Jamie Lin

Just One Moment

I lofted my bed this morning. If I knew he was coming over, I would have waited. Short people should never have to wrestle with their mattresses alone. My cell phone rang while I was shoving thinly sliced cucumbers into my mouth, letting some of the juice slide down my chin onto the front of my blue Power of Peace shirt. I had the same shirt in red and purple, too. All I wanted was a black one but they didn’t make it in black so my sister got me all the other colors to compensate for what I truly wanted. She had been extra nice to me all year because last Thanksgiving, she ran off with my best friend in a fit of drunken romanticism. “All it takes is one moment,” she had said, shaking a finger wildly in front of my nose. She was holding onto Alex. Alex loved her since she was four and he was six. It was cute for a while until it became an obsession that took over not only his life but my life as well.

I remembered one particular moment well. It was my fifteenth birthday. I stood in front of the mirror for hours trying to dress twenty pounds slimmer. I heard laughter from outside so I went over to the window. Alex was chasing after her with the water hose. She wore a two-piece mauve colored swimsuit and no shoes. The light from the sun highlighted the dedicate hairs on her back and legs, the almost whitish streaks in her hair. I could see the flashing of Alex’s braces as they zoomed by. They didn’t notice me standing right there with the zipper of a new dress undone down the side, my left hand holding the material up while stretching my lips to comfort myself.

Last November, Alex slurred at me, “That’s right. One moment.” And then, they were gone, out the door, into the autumn night with orange leaves swirling in their wake in the moonlight. The very next day, she came back and said Alex wasn’t going to talk to me ever again. I should have predicted it. Whatever she did, I always had to shoulder the blame. My parents were the same. Whenever she broke a cup or hit another child, it was my fault that I didn’t stop her. She was younger and prettier and I was expected to be her keeper.

“What did you do?”

“I told him that I was crazy drunk, that it was nice of him to humor me, that he’s a great guy but I don’t see him as anything more than a brother.”

“A what?”

“I know we never really talked but since you two were so close, I
thought … I didn’t want to be cold. You know? A brother.”

She didn’t really understand the situation until she realized that I had shunned her from my life. Regardless, she felt confident that one day I would break and forgive her. She knew I didn’t function well with anger. I always needed to get rid of any negative energy, either pretend everything was okay or accept that people made mistakes. When we were younger, she’d whine like a puppy until I broke out laughing and forgot that just the previous night, I had wanted to slap her breathless.

The world felt smaller when Alex was around. Like when I couldn’t write for months on end, he suggested that I stop having sex. He said, “The ones who do not have sex will yearn for it in their writings, those who do only write about what happens afterwards. Since you don’t stick around, the only thing you can write about is the beginning, the imaginary, the fantasy, the idealistic sentiments.”

It made perfect sense to me. It thrilled me that he understood me so well. He made everything sound uncomplicated and manageable.

I picked up the phone after the third ring, ignoring my wet fingers. It could be something important. I had been sitting around in my dorm room all day thinking about the documentary I had to watch about genital mutilation. I was trying to put it off as long as possible, until class tomorrow at two anyway. “Hello?”

“Hey.”

I froze in a sitting position, half lunged forward toward my desk where the phone had been. “Alex?”

“Hi.”

The thing was, I could be mad. I could be insanely outraged toward the fact that he’d forgo years of friendship for something as stupid as a crush. My truest friend betrayed me, chose my sister over me, like my family, like my life.

“Hi.” My voice came out soft, like my cat back at home when she was in heat and apologizing for it.

“I’ve missed you. Can I … talk to you?” There was something different in his voice.

“You’re talking to me right now.”

“I mean, in person.” I hoped he was okay. He didn’t sound like himself at all.

I thought as fast as I could. Sometimes when I was struck by a story idea, I’d be overwhelmed by so many emotions and thoughts that I’d have a hard time putting it all down to words before it'd disappear. I felt that way now. I didn’t know how to think, what to do, why my heart was spinning like a top, making me dizzy. “I guess … ” I gave him the address and said I’d meet him at the right side door, near the tree with the bright red leaves.

I could see that tree from the window. It was an old tree with a sprawling trunk that’d take three long-limped people to wrap their arms around. Its lowest branch was thick enough that I could climb up past midnight and smoke. The world would be completely silent then except for the crickets. I’d see the college’s cat roam around, peeking under bushes and into corners with her nose.

I brushed my hair in front of the mirror, feeling fifteen again. Clumps of it fell out with each stroke. I stopped and fidgeted with the strands in my hands. I thought about putting it right back. Would it stay if I entwined it in a way that was both mathematical and scientific? Did I know of such a way? I waited a few more minutes before slipping into my sneakers and going downstairs.

He was an elongated shadow moving along the paved paths to my dorm building. His shoulders were slouched against the light splatter of rain. The moon caught my left eye, barely there, dangling like an earring from the sky. He stopped walking a few feet in front of me and I stopped breathing. All it takes is one moment. I imagined taking his hand and guiding him up the stairs, listening to the echoing song of our firm footsteps, the sound of the skin of our hands pressed together, the muscles and bones in our arms and legs flexing and cracking.

I imagined locking the door behind me and pushing him down onto the dusty floor with numerous clumps of my hair. I’d apologize that we couldn’t do it on the bed as I had just recently lofted it and wasn’t sure how reliable it would be when challenged with the unwavering movements of passion.

I’d sink my nails into his unsuspecting back. I’d hate him for never realizing and love him for the same reason. With him, I’d want to stay to witness what would happen afterwards.

In reality though, we stood there awkwardly, lightly rocking on our heels.

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