Page 66 of Road Trip to Forever
I feel calm with Lola in my arms. Like I have a purpose, a reason to break from my regimented routine. I haven’t worked out since we left Boston because leaving her alone in bed sounded a lot less enjoyable than staying under the covers and savoring the warmth. Relishing the press of her body to mine. Her soft inhales and exhales and how she clutched my shirt in her unconscious state.
I could’ve watched her sleep for hours. I was scared to move, afraid I’d wake her and destroy the dream world we were existing in, one where I could hold her close and protect her from all the daunting parts of life.
There’s nothing special about a shitty hotel room in Arlington, Virginia at four in the morning.
With her?
With her, it was fucking magic.
I ignore that yank in my chest as I watch her pick flowers from a patch of weeds, the sputter of my heart when she tucks one behind her ear. It’s hard to look away and unload the camping supplies, but I do it anyway. The tent, two sleeping bags, some food we bought at the Walmart Supercenter ten miles down the road where our cell phone service went out. A head lamp, a lantern, supplies for s’mores.
We search for a spot to set up for the night, landing on an area near the water, at the top of the slope, behind a line of bushes with flat ground and a handful of sticks and piles of rocks. Secluded, quiet, and perfect.
Lola grabs a bag from me and pulls the tent out. She scrunches her nose and flips it upside down, then right side up.
“You know how to put this together, right?” she asks.
“I do, but it’s time to show off your mountaineering skills.”
“I spent all my time at camp in the arts and crafts room. Friendship bracelets were the priority, not learning how to survive in the wilderness.”
I hold up my arm and the bracelet she made for me all those years ago slides down my wrist. It matches hers, the same color and style. A birthday present, she wrote in her note with hearts over the i’s, telling me she would understand if I didn’t want to wear it and risk being teased by my cabin mates.
I put it on the minute I tore open the envelope.
I forgot about it at first, leaving it on in the swimming pool and during baseball games. For high school graduation, then college graduation too. We’ve altered the jewelry over the years, extending the string and cutting off the frayed pieces. It’s become a part of me, a physical representation of my friendship with Lola.
Two people tied together, lasting as long as the twine. I don’t think I’ll ever take it off. Maybe I’ll be buried with it. Long after my heart stops beating, she’ll still be a part of me.
“We should make new ones,” I say. “This one definitely has mold on it.”
“Adds to the character,” she says. “What do you tell people who ask about it?”
“The truth.” I shrug and set the lantern and sleeping bags on the ground. A patch of dirt kicks up on my shins, and I crouch down to search for the tent stakes. “That you made it for me.”
“Do the women you date care?”
“About the bracelet?”
“Yeah.”
I remember the night Jessica asked if she could cut off the jewelry, and how I curled my fingers around my wrist, protecting the pieces of string. She didn’t understand the sentiment behind it or why I wanted to hold on to something from when I was a kid.
Because Lola made it for me,I shouted. A rare burst of anger slipped out at the thought of severing the symbolic representation of my friendship I had worn for years.
Because you’re in love with her,she shouted back.
We never talked about the bracelet again.
Jessica withdrew and I withdrew, until finally, us not being together made a lot more sense than trying to salvage a relationship that neither one of us wanted to save. We broke up four days later.
The breakup was a moment of clarity. An awakening that told me unless I was with Lola, I would never truly be happy.
I had played off my attraction to her for years, assuming it was a crush from childhood carrying over to adulthood because she was always around. We spent all our time together, and she gave me attention. She touched me and when she tossed a smile my way, my insides turned to mush.
It’ll fade over time,I told myself in my twenties, and again at the start of my thirties.When you meet someone new.
I’ve met plenty of someone’s. I’ve had numbers slipped into my pocket and first dates. Tons of maybes, but no yeses.
