High School Lover

by Rose Croft

  “Andrew, we have to go.” She slipped an arm around his waist as he dropped his hands from me.

  “Will you be at the funeral tomorrow?” I asked, remembering Alyssa said they had to go to the airport.

  “Yeah, I’ll be there. Alyssa has to catch a flight.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow then.” I leaned in to give him a one-armed hug, trying to be casual about it. “It was nice to meet you, Alyssa,” I said too brightly, as I mimicked the fake kiss greeting with her.

  I watched as they walked away arm in arm, and I felt such a sense of sadness mixed with envy. They made a striking couple, and he would be crazy not to want to be with her. She seemed nice, although I’d only met her. Perhaps a wee bit shallow, but that could be my jealousy talking. I foolishly thought back to when we were in high school and wished that I could’ve changed some of the parts of our story. That was a huge waste of time to spend energy on things we couldn’t change.

  Feeling the overwhelming guilt again of not seeing Mike for the past few years, I went back inside the funeral home and decided that I needed to get over my anxiety and say goodbye to him one last time. As I walked up to the open casket, I felt my breath quicken because I had never experienced the death of someone close to me. Somewhere within me I had the strength to throw my fear aside and study his peaceful figure.

  He looked almost the same as he did when I’d last seen him many years ago. I cried as the crushing remorse rolled through me of not being a good friend. Andrew’s words had hurt, but they rang true. I felt someone put an arm around me to comfort me. It was Loretta.

  Later that evening, I entered my house, dropped my purse and sat down on the couch in front of the TV. I was still wound up from the events of the day and decided I would see what was on cable. I flipped through the channels and, lo and behold, one of Andrew’s movies was on. It was a dark comedy about students and their cliques in high school and no matter how popular one might be, there was always someone more popular—kind of like a social food chain.

  It was so him, the script and certain characters portrayed reminded me of some of the people we went to high school with—the asshole douchebag who got shit-faced at parties and creeped on girls, Steve. The pale, dark-haired bitchy girl who treated everyone around her like shit, Miley. There was the quiet girl, quirky, who was into alternative music and carried her notebook around doodling every chance she had. I didn’t want to read too much into it, but was that supposed to be me? Seemed like it. Was I quirky? Hmm. This was the first film he wrote, at least that’s what it had said on IMDb when I looked him up one day. I’d seen his name as a nominee for best screenwriter on the SAG Awards one night several years ago. I was still amazed he’d had so much success. I was very proud of him that he stuck to his dreams and didn’t settle because it was a safer option—like I did.

  I went online and studied his official fan page on Facebook and read some of the comments people had posted about his work. He had more than forty thousand followers. It blew my mind that someone I knew had such a huge fan base. Surprisingly, that wasn’t the only page dedicated to him. For the hundredth time, I went cyber–Fatal Attraction on Facebook, trying to search for a personal page or anything with pictures where I could get maybe an idea of what he’d been doing the past several years. I checked Twitter and Instagram, too, and noticed he had a big following there as well. Again, it seemed more like a publicist was handling his social media accounts because the posts were about his movies and the social causes he was supporting, nothing personal.

  I thought I could find out something if I saw Alyssa’s page. I went back to Facebook and did a search for Alyssa Garrett. I found a list of five people with the same name and clicked on the profile with her picture. Hers, too, was a fan page that shared pictures of magazine ads and selfies and other photos that screamed, “Look at me!” and “How fabulous my life is!”

  Curious to see whether she had any photos of Andrew, since his page had no photos, I scrolled through her posts. I saw a linked Instagram photo that had been posted recently of Andrew and her in front of a stage surrounded by a crowd of people. The caption said: Hanging out with my guy at Coachella. Figures she would want to go to that festival. Poseur. Everything screamed fake and superficial to me, just like the people he’d criticized in high school. This did not seem like his scene, and my heart dropped even further. The old Andrew would’ve never been caught dead at a place like that. Was she so influential over him that he’d changed his beliefs? If that weren’t enough, she had on a skimpy crocheted top and high-waist shorts that probably barely covered her ass. Andrew looked hot as hell, too, tanned, in a black tee and shorts, and he was genuinely smiling—a toothy smile that was stunning.

  Like some whacked-out fangirl, I kept staring at him, imagining myself beside him. Again wondering what could’ve been. What if I’d not cared about what other people thought of him? What if I’d stood up to my parents, not worrying about the consequences of being with Andrew? What if I’d just been strong enough to tell him how I felt?

  What if.

  What if.

  What if.

  I continued down her page and studied other pictures of them together: on the beach at a photo shoot, in New York having dinner, in L.A. at a charity event. I zoomed in on the pictures just to get a closer look at him—it was beginning to be an obsession.

  Fuck! I needed to get a grip. I had my chance with him years ago and blew it and came off like a weak person who couldn’t stand up for herself. I let my mom dictate whom I could be with because I was scared and didn’t think I had another alternative. Instead, I let him go even though it broke my heart, shattered it like a wrecking ball. I told myself I could move on and this feeling would go away. I partied and dated my way through college and early twenties, thinking I would find someone who would fill the void in my chest. I even had a few long-term relationships, but nothing ever panned out. It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t Andrew. It would never be Andrew.

  I backed out of her page and landed back on Andrew’s. I scrolled through his posts again. I noticed that, if the posts weren’t about his movies, he was sharing links and asking for donations to causes that were obviously dear to him—public schools, the homeless, ending hunger. Great! He was also out there saving the planet with his lady, and what the hell had I done that was socially conscious? Not much—not that I didn’t want to, I just hadn’t. I gave blood occasionally and one time adopted a cat from the SPCA.

  His recent post was a plea to donate to a drug treatment center and make all donations in the memory of Mike Dodd. I teared up again and clicked on the link and entered a donation of seventy-five dollars. Although I didn’t have the extra cash to spend, it was for Mike, and I felt a little better about myself.

  It was almost one in the morning by the time I closed my laptop. The funeral was at two in the afternoon later on today. I went to bed but shifted around, restlessly thinking about Mike’s death and the feelings that rushed back when I saw Andrew again. Andrew was here, and since I’d laid eyes on him again, I couldn’t stop thinking about how he looked, how he felt in my arms, how distraught he was over Mike. I wanted to hold him again and take his pain away, take my pain away. But I couldn’t; he was with someone else.

  Present

  Mike was dead. I still couldn’t believe it. He’d been in a bad way for a few years, but I’d just seen him a few weeks back. He was clean—he had been so for three months, after doing a stint in rehab. He’d looked good and told me how he was working out and eating healthier.

  He was living with his mom, who’d cleaned up her act several years ago, and was looking for a job. He’d asked me for help to get his own place. I knew he’d lost everything when he was using, and I wanted to do everything in my power to help him out. I cosigned on a lease for an apartment and fronted him enough money to live comfortably for a few months until he found a job. I even put him in touch with a friend of mine who owned an advertising agency. Mike could bullshit his way out of any
thing, and he had the gift of persuasion. My friend had offered him a job, and Mike was going to start working for him.

  But…he never made it. Fuck. Why? He was only twenty-five years old, and he was the nicest guy in the world. Why did shit like this happen? It wasn’t fair. I knew Mike’s issues were probably a result of his childhood environment. His dad, mom, stepfather, and his mom’s boyfriends that hung around all did drugs. It was obviously a toxic environment, but he never succumbed to it when we were growing up. I think when he was out on his own, he had freedom, but no parental figure who had served as a moral compass to ground him.

  Alyssa and I entered the funeral home for the viewing. I immediately zeroed in on Loren, the person I didn’t think I’d ever see again and the person I had convinced myself I didn’t want to see…but also the person I desperately needed to see. Her back was to me, and I focused on her long brown hair with golden highlights shining through. She wore a fitted, black, long-sleeved dress that stopped mid-thigh, accentuating shapely legs and a gorgeous ass that I could never forget.

  “Hey, you okay?” Alyssa laid her hand on my arm.

  I must have been standing there staring for too long with a pissed-off look on my face. I turned to her and smiled. “Yeah, babe. Thanks for your support. I really need it tonight.”

  Arm in arm, we walked straight to Mike’s mom, Loretta. She was happy to see me, and when we embraced, I almost lost it. I was having a hard-enough time dealing with his death, but I couldn’t begin to imagine what it must be like for a mom to lose her son.

  Mike and I were practically inseparable throughout our youth. We’d spent almost every weekend together hanging out in high school. I felt like he was my brother. Although I’d felt bitterness and had blamed Loretta for being part of the problem, all I could do was hold her tightly as she silently cried. I offered her my help if she needed it. After we stood back, I introduced Alyssa.

  I turned to find Mike’s brother and sister, and my eyes gravitated to Loren, who was standing beside them. Her beautiful light brown eyes held mine for seconds, and I quickly shifted to Mike’s siblings. Alyssa and I spoke to them and gave our condolences.

  I glanced back at Loren, who appeared uncomfortable and was scanning the crowd as though she were about to bolt. I considered ignoring her, but that would’ve looked petty. I decided to be the bigger person. I acknowledged her and hugged her as I would any friend, but I wasn’t prepared for the surge of emotions that flowed through me as we touched. I almost face-dived into her neck, wanting to revel in her, but I finally came to my senses and pulled away.

  I introduced my girlfriend and saw Loren’s body tense, even though she was smiling as she greeted Alyssa. We made small talk about knowing each other in high school, and although I was trying to be a smart-ass, Loren told Alyssa what a great writer I was and she seemed sincere. I felt my heart soften, and thank God Alyssa was there to keep me on track so I wouldn’t say or do something stupid. I didn’t want to remember how Loren had smiled at me as I sketched in class, or how she’d been so supportive when I’d told her about the run-in with Steve, and I especially didn’t want to think about how soft her lips were when we kissed that night at my parents’ house.

  As we walked away, I dwelled on the nice words Loren had said. I wondered if she’d ever done anything with the poems she’d written. But then my thoughts dissipated as we neared Mike’s casket.

  He looked very peaceful, whatever that meant—he was a lifeless body that had been made up to look…normal? Alyssa put her arm around me as I stared at him, fighting back tears that were threatening to spill. I heard someone say he’s in a better place. I didn’t know if I believed in all that, but for his sake I hoped he was. I hope you find peace, brother. After several minutes, we moved away because I didn’t want to break down. I instinctively searched around the room for Loren but didn’t see her.

  Alyssa hugged me tightly. “I’m going to the bathroom to change into some comfortable clothes for my flight.”

  As we drove to the airport, I was both apprehensive and somewhat excited to see Loren again. I wished Alyssa could’ve stayed, but she needed to be in New York the next day for a shoot.

  “I wish I could be there with you tomorrow,” Alyssa said ruefully, as though she could read my thoughts.

  “I know. Me, too, but I’ll see you the day after.” The next day was Friday and I planned on flying up to New York Saturday to spend some time with her. She had an apartment in Manhattan. We’d dated for about six months, and this was probably the longest relationship I’d been in. She was gorgeous, and also a very kind person who was socially conscious and used her popularity to help raise money for important causes.

  Before Alyssa, I had dated a lot, but I hadn’t been looking for anything serious. Loren had pretty much ruined me on having a monogamous relationship after high school, so throughout college I just had casual girlfriends. Every time I tried to date, it was like I had a mental checklist in my head that ticked each time I noticed another flaw: bad taste in music; talks too much; tries too hard; doesn’t have the right hair color or the right smile; doesn’t write poetry. They weren’t…Loren.

  After I graduated from college, I wrote my first script, which eventually turned into a movie. I didn’t know or even think it would become so popular or so critically acclaimed. Then, there was a snowball effect, and I began churning out more scripts that were quickly picked up and produced. It was intoxicating that I’d gone from struggling as a student—who worked his ass off putting himself through college—to making a lot of money doing what I enjoyed. And it seemed like everyone wanted to work with me. Even then, I thought about Loren and wondered what she’d think of me. Would she be impressed? Would she have regrets over letting me go? Would her judgmental parents think of me differently?

  I rubbed elbows with some important people in Hollywood, and then it was suddenly like I could have my pick of any girl I wanted. Women in L.A., in that circle, weren’t shy about it, either. At first, I enjoyed the fame, delighted in it, because who wouldn’t want to have that kind of attention. But after a while, the meaningless sex became…boring and wasn’t fulfilling.

  The superficiality of the Hollywood scene grated on me. The abundance of not only easy sex but also drugs wasn’t a good combination for me to be around. I couldn’t handle it. I needed to move and that led me to Austin where there was a growing film community, but also a realness and a laid-back atmosphere.

  I’d met Alyssa at a charity event in New York. A mutual friend had introduced us after telling me she was a fan of my movies. She was a high fashion model and had been in the top magazines and did runway, too. She was also nice and I seemed to have more in common with her than with any other girl I’d dated. We could talk about movies, or music, and we were both in the industry, so we had a common understanding of how our work would separate us for certain periods of time. I tried to chuck the mental checklist out the window with her, because it seemed I would never meet anyone who satisfied all the requirements if I continued to compare every girl to Loren. I needed to let go of this stupid obsession with Loren. I was ready for a committed relationship if I could find the right person. If I just let myself go and trust.

  We arrived at the airport, and I helped Alyssa carry her bags to the outdoor checkout counter. We hugged and kissed, and I told her I would see her Saturday. Neither of us had said the L word. Actually, Alyssa had, but she threw that word around as though it were her favorite verb. I love this restaurant. I love my new purse. I love living in Manhattan. I love you, Andrew. My heart didn’t soar as it should if this were truly love. I tried to justify to myself that I needed more time. Although I expressed happiness for the sentiment, there was something not quite right about it.

  I drove back to the loft in uptown Dallas that my brother and I shared rent on when we were in town, so I’d have a place to stay when I came to visit family. He’d eventually fulfilled his dreams of becoming a professional baseball player playing for the Chicago
White Sox. My brother lived here during the off-season, so it was vacant now with baseball season in full force.

  As I entered the apartment, I tossed my keys on the counter. I didn’t drink much anymore, but God I needed something strong then. Stepping into the kitchen, I opened one of the cabinets and pulled out a bottle of Crown Royal Reserve and a glass. I put a couple of cubes in the glass, added the Crown and a splash of water. I took a long sip and relished the smooth taste as it went down my throat.

  I moved to the couch and dropped down, staring around the room absently. I had nothing to distract me from thinking about Loren, again. She was still as beautiful as ever. More so because she looked more mature. Her face was more angular; the fullness had thinned out. And her body seemed to have filled out in all the right places. Her tits appeared bigger than I remembered, which made me wonder if she’d had some work done. After being in Hollywood for several years, I considered myself an expert on guessing who’s been to the plastic surgeon.

  She was alone tonight but that didn’t mean she was single. I didn’t see a ring on her left hand so she probably wasn’t married. Who knew with her? I rubbed my temples in frustration. Why in the hell was I even thinking about her?

  My asshole brain thought it would be funny to reminisce about high school. I remembered how I used to steal glances at her in the classes that we shared. She was cute, and seemed quiet and shy whenever I saw her during our freshman and sophomore years. I knew she loved sports. I remembered she played basketball in high school and was good. Yeah, I’d seen her play a few times. In elementary school, she only wanted to play soccer or kickball with the boys instead of hanging out with the girls.