what if what if what if

I saw you again the other day as I was walking past the cafe on the corner of Main and 11th. The one where we always used to study together alongside my oat milk vanilla latte, your espresso, and a pile of baked goods. Or rather, you’d try your best to study while I remembered something I wanted to tell you every five minutes. I bet you’re more productive now, now that I’m gone.

I didn’t used to get lattes, I preferred the warm texture and comforting taste of cappuccinos. But that’s what you thought I’d like so it became my drink, the one everyone always gets me. Even after everything, you’re still a part of my being. Sometimes I think that everything people know me by was because of you. Who am I if not your friend, your girl, your ex? I honestly don’t know.

I wonder how it feels to have affected someone so much that they change their regular order? I wouldn’t know; you were always consistent, far more secure in your identity than I was. I always said I was confident, independent, even as I slowly molded myself into everything I thought that you’d like.

Anyways, I heard your voice, and it took everything in me not to stop and turn round. I don’t know what I’d say, whether I’d yell or cry or maybe ask you how you are, but I feel the burning need to say something. I have so much to say that I just stay quiet, drowning in memories of our endless conversations.

You weren’t talking to me, of course you weren’t, but a small part of me thought that you’d call out my name. You don’t, so I just walk faster, as if speedwalking will help me forget you. The last thing I need is for you to think I still care when you so clearly don’t. You used to, and I think you still could if you tried, but you were never good at that. Trying, that is. Maybe when everything comes easy your whole life, you don’t learn how to fight for things. I have to believe that because you never fought for me.

My car isn’t far away now, just one more block, and the safety of it beckons. The idea of being able to drive anywhere, everywhere, far, far away has never been more appealing. You’re behind me now, too far to see or hear, but it feels like you’re right next to me. I keep my head down; I don’t want to catch glimpses of your face in every stranger I see. I don’t have the capacity to suffer through the kindness of your memory.

It was so, so good, I don’t know why it ended. But it’s over, and there’s nothing I can do except try to convince myself that it’s for the best, you weren’t a good person anyway, even as I remember your constant kindness. Why couldn’t you have been worse? Why couldn’t I have been better?

What if I had been the person you needed?

I had this first line stuck in my head as I went on a walk and knew that I needed to go home and write. I sat down, started typing, and wasn’t able to stop. The ideas, words, and feelings were just flowing through my mind so clearly, and voila. I really surprised myself here; I’ve never been one for writing fiction. Maybe it’s just because I’m a control freak, but there’s something terrifying about writing about things I’ve never actually experienced. But the thing is, while I have never been in this exact situation, I have felt these emotions so many times. Fear, confusion, longing, what if, what if, what if.

Fiction, as I am discovering, is more than just making stuff up. It’s taking collective ideas, feelings, and experiences and reworking them into a story.

This was the first time I’ve ever written fiction outside of school, and I deeply enjoyed it! I’m so excited to continue on this journey and take you all with me.