didn't say a word to Marianne's boyfriend. But when he sang... when he sang, I sang with him. And my cruddy, nasal little voice didn't sound so awful to me, blended with his.

He had one arm around me. It was May and the moon was almost full. We could hear frogs and breezes fluttering the grasses in the field. The song was "Possession," by Sarah McLachlan, a song that's both gentle and dangerous. That boy looked at me like I was the only living creature on the planet. I could feel those eyes on me. Everything smelled like wood smoke and fields. And there was this moment... It couldn't have been very long... In this one moment, I realized that I was completely in love with this lovely stranger who had shown up in my backyard to sing with me...

* * * * * * * * * * *

He told me stories when I was bored. He made coffee for me sometimes, or let me use his mug for refills at the coffeeshop downstairs from where he lived. Once, when I was scared, he put his arms around me and promised me that everything would be okay. Once, when I was sad, he put his arms around me and promised me that everything would be okay. He showed me how to open a butterfly knife, but I never could make it look graceful; he lent me his knife and I took it to school to practice with at lunchtime, but I still ended up cutting myself. He didn't smirk or make a rude remark when our friends took us to a reservoir to go skinny-dipping; I was a scrawny little thing with bony elbows and knees, and I was nowhere near as pretty as our female companions that day. He let me borrow his clothes sometimes, and sometimes I brought him food because he always looked like he was starving. He smoked Camel Lights, and there was always a tiny hint of tobacco in the air around him. He knew how to break into a house, and how to empty out a room in five minutes, and he was clearly a little bit crazy.

Whenever I was around -- no matter who else was around -- he looked at me as though I were the only living creature on the planet.

I loved him infinitely.

It didn't matter if he noticed me or not. I was sure he didn't. Not in That Way. We were just friends, coffee companions. I basked in his hugs. But I loved him without needing anything back.

* * * * * * * * * * *

He disappeared on Valentine's Day evening. One minute, he was at the coffeeshop checking his email at the computers there, and the next minute, he was gone and rumor had it that he'd fled to New Orleans. Specifically, the rumor was that he and another guy had shot and killed a member of the Yakuza, the Japanese mafia. The Yakuza had proliferated in secret in the tiny town of Owego, New York, and there had been some kind of an altercation for some reason, and one of them got killed. They told him to leave town and never come back.

I was always pretty sure that rumor wasn't true. Owego, NY wasn't entirely sure of the pronunciation of "teriyaki," much less a secret haven for the Japanese mafia. But that didn't make him any less gone. I knew I wouldn't see him again. He'd disappeared and he hadn't left any clues other than wild rumors, a couple of role-playing character sheets, and soem baffled friends.

I remember seeing him for the last time that night. He was wearing a fuzzy leopard-print hat. He hugged me. I'd been drinking a lot that night, and I couldn't speak coherently. But I remembered his eyes. It was dark and his pupils were huge. And then I guess I must have turned around, because the next thing I knew, he was gone.

And the next day, when I heard that he was gone -- really gone, probably forever -- I started to realize maybe he'd brought my heart with him.

* * * * * * * * * * *