Wasted Time On You

For the billionth time today, Emily crossed my mind. It was always some little thing, like the way she would tell me that Disney was misleading us, since there was no happy endings in reality. The way she would smile at me every time I cracked a joke, or the way she would brush her bangs from her face when she was annoyed. And there was the way that Emily's eyes would flash when she smiled, and the way she would smile could light up a city. I had met her officially on the playground when we were six, but in truth, I had seen her around school and was too afraid to talk to her. She was beautiful, and perfect, even then. Ever since I got the courage to go talk to her, we'd been best friends. We laughed together, and cried together. And no matter how many times Emily told me that happy endings were only in movies, I wanted her to her my happy ending. To be with me forever. But of course, it never works out that way. Someone has to mess everything up. At least, that's how it happens in the movies. But like Emily always said, movies are made to make us believe that the impossible is in fact, possible. Emily was really smart like that. It was one of the things I loved about her. It was the way that she made everyone around her feel smarter just by knowing her.

I realize now it was wrong of me to tell Emily that I was just going to get over her because she didn't love me. I didn't even give her a chance to think about it. But I was so angry, and I loved her so much that it scared me. I was turning into a monster for her, and I knew she didn't like. Our senior year, she did more of her nervous habits. Tugging the ends of her brown wavy hair, biting her pale pink lips and grinding her piano key teeth. She was one of those girls that was pretty without even trying, with her thin frame and naturally beautiful features, Emily was perfect in every form of the word. And I wished I hadn't left that night, hadn't left to sort everything out. For now every day, I'm plagued with the could have beens. I haven't heard from her since then, and I haven't seen her family either. My mother wouldn't disclose information, but I knew it was something bad.

I had truly tried to let Emily go. I even wrote a song about her, which All Time Low asked to use for their album “Put Up Or Shut Up”. The song was called “Coffee Shop Soundtrack”, after all the nights we would spend sitting in a coffee shop and just talking about what Emily liked to call the soundtrack to her life. Usually, it was about nothing, just needing an outlet for all our anger. We always made time for each other, no matter what was going on. We loved each other in that brother sister way, but we never fought, we only did what we loved.

“Hey, man, this is for you,” Vinny said, holding out a lavender envelope and his Italian features morphing into confusion. This was quickly replaced by a grin. “That letter smells like vanilla and strawberries,” He said before walking back to his merch table, his secret domain. My heart gave a pang. Emily used to smell like vanilla and strawberries. I looked at the loopy lettering on the front of the envelope, recognizing it immediately. It was Emily's handwriting. A flood of memories came back, making me lean against the concrete wall of the venue.

There was me and Emily in her basement, watching Fantasia until we could quote the entire movie. There was eating those WonderBall candies until Emily puked her guts out. There was Emily's first party, where both of us were so drunk we ended up making out in the backseat of my car. Twice. There was the time that Emily and I told each other what we loved about the other, and I listed every single thing about her. There was the time that she forced me to watch “Ten Things I Hate About You”, and I was quoting it for days. There was when me and Emily made our promises that we would never forget each other, and that she would visit me when she went to Europe. I frowned.

Emily never visited me. Not once.

But that was my own fault.

I ripped the lavender paper open, eager to see what Emily had waited seven years to tell me. Her loopy writing filled the page, and tear droplets ruined the ink in some places. Towards the end of the letter, Emily's handwriting got sloppier and sloppier, and the ink became smudged more often. The letter was literally killing me, and I hadn't even read it yet.

Dear Matty;
Hey big man. How's it hanging up on tour? I hear thats what you're doing now. I hope that what you've always wanted, and that it makes you happy. I can't stand to see my bubbly boy being depressed. I miss that boy, you know. I have every day for seven years. But, you left me with the words that you were going to get over me. I really wish I could have told you the truth, right then and there. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. I couldn't tell you the truth that I'm about to tell you. Matt, I couldn't love you because I was going to die. I had brain cancer, and they couldn't treat it without killing me quicker in the process. I couldn't hurt you like that, I just couldn't. The truth is that I did love you, more than anything else. So every time I hear “Coffee Shop Soundtrack”, I think of everything that could have been if I hadn't gotten the news that I was going to die. I'm so sorry, Matt, I truly am. I wish there were words to explain how I was feeling, but there are none. I only wish that you could be by my side, because I know you could make me laugh, even as I lay on my death bed. I always loved that about you, Matt. How you could make anyone laugh, regardless of what was happening. It was your gift, and I was always jealous. It made it easy to love you, you know. Your humor always made it easy to trust you and believe that you would never hurt me. But as it turns out, little miss perfect is the one who hurt you, aye? I lasted longer than the doctor's said I would, I lasted seven years after all. And, Matt? I wished I had told you the truth. Then we would have had seven years of happiness together, before my ultimate demise, if you're wondering. Which, knowing you (or who you used to be), you would be wondering. Yes, Matthew, I am dying. As I write this letter, I'm dying. I'm truly scared to die, Matt. I don't wanna leave you, even though we haven't spoken. I don't want to imagine a world without my best friend in it. Can't you see that? Matt, I need you. Please. Stay strong for me. And I wish I could have found the time to visit you, and tell you all this in person, but I ran out of time. There was no time left. I'm so sorry, Matt. Since you're reading this, I must be gone, and just know that I always loved you. Forever and always, right, Matty?
-Emily.

Tears stung my eyes, blinding me from the world.

Tell the world that the great Emily is dead.