think of me

Pat dumped me. Friday, we rented a movie and ate popcorn glistening with butter. I stayed until three in the morning, begging and begging, and I drove home and my tears smeared everything, stoplights and illuminated signs. I don't want to elaborate on what happened. Thinking of the way he spooned me on the floor, scooped me up onto his lap, smothered me with kisses, it makes my face crinkle and my eyes water.

In March, I'm leaving for Japan, and I'm going to spend a year there as an exchange student. He's leaving for California before Christmas and I don't want to be alone here, alone with a year's worth of memories to keep me company, like sticky notes covering the wallpaper.

I convinced him yesterday to see me on a somewhat regular basis until he leaves. We played Xenosaga and shared wonton soup and read the comics, and I asked him, staring at my hands, fingers tangled, if we could swap lengthy e-mails like we did before he moved here, and if I could wait for him until I came back from Japan, in May or June, in 2005.

That's when we had planned on getting married, eighteen and fresh out of high school.

He said yes to both. He said he couldn't promise that he'd write me every day. He said there's a possibility that he wouldn't want to date me in a year and a half.

I was sitting at a stoplight today, sunglasses crooked on my nose, and I saw a car decorated with streamers, and in the front seat, two silhouettes kissing passionately. Pat and I used to be like that, used to be the couple you hated.

Know that things will be okay for me.