I wasn’t always good about noticing myself. 

The piercing sound of the whistle sliced through the sticky, late summer air, its shrilling reverberance snapping me out of whatever daze I was in, whatever escape I’d managed to pull off to make the time pass as quickly as possible. Marching band practice was my least favorite part fo the day, one I was always prepared to disengage from. 

The sun was already beginning to show itself, barely peeking out over the horizon, the sky seemingly undecided on whether it wanted to be dawn or midnight. So, we were left with everything being covered in a sort of gray haze. Featureless, as boredom often was. 

I would often stick out my hand and rub my fingers together, realizing I could feel the moisture in the air…and a few insects if I played around long enough. Everyone reacted to the whistle by scrambling to pick up their instruments, adjusting their neck straps, and pulling out their phones. I started towards the edge of the field to pick up my backpack, almost without thinking. 

By the time I reached it, I almost didn’t see you. I wouldn’t have, had it not been for you approaching me. You were tall, pale, and holding a trombone that was almost as big as you. 

You needed a haircut, and I’m sure you’d been told already and wore it that way out of spite. Your tight athletic shirt had enough slack in it to at least offer a safe transition into your baggy cargo shorts, the combination overexaggerating how skinny you were. I could tell you didn’t care about appearances; you were just you. 

At first, I tried to figure out why you were snickering as you looked at me. I wasn’t doing anything particularly interesting or amusing. Perhaps a mosquito had landed on my face without me realizing it. Texas mosquitoes were known for being as gargantuan as they were sneaky. 

It wasn’t until I looked down that I figured it out. After all, I was having my own form of protest, sporting shorts that went up way too high in response to being called a slur the previous day. Sure, other people had snickered and laughed as I walked by, but I paid it no mind. That was the point. 

Yet, for some reason, your laugh was different. It wasn’t menacing, scornful, or full of pity. It was just playful, as if you’d found someone just like you. You set your trombone down (a little too carefully) before standing up to your full height again, that goofy grin still on your face. 

“Hey, so uh…I was wondering if I could sit with you at lunch today.” 

I should have said no. Now, I would have. I didn’t know it then, but my day started the moment I looked at you, the moment we looked past each other and saw something…more. 

Five years later, the room we’d both be standing in would reek of booze and stale air, and I’d be sure that opening a window wouldn’t help anything. I wouldn’t be sure why I was standing in front of you, arms crossed and on the verge of tears yet again. 

We’d discovered it wasn’t all that easy to move on from each other, especially attending the same university. You made new friends, and your new girlfriend didn’t like how close I was to you. In fact, she was right. I had realized that I’d fallen in love with you the moment I’d sat next to you at the lunch table on that blazing, swampy afternoon, and it ended up scaring us both. 

So, when you stopped answering my calls, when you were done with me trying to explain myself, I’d agreed it was best to for us to move on. And I walked away. 

Then you wanted me back in your life. Then you didn’t again. And all the while I was accommodating, so damn agreeable, so silent. 

I’d try to forget you like you wanted. I’d skip classes just to avoid you, stay off campus unless I absolutely needed to be there. I’d even have someone else check my mail if it meant our peace wasn’t disturbed. 

Then, I’d get a midnight text or phone call that said you didn’t want to be alone. Yet, I didn’t like being alone either, especially when I was with you. 

Still, I’d show up, and we’d sit and talk about absolutely nothing. You’d ask me if I still loved you, and I would lie. Of course I lied. The truth was worthless so long as you could sober up the next morning.

Perhaps that finally dawned on you as we looked at each other, the rising temperature in the room completely divorced from anything scientific. You were still too skinny, now drowning out everyone’s expectations of you with bottle after bottle. And I was two weeks from earning my college degree, cynical and void of all passion and mystery. 

I was simply there, standing in a room waiting for something to happen, something that might wake me up again. 

“I have feelings for you.” 

Of course, I didn’t believe you at first, even though you were holding my hand much more tenderly and delicately than you’d ever done before. You could barely keep your eyes open as you said it, swaying to your left and almost losing your balance. 

You once again wanted me to tell you the truth, to say something that would convince you that you could reach the surface. To reach us. 

“Okay.”

I watched as your face fell, the resignation and exhaustion in my voice giving me away. I waited for you to let go of my hand, my eyes never leaving yours. You waited for me to come to my senses, as if your revelation wasn’t so many years too late. 

As if everything leading up to this wasn’t dramatic enough. We used to see the best in each other. Now we saw everything, even the parts that no longer fit. I had long given up trying to put this puzzle together for you. 

You finally let both of your hands fall to your sides as you looked away, even though I hadn’t. I was still watching you, still seeing you. Still in love, even if exhausted. I patted you on the shoulder, and we both made our way to the door. 

You opened it for me the way you always did, no matter who I was to you. You winced as the morning light grazed your face, and I was certain you’d slam the door shut. You never liked to wait for yourself. I’d learned that long ago. 

A few seconds passed before you enveloped me in a hug, unlike any embrace you’d ever given me. I’d always wanted all this from you, through the pain, tears, and absence. Then, you finally let go and looked at me, and I could tell you were certain I was going to leave. 

My right hand twitched, and I willed myself to stop from reaching out to you. “Mark, please be safe today, okay? Drink some water and go to sleep. Please.” 

You didn’t nod or even blink, instead choosing to stare at me. I could see it, the hope that the silence between us would make me so uncomfortable I’d give you what you wanted. But that only confirmed I wasn’t who you truly needed, and I wouldn’t be. 

“I’m gonna go to work. I’m already running late.” You nodded a little too quickly, bowing your head low so I wouldn’t see the tears welling up in your eyes, but it was too late. I’d already seen them when you made your confession. 

In the end, we were still trying to hide from each other, even though we already knew all there was to know. I pulled out my phone, checking the time. I was running late. 

I turned to walk down the steps, shielding my eyes from the sunlight reflecting back at me. I covered my nose as the scent of freshly cut grass invaded my nostrils, a habit I’d formed to stop myself from sneezing. The sun was still tinged with yellow, not quite ready to soar to the middle of the cloudless sky. Still, everything looked the way that it should, as bright as one would expect. 

It was the first time in a long time I’d even noticed it.