I'm Not Into Goodbyes

“Okay, thank you for coming,” Patrick said to some girl who was holding the CD he had just signed tightly to her chest. She nodded in disbelief and slowly turned to walk away; a smile plastered to her face.

You stepped up in line as everyone moved forward, each foot closer to him causing you to breath a little deeper.

“Hi, can you sign this please?” said whoever was next in line. Patrick nodded politely and signed it, handing it back to the girl.

“Thank you for coming,” he said and she continued down the table to Pete.

The line moved upward again. Your heart jumped a little; only four more people until you’re face to face with him.

Not like this would be the first time, though, but what’s an ex-girlfriend to him anymore? Why should he have any reason to remember you?

You found yourself stepping forward again, only three more people.

You’re the one who dumped him. Well, you didn’t even dump him. He goes on tour and you react by not answering phone calls and texts and emails? What right do you have just now facing him about it, especially years and years later?

Someone behind you cleared their throat, bringing your mind back to present tense. “Oh,” you said, noticing the gap in front of you and stepping into it. Two more people. Two more freaking people.

Who knows. Maybe he’ll forget about you. Maybe you’re just another face in the crowd. Another fan. Another nobody. But what if you’re not? What if he remembers everything about you? What if he can still name your favorite color? Your favorite food? What if he hasn’t decided to forgive you?

“Thank you for coming,” you heard, almost as your cue to step forward and put you one person away. One person away from what will probably be a complete mistake.

At this point, to avoid overanalyzing, you had pretty much shut your brain off, refusing to think about anything pertaining to your situation.

But that was inevitable. In no time, your hands were trembling and your knees were weak, ready to fail any minute.

Maybe I should just leave now. I could leave and no one would care, or notice for that matter, you thought but quickly decided against it.

He could hate you, he could never want to speak to you again, but you owed him an apology, and that’s what you were here to do.

“Ma’am?” you heard. You shook yourself out of your head, taking the step forward, almost sure that your foot would never reach the ground, that you’d keep falling.

But sure enough, there the ground was, and when you looked up, you were there. Right where you needed to be. Face to face with him.

“Would you like me to -er- sign anything?” Patrick asked. He looked at you for a moment, trying to understand why you said nothing. “Are you okay?” he asked after awhile. You could hear people behind you either making fun of the fact you can’t talk to a celebrity or groaning that you were taking too long.

“I know,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, “I know this isn’t the time for this. But I guess, I really owe you an apology,” you said, your voice quivering and completely unstable; not that you felt any different. You felt as if you were going to just fall through the ground then and there. And be gone. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad solution.

“Excuse me, do I know you?” Patrick asked, eyeing you carefully. Of course he wouldn’t remember you. Of course. That was seven years ago. Why should he remember? Why should he care?

“No,” you lied, quickly composing yourself and letting your breath out. You searched your pockets, failing to find anything for him to sign. You finally settled on your iPod, the only thing you had on you. “Just, could you please sign this?” you asked, handing it to him.

He nodded, signed it, and handed it back to you. “Thank you for coming,” he said, not nearly as enthusiastically as the other times.

You nodded, then quickly turned around, swiftly making your way to the side door to avoid the crowd.

You made it out the door, then down the first two steps before giving up and collapsing. You sighed heavily taking a seat there on the steps, knowing you weren’t going to make it to your car. You buried your head in your arms, pulling your knees up close to you.

More than you could have ever possibly fathomed, you missed Patrick. Of course, you’d known you had missed him, but this, now this, was not how you expected this to happen. You figured you’d walk up to him, give him the much needed apology, then move on. Gone, without ever having to think about him again. Without having the guilt on your shoulders that you never called back, that you never replied to his text, that you just deleted the emails you got from him. This would be the end.

But, of course, no happy ending. Now it’s these two options: A) go back in there, surface your identity, and apologize or B) give up; let him be; try to move on.

Either way, you have to get up from the filthy stairs, and walk; which seemed impossible at this point.

How in the world were you supposed to travel anywhere? You couldn’t make it back to your car with the guilt sitting on your shoulders, and you couldn’t make it back inside with the knowledge of knowing what you have to do.

You glanced down to the puddle your feet were sitting in. Slowly, you studied your reflection in the puddle, knowing this wasn’t you, this wasn’t was how this was supposed to be.
Somewhere along the line, you had figured that Patrick going on tour meant he wouldn‘t have time for you; that Patrick going on tour meant that he didn’t care; that Patrick going on tour meant the end.

Which seemed pretty pointless to you, now. He called, texted, emailed; what had stopped you from answering? What made you think that this would be it? He obviously still was making time. He obviously still cared. He obviously didn’t think this was the end.

So how? How did you end up here? Sitting alone in the dark? On the steps of some side door leading to the alleyway?

You started chewing on your thumbnail, stalling having to make a decision. Maybe if you distracted yourself from the real world for so long, it would disappear. It would be nothing but just you and the dark alley. Where nothing and no one could possibly destroy the peace and quiet.

You huffed a sigh, watching your breath swirl in the air before rising up and floating away, dissipating into the night. From the street, you heard police sirens going off, followed by the flashes of blue and red flying by the tiny alley you had taken as shelter.

You smiled slightly remembering when you, Patrick, and Pete had the cops called on for teepee-ing your old teacher’s house. It was the only criminal charge you had, and probably ever will have.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket, glancing at the time. 11:55.That gave you five minutes to make up your mind before they closed down the place. And who knows how long the lines are.

Frustrated, you buried your head in your hands, almost digging your nails into your skull. It was either go back in or leave. How was that such a hard decision? There’s still five minutes, you figured. Think about it before making any rash decisions.
Subconsciously, you picked up your shoelace, twirling the tapered end of it around your finger a few times. Slowly, you pulled your finger out of the curl, letting the string fall back in place.

You silently scolded yourself to stop purposely making distractions. Once again, you leaned over and stared at the person in the puddle. How could that possibly be you? What happened to the fun and happy you that was completely careless? That lived life to the fullest? Who are you to be sitting here, stalling for no reason?

There’s now way. I won’t be able to face him. I’ll just breakdown all over again. There’s no point, you thought to yourself, finally deciding it was time to just let go.

For one last time, you laid your head in your hands, taking in a deep breath.

“You thought I didn’t remember you?” asked a voice; asked his voice.

You debated, for awhile, about never lifting your head up. Just keeping it in the palm of your hands. But here he was. And here you were. No walking necessary. You owe him. You owe him an apology.
Slowly, you lifted your head, looking straight forward. If this was going to happen, you at least deserved the time to do this right.

“Because, trust me, I didn’t forget you,” he continued.

You glanced back down at your shoes, which were still soaked from the puddle, then slowly turned your head the slightest bit to see him. He was sitting about three feet away from you, leaning his elbows on his knees, with his hands clasped together. His lips were pursed together as his eyes stayed straight forward.

You dug your nails into the palm of your hand, trying to get yourself to say something; anything.

“You have to let me in on this one,” he said, “you have to let me know what I did wrong, because, frankly, I thought I did everything I could. I told you that I’d be back. I told you not to worry, because I’ll love you still. I told you everything I could possibly think of to know that you’d stay. Because we both knew you didn’t have to. But staying wasn’t the issue. It was the communication. I did everything possible. How…? How did I mess this one up?”

“You didn’t,” you finally brought yourself to say, though your voice cracked and you sounded barely confident in your words. “You didn’t mess this one up. I did. Trust me.”

“You know what was the blow to the head though? It wasn’t the fact that you wouldn’t return my phone calls. It wasn’t the fact you wouldn’t text back. It wasn’t the fact you wouldn’t just take a few seconds to reply to an email. It was that when tour finished, and I came back to see if you were even still alive, you were gone. Without ever even telling me. Even after all the discussions we had about you staying.. Even after you had promised me.”

You attempted to blink away a few tears, but failed as they cascaded down your cheeks.

“Patrick,” your voice was even shakier, but you cleared your throat and continued anyway. “I’m sorry, more than anything I want you to know that. Because you’re the coolest guy I’ve ever met, no doubt, and you don’t deserve, whatsoever, to have to put up with me. I guess I came tonight to just apologize, and I guess I really owe you two apologizes for taking forever to tell you this; but I’m sorry. Truly sorry.”

You looked away as you felt more tears begin to pool in your eyes. You held your eyes shut, hoping to stop the tears, but they managed to get through.

You felt a warm hand brush away a few tears. “Hey,” he said, now much quieter and more gently, “as much as you probably deserve it; don’t… don’t cry.”

You managed a faint smile. “Trust me, I deserve it.”

He smiled feebly too. “Yeah, I guess you do.” His hand wiped away another tear anyway before he retrieved it.

You took a shaky and nervous breath in, glancing up at the stars hanging in the night sky. You blew into your hands and rubbed them together, trying to gain warmth. Somewhere, in the rush of getting ready, you completely forgot about bringing a jacket.

“Is there any reason you’re out here, in forty degree weather, in just a t-shirt?” he asked, almost as if he were reading your mind.

“Forgetfulness, actually,” you said, continuing to rub your hands together.

He let out a sigh. “Goodness,” he said under his breath, wrapping his arm around you.

Any other day you’d be ecstatic to have the warmth, but, right now, all you could focus on is that you were back in his arms. That he was holding you. That you knew, for the first time in years, that he didn’t hate you.

You closed your eyes, laying your head against his chest, and let every worry slip off your shoulders. There was no point, as of right now, to be fretting about anything else.

“Jeez, you’re freezing,” he said, rubbing your arm almost in attempt to smooth the goose bumps back down.

You smiled slightly, leaning farther into his chest as his arms tightened, holding you closer.

“I missed you,” you whispered before thinking about it. You held your eyes closed for a moment, completely unsure of what his reaction would be. The whole world just stopped, and a silence took over it.

Ever so settle, a drop of cool rain fell and landed on your arm. Followed by another. Then another. And a few more before the sprinkling turned into rain, and the rain turned into a downpour.

Patrick pressed his lips to your temple. “I missed you too,” he whispered back.

The rain fell as a torrent for a few more silent minutes before Patrick sighed, causing you to look up at him.

“Come on,” he said, standing up and pulling you up with him. “Let’s get you inside before you catch pneumonia. We’ve got some catching up to do.”