February 22, 2015 - Failure

I woke up late the next day and stumbled into the bathroom like I’d lost a fight on the way there. I squinted at my reflection, head tilted, as if a better angle might change the outcome. It didn’t. The dark circles under my eyes looked like bruises I didn’t remember earning. The kind people give you sympathetic looks for.

I slapped my cheeks once. The sting barely registered. I did it again, harder, until my skin felt warm and offended.

“What in the world did you just do?” I muttered at the mirror.

My reflection stared back, unimpressed.

“You asked a girl out last night,” I said slowly, like I was explaining a crime to myself. “You.” I spat the word, curling my lip like it tasted bad.

I lifted a finger and pointed straight at my own face, accusatory. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to make this work. She said yes. Pat said yes to you.” I hesitated, then added, quieter but sharper, like twisting a knife for precision, “You.”

My reflection didn’t argue. It never did.

Honestly, this wasn’t new. I’d had this exact conversation at least ten times since last night while lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the café scene frame by frame like security footage. Every version ended the same way: Why did you think you were allowed to do that?

I checked my phone.

Lunch in one hour.

I stood there for a moment, phone dangling uselessly in my hand, breathing through my nose while my stomach tightened in slow, deliberate knots. Then I sighed, queued up some pirated music, placed the phone in the top and turned on the shower.

“I’m going to make this work,” I muttered to the tiles, to the shampoo bottles, to nobody. I repeated it while scrubbing my hair. While pulling on clothes. While tying my shoes with hands that wouldn’t quite stop shaking.

“This is my chance,” I kept telling myself. “My chance to finally be free.”

Free from the classroom prison. From Jackie. From the constant hum of guilt and almosts and what-ifs. Free from feeling like every good thing I touched was on loan.

By the time I reached our meeting place, my head was empty except for that one thought, looping over and over like a warning label I refused to read.

Five minutes early.

I stood there, hands shoved deep in my pockets, heart kicking against my ribs like it wanted out.

When Pat came exactly on time, I glanced up and couldn’t help but stand. My heart was pounding so hard I half-expected someone at the next table to complain about the noise.

She was pretty. Gorgeous, even - judging by the way other customers’ heads turned toward her. She walked in wearing a sleeveless dress, which immediately made me feel very aware of how underdressed I was.

I met her halfway to the table and grinned at her. The smile must’ve looked like it hurt. My lips felt like they hadn’t stretched in a while. My mouth was dry. My brain too for that matter.

I licked my lips and escorted her to the chair. “You look pretty,” I muttered.

She glanced at me and grinned. “And you look like hell, Al.”

I scratched the back of my head and pulled the chair out for her. I had no idea if that was the right move. This was a café, not some candlelit restaurant. Still, I did it anyway, operating purely on instinct and mild panic. It probably screamed I am winging this.

When she sat, I took a deep breath to calm my nerves.

It didn’t work. Not even close.

My heart beat even faster now that we were actually starting the date. I hesitated, wondering if I was supposed to sit beside her or across from her. After a few seconds of useless thinking, I **** myself to sit down across from her.

“So… thanks for agreeing to, you know… have a date with me,” I said.

It was lame. I knew it. She knew it. I found myself thinking I should’ve read more romance books from a male perspective. Twilight’s Edward didn’t have to work this hard. He was sparkly and mysterious. I was just… me.

Pat laughed, her braces catching the light. “Is this your first date ever?”

I nodded dumbly. “How did you know?”

“It’s kinda obvious,” she said. “You haven’t closed your mouth yet. You look like you’re gasping for air.”

I snapped my mouth shut. “Sorry. It’s just… I really want to make this work.”

She tilted her head. For a second, her brows furrowed. My heart skipped, but then she smiled.

“Let’s order some food,” she said. “I’m hungry.”

Relief hit me so hard I almost laughed. I grabbed the menu like it was a lifeline. It was easy to talk to her in class. Easy when there were other people around, when nothing was at stake. Sitting here, alone with her, every thought jammed up at the exit.

I scanned the menu, biting my lip. Why did my brain choose now to freeze? It knew how important this was. It just didn’t care.

Funny. That’s what people always said they liked about me. I remembered Ginny telling me that once. Although Ginny didn’t actually like me. Pat had said it too. My old self would’ve had plenty to say. But not this guilt-ridden, introverted version of me.

We ordered silently. Pat watched me expectantly, and of course I couldn’t look directly at her. I glanced around at the other customers instead. I felt jealous of how carefree they looked while I sat there, stuck inside my own head. They looked like college students, relaxed and care-free.

An idea finally came to me. I looked back at Pat quickly. “So... uh... where are you going to college?”

She told me about an art college, about dancing, about plans that sounded confident and deliberate.

It sounded expensive. Private. The kind of place where students drove their own cars with retractable roofs and didn’t worry about money the same way. I nodded along, swallowing the comment that formed in my head. I should’ve said it. She might’ve laughed. But I didn’t trust my instincts anymore.

“I heard you guys are going to the same college,” Pat said, keeping the conversation alive while I stalled again.

I nodded. “Kyle, Mike, Joseph, and I are going there. We passed the entrance exam.”

“Minnie too, right?” she asked.

“Yeah. Pretty sure Kyle would’ve gone somewhere else if Minnie hadn’t passed.” I hesitated, then added jokingly, “He’s a nepo baby. He can afford options.”

Pat laughed, and something inside me loosened. There it was. The middle ground. Talking about my friends let me breathe. Let me sound like myself again.

Our food arrived, and the conversation settled into something almost normal. We talked about gossip. About people. About nothing important. We didn’t talk about ourselves. And we definitely didn’t talk about Jackie or June.

Which was strange, considering Pat was the one who’d pointed out how obvious my crush on Jackie was. I’d denied it every time, of course. Denial had become a reflex.

We settled into a steady rhythm. It almost felt like we were just hanging out. Just the two of us, without anyone else around. We talked for hours. Awkward silences came and went, hidden under laughter that lasted a little too long and extra orders of coffee and snacks.

Then another silence stretched.

“Can I see you again?” I blurted out. “On a date,” I added lamely.

I’ll be honest... I expected her to say yes. I thought it was a sure thing. I get to continue seeing her to escape.

Instead, she bit her lip.

“Why?” she asked.

I blinked. “I… I wanted to go on a date with you again.”

“That’s not an answer, Al,” she said gently, shaking her head. She looked away this time.

I opened my mouth to respond. I think I knew what she wanted to hear. “It’s because I like-”

She cut me off.

“I never really thought you liked me,” she said. “When you asked me out, I was shocked. So shocked I haven't even told my friends.”

She looked back at me. “And I still don’t think you do.”

I wanted to be angry. How could she possibly know how I felt? But I stayed quiet. Saying anything now felt like it would guarantee there wouldn’t be a second date. I guess I was still clinging to the slim hope she’d say yes anyway.

“Al,” she said softly. “I like you. I always have. But you don’t look like someone who wants a relationship. You’re rushing. You sound ****. It feels like you asked me out on a whim. Did you?”

“I didn’t,” I said.

A lie she’d never believe. Probably a lie I was telling for myself.

“And now,” she continued, “before the date is even over, you’re asking me out again.”

She looked hurt. That killed whatever anger I had. She reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

“I’m going to say no, Al,” she said, meeting my eyes. “Maybe one day, when the luggage you’re dragging is gone…”

She said the rest so quietly I barely heard it.

She let go of my hand before I could reply or argue.

Pat left. Hours passed. The café emptied. Night settled in. I didn’t move.

Of course she was right. And stupid old me had hurt someone again.

I knew, deep down, that what I was doing was wrong. I’d just ignored it. She’d called me **** and she was right. I wanted this to work so badly because she was an escape. I hadn’t asked her out because I liked her. I’d wanted to use her feelings to fill a hole inside me.

A hole so big she must’ve seen it immediately. A Jackie-sized hole, sitting inside an even larger crater of guilt.

God. I was so tired of being the bad guy. I didn’t want to be. I was just exhausted.

I leaned forward, elbows on the table, and pressed my hands over my face until it hurt. I hated myself. I hadn’t learned a goddamn thing. I stayed that way until my face didn't hurt anymore.

I sent her a text, stood up, and walked home with my head down. On the way, I glanced to my side and saw the black dog again. I shook my head slowly at it. I’d been so preoccupied with the date that I hadn’t brought any kibble.

It glared at me like it was judging me before turning away in disappointment. I wasn’t sure if it was about the kibble or me.

I whispered to the dog the same word I’d sent to Pat.

“Sorry.”