My One Regret

We laid there basking in the evening sun shining through my bedroom window, naked and fulfilled. She rolled onto my arm and rested her head on my chest. Her hair tickled my armpit, and I could feel the sweat from her brow. Her hand moved to my hold my face, arm over me, pulling me into her embrace. She tucked her knee over my leg and found its place as she fell into a comfortable position, fully immersed into each other. We laid there, hearts beating fast as we settled into a sense of peace, welcoming the moment, and ignoring the world outside that room. The breeze blew the curtains and cooled our heated bodies.

“I really enjoy our time together, you know that, right?”

I felt a fear come over me. I was not prepared to respond, but I knew I had felt the same. We had been spending our evenings together for some time, and we had opened to each other more than that of just friends. We had shared close details of ourselves, intimate knowledge of ourselves usually saved for those in properly defined relationships.

“I care about you, you know that, right?” she said.

We had begun this involvement with the understood knowledge that she didn’t want a relationship, and I was not in the position to have one. I had always wanted to fall for another, but I was dealing with a lot of my own at the time. I was truly scared to let my feelings be known for I knew the dark place I was in was not something that should be placed on another.

“I know you care for me too, and I know I said I wasn’t looking for anything.”

I still hadn’t said a word, and I let her words verberate through my chest as she spoke. I was still attempting to formulate my response, afraid to scare the one woman who may actually know me away. I attempted to speak, but nothing came.

“I…I feel.”

My words fell away. Her head lifted and those hazel eyes of hers met mine. I could see she wanted me to speak, to say what I was truly thinking. I averted my gaze, nervous and ashamed of what I was feeling. She held my head and her leg hugged into my inner thigh with force.

“Please, tell me. What are you thinking?”

I leaned my head back, held her tightly with my arm, and thought of how to respond. I knew I should speak my heart; I knew I should tell her how I felt, I knew even if she did not feel the same it was still better to speak what I had felt than forever hold it inside. There was a silence for some while, and she eagerly awaited my response.

“I love JFK.” I quickly said.

I was leaving for Boston the next week to visit my godmother and look at law schools. I don’t know why I said that, and all I was thinking about was visiting the presidential library. I knew I had ruined the moment, missed my chance, and instead of telling the women, the only woman I had ever felt such way about of how I felt about her, I had deflected. I could feel her disappointment as her grasp on me loosened. Her leg fell limp, her palm moved from my face to my chest, her gaze softened as she pulled away.

“It’s okay. I understand.”

But she didn’t, and she never will. I had been hurt, and I had never loved before. She was more experienced in those ways, and I knew then she would quickly get over me. I had ruined my chances at love by instead professing my odd obsession with a former president. We never were the same, and when I returned, I knew we would never be in that place together again.