The Last Time I Wore Pink

It all started with that awful pink shirt.

Phoebe was my roommate, she was always so full of light, and life. No matter what kind of day it was she could always summon a smile that could burn a whole through sunshine.

Normally those kinds of people shine too bright to give anyone else room to even blink. But not Phoebe. She made you feel enveloped in her energy, she was like honey and that first cup of coffee in the morning.

That's what everyone thought too, not just me. They seemed to migrate towards her, strangers, classmates; she had too many friends and acquaintances for me to keep track of.

She was forever off on some adventure or scheme or just letting people soak her up. But she always seemed to have time for me. She made sure I felt important when I was with her.

Maybe she just did that to everyone.

The day we moved into our dorm she walked in, tiny, and curvy; beauty radiating from the ends of her hair to the corners of her smile. She wrapped me in a huge hug and said we were gonna be friends. Like how you made friends in elementary school. She was right though.

The kind of girl that appears in novels, and on movie screens. The kind of girl you only know from fiction.

I shouldn't have been that surprised when I fell in love with her.

She would come back late some nights, usually Fridays, sometimes weekdays, from her boyfriends' dorm. Sometimes she was drunk, sometimes she was crying.

I didn't like him.

One of these times, she was drunk enough her boyfriend decided to be chivalrous and walk her home. He dumped her on her bed.

"She might throw up, you should get a bucket."

"Aren't you her boyfriend? Take better care of her."

"I don't make her drink. She does that all on her own."

And he left.

I looked at Phoebe and wondered why the girl made of sunshine drank that much.

I'd seen it before but not from people like Phoebe.

I got up, took her shoes off, tied back her hair, and grabbed a bucket. She moved in her sleep, she was mumbling.

"Cor... Cora."

"Yes?" No answer, was she dreaming about me?

"Mmmhmm." She smiled.

Her hair was splayed out on the pillow, her makeup was melting from her face, and she was drooling. Somehow she was still glowing.

"Phooeebee." Nothing. I shook her just a little.

"Are you dreaming about me?"

But she was in the sleep of the dead. I waved my hand over her face, certain she was asleep. I kneeled by her bed, resting my face near her's.

"Phoebe..." I waited. "I think I..."

Her head jerked up violently, and she promptly vomited all over me.

***

Phoebe apologized so much about it the next morning, I started to feel guilty for being in the way.

She even bought me a new t-shirt to replace the one she through up on. Pink with the faces of my favourite girl band splayed across the chest. Not the most fashionable.

She never asked why I was so close to her face, honestly I appreciated that more.

In another week the incident seemed to have passed into history. It only seemed to resurface when I wore that shirt; once I winked and asked if she liked the new look. She blushed.

We continued with classes that filled our minds, and all the ins and outs of school life occupied what space was left in our heads.

One night well into the second semester, the air was filled with that illusive warmth that seems otherwordly after a long winter. One of the first and far between days that tease at summer. And Phoebe wanted to go for a walk, under the stars, in the meadow that hugged the outside of the campus.

Of course I kept her company.

We walked along the path that skimmed the edges of the meadow, it was lined with lights, and the spindly trees that dot the campus. And other people. Groups were passing, talking loudly about classes, and politics, and the state of the food here.

The calm of the field called to even Phoebe, the girl who drew people in like a flame. The girl who was never alone.

She grabbed my hand and we walked into the meadow.

It felt like a John Green novel, the kind of scene that can only be set on a page or in the imagination of a starry eyed fourteen year-old. I was standing there in the dewy grass, on the first warm night of the year, the glow of the lights and fading voices far behind us. Stars lit the heavens, because thats what they felt like then; heavens. And she was still holding my hand.

She was still holding my hand.

"Did I ever tell you you look good in pink."

I was wearing the shirt she got me. The Beaches t-shirt. The only pink thing I own.

"No."

And she nodded like what she was about to say was profound and unguessable.

"Well, you do."

And I knew I couldn't make up another moment like this if I waited my entire life.

I kissed her.

***

The leaves were turning burning orange, yellow, and red again. Lighting up the daytime like little suns suspended from the trees. I was on my way to class, early, which remains unsual for me almost always.

Which is maybe why she was surprised to see me in line getting coffee before noon.

"Cora."

She looked shocked, her hair was longer, she still seemed to shine, even when I couldn't see her smile.

"How have you been?"

"Ok." What was I supposed to say? "What about you? How are cla..."

"Phoebe!"

Her boyfriend was waving at her, impatiently.

She looked over at me, almost guiltily or longingly? I could never tell.

"Sorry, I've got to go. See you around?"

"Yeah."

But I didn't.