22 of 50 Songs and Chapters Dedicated to the Friend I Lost Too Soon

"So, how did you and Aiden meet?" Jewee cleared his throat, resting his feet on the corner of his desk, hands in his lap. "Your novel doesn't go too far back into how the two of you began, which worked very well for the novel. That kind of information wasn't really necessary and possibly could've sidetracked the piece, but for a romance movie, flashbacks might stir up more emotion for the audience, and that's a chance for your personal experience and emotion."

"Okay," I laid back into the mattress, pushing my foot at the end of his bed frame so my head could reach the pillows. Staring up at the ceiling reminded me of counting tiles at the hospital, so I shut my eyes, letting the past grow in my mind like a tree by streams of water.

"Aiden and I were actually next-door neighbors ever since we were born. My parents moved in when my mom was two or three months pregnant with me, and I guess it was around the same for Aiden's family, but I didn't meet him until I was eight or nine. I was a very introverted child, and I grew up that way throughout my teens. I liked to stay home to read or write ever since then, so I rarely ever went out, but my parents were concerned about it, and so they signed me up for a soccer team. It was co-ed, and Aiden was on the team too.

"He was total opposite of me in every way you can imagine. I have dark hair, and he was blond. Brown eyes in comparison to his blue ones. His outgoing personality against my shy one, and for us, that's what it took to click. Where I was imperfect he was perfect and that's how we worked -- so well, that nothing got in between us. The one thing that I went on to do that he also did was sports. Soccer, track, basketball, and cross country."

"Can't relate," his joking attitude was coming back. Thank god, because I don't know how long I'd be able to walk around him without accidentally saying something that would bring him back to how he was.

"And you're a fortunate guy, since you can't relate. I had fun doing those things. Really, I did, but my parents got super hyped about it and when I found out about programs that would improve my writing which was my main interest above anything, or when I wanted to try something new, they wouldn't stand behind me on those. I had practice every night practically, so I didn't have time for anything else."

"I'm not the fortunate one. I was picked last for every team. I'm a fluff ball of klutz, and clearly, you didn't go through that because you were a star player. What can you not do, Princess?"

"Direct, draw, act, sing -- I like these things but they don't like me, and I can go on too."

"What a smart-ass," Jewee giggled lightly. When he finished, he got back to the topic he needed. It's only now I noticed the notebook on his desk, where he took notes. Not much was written on it yet, but I had a feeling whatever it was stood for a lot more in his mind than what anybody else would think if they happened to come across it. "So you met him on a soccer team at eight years old. What about him made you stay friends with him as you got older and not anything more? I just ask because since it's a romance, it might be better that we entwine what you look for in a partner into his character, so it's more realistic to you and your feelings. You get me?"

"Yeah, I think so." I opened my eyes. Despite looking up at the ceiling again, it didn't disturb me like it once did. My mind was too busy scanning items, bagging them, and picking at the purchases to figure out how I would properly answer such a question. I couldn't tell how I wanted to answer it. It wasn't as straightforward of a question as I thought it'd be, even if it'd only be me who could properly answer it if anyone could. Eventually, I had to stop thinking and just talk.

"Aiden was a good guy." I felt like crying, but I don't believe there was any proof of that. I had a wide smile on my face. Imagining it, I distracted myself with a somewhat new subject, that I had to lead back into what he asked for. "When I was younger, I always thought that when I answered any question about type, it would be about whether his eyes were brown, blue or green or if his hair was light, dark, curly, straight, short, or long. If his skin was tan or white as snow, but it's nothing like that.

"This is going to come off different now that I know I'm sick, but even before I knew that, I realized that my type was an artist. I'd want them to love me so much that what they write or what they paint, or what they create is inspired by me, so that even if I died, in some form, I'd still be living on and on and on. I want someone who makes me more. I'm human. I'm not good at very much, but I want someone to teach me what the yellow signs on the street mean, or what it means when the traffic lights are blinking so I have less of a chance of dying out in the middle of a long line of cars. I want someone who isn't afraid to have fun and who will let me get drunk as long as they know that I'd get home safe.

"I want someone who lets me love fully, even if it's annoying or even if I get clingy. I want someone who will let me love when I thought I couldn't, and who will let me love in the way I love, as the person that I am. I don't want to lose my individuality when I'm with them. And maybe, sure, Aiden was some of those things, but he'll never ever appreciate art like I do, and that's what matters to me the most. When I die, I don't want to be dead. I want to be remembered, and he wouldn't have been able to help with that. I have no idea how you could intertwine that with his character if it wasn't part of him."

"We'll figure something out," Jewee's eyes lit up in connection to what I've said, and his tone didn't match the innocence in them. It was more robotic than how fragile his eyes were. Intensely, they listened to everything I said, and in the dim room, they seemed to glisten. "Once we do see how that's going to work, what would be the one or the few, if there are, things that could rattle your relationship? For dramatic effect. No movie can go without it."

"Simple. Youth," I scoffed. This question, I didn't think through near as much, and my answer came out faster than I thought it would. At first, I myself didn't know what I meant by it, but when it hit me, it hit me.

"When I had crushes in junior high, my mom would always sit me down by the window of our house and she'd tell me that if I ever fell for anyone, to only give ten percent. She told me to never cry for a man, and that the only way that was possible after falling was not to fall too deep. And my dad -- I'd be hit with a wooden spoon if it was anything above zero. I remember, he'd say, 'this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you'. I was only a smart-alick about it once, saying 'shouldn't I be hitting you then? Shouldn't I be hurting more?' I learned from that mistake fast.

"My point is, I was banned of loving ever since I was a pre-teen, and I know that my parents had their reasons for doing that. They were protecting me as a naive girl in a terrible world with terrible events, but I don't think I've ever fully understood them. For me, I've always believed and felt that when you love someone, you can't act like you don't and you can't only give ten percent of yourself. When you love, you're practically sacrificing yourself to somebody else, and there's nothing half-assed about that. You give all or nothing, and once you fall, nothing isn't an option anymore. So, if I ever had the chance to find the one I loved, sure as hell they're not getting away."

Jewee's lips formed a thin line. "My parents were sorta like that too," he admitted. "Except my dad wouldn't ever actually punish me that way. He'd get to doing it and then he'd act like he didn't have the gut to go through with it. It terrorized me though."

"Ha! Honestly, the build-up to being hit is a whole lot scarier than it happening based from my own personal experience."

"So we're kind of on the same page there," he laughs again. "I agree with you though, Jaiva Shyne. When you love, you love, and that's just the way it is. There's not really any secret to it. If you give your all, and another person gives their all, then that's how it is. Success. Whatever happen, as long as you give your very most, there's nothing else you can do on your end. If it's reciprocated, it should work. Good point."

"If you're putting all of this in one movie it's going to be quite something. I don't know if a good something, and I'm kinda doubting it because that is an entire whirl of depression that most people with sense will avoid at all cost, but I'll still hope for the best, I guess," I shook balled up fists in the air as sarcastic cheers of achievement.

"You with little faith," he joked, in a purposely deeper tone, and with the Jesus-hair and the attempted, but extremely far off vibe, part of me hoped that maybe with his face in the leading role, he could pull of a miracle for me. My face must've shown what went through my head too, because immediately, he lightened up. I was soon to find out why. We were swooping right back into the depths of the past, which could be dark, and he made sure to give me a break.

He didn't have to for what it was, though. It was rather soft-hearted for me because it was a topic I spent all night thinking about. It was a topic I took to sleep with me. It was a topic that leaked into my dreams.

"With a movie and a novel, you'd know that a writer does what they can to make the characters as relatable as possible. Vulnerability is good to make that connection, so one last question for that to happen. What's a somewhat-okay-to-share secret of yours that can be a primary artifact in the movie of what you look for in love? Something that maybe you'd be okay to tell to someone if it came up in conversation? What's a moment that you have with someone that you just know you're clicking with them differently than you do with most people?"

I blinked. I thought it would be easy, but getting over the roadblock of saying something new was harder than I assumed it to be. It' not that looking back on it was dark, and I've said so much to Jewee, I wasn't afraid, but the words making it to my tongue was a struggle. I never knew how to put things like this.

"I think the whole concept of 'your scars tell a story' is a beautiful thing. Same goes with birthmarks, or whatever form of what the world calls 'imperfection'. It's a good way to know someone actually. It makes them more 3-D," I finally got myself to say. Until it came out of my mouth, I wasn't sure if it actually made sense, but when I heard it in my own ears, I could physically feel what I meant soaking into my skin like a day out at the spa. It gave me the confidence to continue, as if I spoke about it everyday.

"Like once I had my friends over in our teeny tiny apartment when I was eleven. There was no parental figure home, and we got the idea to play tag in the dark. In one of the rooms there was a glass door that had a magnet in the corners to keep it shut, but they were broken so it stayed propped open all the time, which I had no idea about, and while running away I ran right into it. Had to get stitches from the bottom of my shin to the mid part or a bit higher. It left terrible scars, and I think they've gotten darker as I got older, even though the idiot doctor told me they'd fade."

I stopped talking. I knew I was rambling, but he saw that I had an entire story to tell and he gestured me on. I couldn't help but to chuckle before continuing. It felt good when someone wanted to know you.

"And uhm-- well," I stuttered before recovering enough to followed through with what he gave me the permission to do. "I fell in the parking lot when I was six. It left a scar on my nose. That one did lighten, but back then I didn't know to put my arms out in front of me because my parents caught me every other time before it. I was quite the clumsy child.

"You might have seen I have two bright red birthmarks on the top of my left foot. One likes like a star and the other looks a bit like a seahorse. For years, I made sure not to wear sandals so that nobody would see them, but one summer I started allowing people to see it. Hiding it got too hard and irritating. I found out it was a pretty good conversation starter. A lot of people thought it was a strange tattoo."

Jewee stood up, taking a peek at my foot at the end of the bed, bare and open for him to see. If it was a while ago, I would've hid it from him, but now I mentioned it myself, which might not be growth for something big, but it was growth nevertheless.

"I thought it was a tattoo," he stated, still looking at it. "I like it though. Your birth gave you something that some people would pay good money for. That's a flex."

We laughed together this time. It's been a while since that's happened because we've spent our time developing a bond where only one of us could be happy, as if we took shifts for it. Together, I think our laughter blended beautifully. It was a harmony, and we've missed out on it for too long.

That lost time has to be made up. It's mandatory.

"I don't have any cool birthmarks or anything. I have one on my leg. I posted it on Instagram once and someone said it looks like a messed up nipple. I saw that comment. I couldn't get myself to respond to it, but I could never look at this thing the same. That person shattered my entire life."

I threw a pillow at him. "Oh, shut up!" I hollered. "I was being serious. Why ruin it?"

"I'm being serious too!" He shot back, a giggle sneaking up as a trace between his words. "Alright, fine! You want deep and profound stories about my past, huh?"

I didn't even nod. He just went for it.

"I have a scar under my chin and behind my ear. When I was a teen, I was invited to this gathering and I didn't really know anyone there so I went out in the backyard and chilled on the hammock they had. Someone came out later on and they say they meant to push me in it lightly, like sway me, just out of their own darn boredom or something, but they did it way that made me freaking fly like a baked potato, and I flopped into a pile of rocks at the bottom of the hill. When I noticed there was blood pouring from my chin, I panicked and scraped the back of my ear with my fingernail."

I doubled over out of the irony, and I could tell by how red he was becoming, he had the urge to do the same exact thing, but he didn't, because he wasn't done yet, and in the beat behind my rib cage, I didn't want him to be.

"I have another scar right in the middle of my torso also. My older sister loved to kick me, and hard too -- like she'd knock the air out of my body, it was basically abuse, but one of those times when she kicked me, I think her toenail was sharp or I don't know, but she scratched me. It left a crescent moon. So, while you're feeling all superior with the star birthmark God blessed you with at birth, I have a moon that my sister blessed me with. You could make it romantic if you wanted to. Star and crescent moon supremacy."

I intended to focus solely on him and his stories with nails, so I'd continue laughing until sunrise, but I couldn't get myself to follow through with that. Him saying 'you could make it romantic if you wanted to' was a joke, and I'm completely aware of that, but when that was paired up with how this conversation began, 'what's a moment that you have with someone that you just know you're clicking with them differently than you do with most people' I realized that this was it.

This was that moment. This was everything I've just described, and everything we were built upon changed.

I knew it. Love and hate are opposite sides of the same coin.

I love his idiotic smile and his corny jokes. I love how he smells like new books and just-brewed coffee with a hint of fresh cologne. I love the dimple on one side of his face -- it shows itself proudly when he knows he's proven me wrong and when he knows he's won. I love how his aura is still so kind even when he's slapped me in the face with his words and I love how he can do all of that without having to try. I love how everything seems to come natural for him.

I love him, and among all his imperfections, I love him even more.

Maybe I love the bad things about him as much as the good, which I've never experienced before. I've heard some in this world have a hard time to let love in. Others are built for it, and still others are searching for someone to love them in the way they deserve to be loved.

And somehow I think I'm all of the above.

But I'm too late to let my heart get involved with such a thing, especially when it comes to him. He is the Jewee Gray Kyler, and he'll always be out of my league whether I had the time to love or not.

I'm just one chapter of his life story.

I'm just passing through.