Graphic design class has room for lots of drama

  February 19, 2013
       I’m frowning into my book, focusing way too hard to enjoy in any small part the book I’m reading, when my phone buzzes. It startles me out of my book and I take a second to glance around the courtyard and orient myself. People walk by in pairs and trios, talking, laughing, eating. I sigh at my company, a book and some cheese crackers, before reaching for my phone.

“Hey gorgeous :)”

My face lights up and I drop everything to text back, “Hey there handsome :)”

I don’t even have to wait a solitary minute before my phone buzzes again. “How’s your day?”

“So-so. I’m eating alone with my book :P”

“Aww. Want me to come keep you company?”

I glance at the time on my phone—just ten minutes of lunch left. “Nah. Lunch is almost over.”

“Ok.. remember that you’re beautiful :)”

I feel my heart speed up, and it’s more alive than it’s been in almost two years. Goodness.

“If you think I’m so pretty, why don’t you just come out with it and ask me on a date?”

Now I’m just playing and he catches my drift like I know he will, because he always has.

“Maybe I know you’re gorgeous and I just don’t want to own up to it!”

“Fine then! No date for you! Your loss ;P”

The bell rings before he replies, so I shut my book and grab my crackers and my bag and head to graphic design.

I save Daniel’s computer and log onto my own. Half an hour, four sarcastic remarks, and three reprimands from our teacher later, my phone buzzes again. The message is long. Uh-oh.

“Jess…so many things would have to happen before we could date again…and even then I’m not sure I could let you in again.”

My temper flares and I have to put my phone down and make myself focus on class until most of my rage is under control. It’s not enough to keep my message polite.

“You couldn’t let me in?? How can you turn that onto me after what happened? I could never trust you like that again and it is your fault.”

“I know…”

“Then why would you even say that? I was playing around about that, not suggesting we get back to together!”

“I suppose I’ll never stop hoping.”

With that, my heart drops. Part of me will never stop hoping either, but that part is outweighed by ridiculous amounts of bitterness and anger and still healing wounds of betrayal that run deeper than anyone can tell.

“I don’t think I will either.”

“Maybe we should just take some time to think.”

It’s a temporary peace treaty, but I take it.

        “Okay.”