Sakura

I remembered, while walking to my dorm, that I’d forgotten my water bottle. I thought I left it in a classroom, probably my last class, actually. I turned around and began to walk back, but that's when I saw Rachel coming out. I’d seen her before, in that same place. I’d seen her many times. When I saw her, here, though, I saw something different. And we kept our heads down, so we hadn’t seen each other when I’d passed by, but as I turned my head she caught my eye and smiled. I replied, automatically, with my own, but I didn’t want to. I didn’t want her to believe that there was anything. I think a lot of couples meet by sitting together in class. Its accidental, but I keep seeing her, and she’s really there.

I continued walking, briskly, because I wanted avoid getting too familiar. No, wait, I didn’t. I wanted to but I didn’t. I can’t help myself, she’s always fun to talk with. We chatted for a bit, because we always do, whenever we happen to be nearby, which seems to be almost every day now. It's reassuring to see someone in front of you, like that, the whole self, their whole smile. A picture is never just to beauty. Beautiful, did I really think that? No, she’s cute. Shes cute but I don’t see anyone else that way.

I wanted to leave, I wanted to get my water bottle, but now she's asking about more than the homework. She’s asking about things which I felt guilty for feeling comfortable answering. She’s asking things which I’m going to answer. She asked me about my day, she sympathized, she offered advice. I responded, politely, with harmless intentions.

I’ve told one too many jokes, now she can’t help but laugh. I feel satisfaction when someone laughs, but her laugh was just warm. The chords struck me like hot water on bare skin. They relaxed like them, too, I just wanted to stand there and feel it wash over me.

But I had get going.

“Hey, I’m going to the caf, we can keep talking at lunch.”

How could I refuse?

We headed out, and walked across campus. Her ponytail bobbed with her step, her voice was just as bubbly. Her entire motion was directed toward the sun up in the blue sky, and me. Her texture beamed under the varying and pebbly shade of the cherry blossom trees, which, right now, seemed to be in full bloom, radiantly pink, stretching out across the footpaths of campus. A petal fell on her cheek. She took it up in her hand, and smelled it. She handed it to me, she wanted me to know what she now knew. She wanted to share the moment. I took it, smelled it, and laid it back on her head. She kept it there, thinking it might innocently blow off, but it never did. We we were happy, both of us. I checked the time, but on my phone was her picture. I was surprised, even though I already knew it was there.

We both seemed to enjoy lunch, but she could tell I was distracted by something, something which I couldn’t bring to tell her. I never noticed how beautifully her eyes shined when she spoke. She had so much vigor, so much energy, it was hard to move around, felt like I was swimming in it. It was really warm, and the quiet spring mood was relaxing to see as all the other students and professors criss-crossed campus on their way to class, or on their way home. All wearing casual, light clothes, like we hadn’t been able to wear until now. I felt just as content in here with her as out there.

I got a text notification, I got multiple notifications, but I ignored them. She told me about what she wanted to do with her life, or rather, she told me she didn’t. She said she was sick of all those people who had dreams from childhood, who were told what they wanted to become before they even knew what becoming was. I think it was an excuse? But her grades were too good, so we could rule out laziness. I didn’t want to tell her my grades. She shouldn’t know about me. From day one I was never a good student. I was never able to perform, and I never have performed, but I get by, somehow. I wanted her to believe otherwise, at least for the time being.

I told her to wait because I was preparing a surprise, before going into the bathroom. I checked my phone, and, behind her picture were her texts, and behind her texts was a real person with real problems that I was really ignoring. It was so odd, to look back at everything we’d exchanged. Out of context, the messages were almost meaningless, or at least they seemed as much. Just standard exchanges, not so different from any other couple’s. But every time we said “I love you” it meant something else, like a different note played on the same instrument. Each one appears the same, but the appearances masks the emotional complexities behind it, how we were each feeling, how we each thought the other felt. She texted me something, she wasn’t in a good spot and I knew I was obliged to help her. I gave so much thought into every word, every sentence was constructed exactly to make sure she was reassured and to make sure she felt safe and ok. She said she loved me, she said I was her one and only. I want to feel that way about her, too, but I just can’t, and I can’t tell her right now.

How long was I going to spend in this bathroom? I was agonizing over it, between her and her and me and her and Rachel and me and Rachel and her and Rachel and Rachel and Rachel. She’s probably still out there, waiting for me, diligently, ardently.

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. Just a series of love, endless, cascading love, pouring out in my texts, pouring out into my phone. An infinite sea of it crashing into the keypad. I wanted to drown her in my love, I wanted her to feel a love so deep that she never could feel anything again. How many times do I have to say it, before she understood that I’m giving it. I told her I could give her anything, but you can’t give anything to someone who isn’t even there. And I knew that, I knew it and I still said it because I wanted her to just shut up for one second and let me live my life. Let me do my work without bearing your burden, let me do my job without seeing one more notification pop up on my screen.

Why am I angry at her? Or am I angry with her? I was the one who moved away for college.

“What, am I too much for you?” Rachel joked as I walked out.

She was never that brazen. But then again, I never wanted her to be. Rachel was exciting, but I wasn’t looking for excitement. Rachel didn’t even know what I wanted. Rachel was just probing, trying to see what I was into, trying to make an edgy joke here and there, trying to get in to me. Where was my water bottle?

Rachel had to get to class, and she gave me her number, which I sent a quick text to confirm. As soon as she responded, as soon as we awkwardly said goodbye, I almost galloped. I walked briskly all across campus, nearly running through the spring air and across the stone paths and through the grassy knolls and under the new budding trees. Through the cherry blossom archways, and through the impenetrable lightness of the gates which they created, I ran all the way back to the lecture hall.

There were all these other noises, the sounds of hundreds of years of collected knowledge being imparted, bouncing around aimlessly against the brick walls. But I didn’t hear a single one when I walked into the empty room. There, sitting on the table at the far end, by the open window, with the mid-afternoon blue streaming in and lighting up the whole dusty classroom, was my water bottle.

“Alex” I said under my breath, softly. I walked over slowly and picked it up, rolling my thumb against her name. I borrowed it so many months ago, and now she wanted it back. I promised her, I promised that when I saw her next that I’d return it, when I came home for summer break. Oh my god, how long has it been? How many months have I been away? My heart clenched in my chest, and for a moment I felt overrun with guilt, but then I put the bottle back down, and let go. I checked my phone, and Rachel had sent me another text. I stared at it, then I stared back at the bottle, and then I looked out the window. It was mostly shut, but the breeze kept blowing it open, and little by little, with each passing gust, it swung further out. I could see the construction workers on the other building, I could hear the traffic rushing by. The petals of a cherry blossom tree wavered, and the wind blew away a few at a time. A slow, slight process, every warmer day chipping farther and farther into the once beautiful, and unique bloom. It seemed like every year I saw something just as mystical in these trees, but every year they grew bare once again. I only witness a short window of sublime beauty before it fades away. I could feel the cool air brushing against my body as I stood, paralyzed, unable to move under the immense calm of the new spring sky.