Love You Like I Do

The King. Or Elvis, as many know him. He was one of my favorite musicians of all time. I inherited my semi-obsession of Elvis from my grandmother. I observed the King printed on a man’s shirt. I had known the man sporting the shirt a long while ago. Now, he graced my television screen with his presence. I had been waiting to watch this program all day, to remind myself of better times; to make me feel whole again. I thought it would work. But seeing his tall, familiar figure on the glowing screen before me brought me to a new low.

Instead of making me feel whole, I felt like a fraction. For a few years, he had been a major component in my life. Now, I was reduced to merely seeing him on the telly or hearing recordings of his voice. That hurt me more than anything.

What had happened between the years was a bit of a mystery. At least that’s the lie I told myself to make the awful feeling in the pit of my stomach subside. It didn’t work that well. My mind told me the separation was for the better. My heart said the opposite.

I continued watching the broadcast, no matter what my feelings were. Curious to get some input about how he’d been lately; what he’d been doing. The woman who conducted the interview kept asking a bunch of cliché, redundant questions. As a handful of interviewers usually did in the music business. Also as usual, she asked a lot of questions about the man’s personal life. I knew he would never answer them directly. He never would when asked those sort of questions. His personal life stayed personal.

“Do you have anyone special in your life right now?” the woman asked. How that applied to the beautiful music he made, I had no idea. I rolled my eyes.

I was sure it was time to cue the typical roundabout answer. I was half right.

“I always have special people in my life. But in terms of a significant other: No. Just the thought of a special person from a better time in my life. Though I’m not sure she still exists.” That famous smirk spread across his face. But there was an unhappy emotion behind it. I could tell.

His answers were always cryptic. But that… That answer may have been cryptic to others, but not me. I clutched my throw pillow close to my chest and kept my eyes glued to the screen, unblinking. I waited for a response, my body tense. I knew he could be talking about someone else. He probably was. But my gut said otherwise.

“Is that so?” the reporter spoke, looking shocked she got a bit of a response out of him. “Anyone we know? Jonna, perhaps?”

He looked weary suddenly. “No,” he spoke softly. He looked straight into the camera. For a split second, I felt like we made eye contact. Until I realized that this was just a televised event. Then I just felt stupid.

He now donned a pained expression that I couldn’t bear to watch. She quickly changed the subject as she noticed his appearance. She began to ask other, unnecessary questions. I couldn’t take much more of this program.

Looking at the clock, I decided I could stand to miss the rest of the episode. I hadn’t really learned much about his present doings, but what I did learn made up for that.

Determining I needed to clear my mind, I grabbed my jacket, put my headphones in, and headed out the door. The cold air of late autumn nipped at every inch of exposed skin, but I endured it. For the sake of my sanity. Puddles rippled under my feet as I walked through the wet streets of Helsinki. The recent rainfall had left everything in its wake damp with precipitation. Though many liked to complain about this time of year, for the rainfall and the cold, I couldn’t help but find the beauty in it. It was my favorite time of year to go on thought-filled walks through the city.

Now it was time to get into the nitty-gritty; why this all happened.

First of all, our families had been well acquainted with each other. Family friends, you could say. Though, we didn’t really begin our friendship until one night at a dinner party at my parent’s house. My mother had on one of my grandmother’s old Elvis records. My favorite one, in fact. I sat in the living room, next to the record player, humming. He sat across the room from me, smiling. We had both grown up listening to Elvis, so it was a common interest. We talked a lot that night, about numerous things. Thus was the beginning of a great friendship.

Our friendship continued to blossom until a few years ago. We began to grow apart. His career was blooming, as was his relationship with a woman who would soon become his fiancé. I felt it insensitive to remain so close to him while he was so closely seeing this woman. Of course, we weren’t dating. We never had. I had only ever dreamed of that. Though I never knew the exact magnitude of this thoughts about me, I knew he had had feelings. Mutual friends had confirmed this.

It had also been established to me one summer night, at a separate dinner party. One of many my family liked to throw. I had been sitting outside in the garden, the comfortably warm temperature of the summer night allowing me to do so. He had come out to join me, a lit cigarette in hand. I observed as he stood beside me, a large cloud of smoke clustered in the air above our heads as he exhaled upwards. I thought about our friendship. By now we had been friends for at least five years.

Just then, music drifted out into my backyard garden. It seemed to float in the warm air. My favorite Elvis song, “I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You.” I looked in the window of my house and saw my mother standing in the window, smiling amiably. She had done it purposely. Of course, her and I had spoken about this before. She was convinced that he and I were to end up together one day. I disagreed. He had better things ahead of him. A promising career, among other things. Which meant a promising selection of women.

I returned my focus ahead of me. As I turned back into position, I noticed that he had looked back towards her as well. I looked up to him and examined his expression. A small smile spread across his face and within moments we were both laughing hysterically.

As the song faded out, he looked to me. And I, to him. He was serious now. There was a look in his eyes that I couldn’t decode. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to. But I had felt a connection then. More than ever before.

He then encompassed me in a one-armed embrace, his arm slung around my shoulder, and we stared into the yard before us. We stood there, just simply standing, for about five minutes. Until my father called us in for dinner. We then separated and went inside. I continued to have the same feeling every time our eyes met, as the evening progressed. Though we had never done anything so brash again nor ever spoke about it, I knew that connection was there and that it would remain for years to come. For me, at least. That night was the first and the last time I had ever felt so close to that man.

So very suddenly we lost communication. It stung more than I could’ve imagined. But the part that hurt the worst was the fact that I had been correct. As his career flourished, so did he. I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t resist his charm. He had had a slew of girlfriends after that. I had expected it, and in doing so, I had thought it wouldn’t hurt.

I was wrong.

Now, as I walked through the streets, listening to my mp3 player, I thought about the man I had seen on the television today. He seemed in no way the same as he was back then. He was happy then, or at least that’s what he let on. Now, he seemed to be just a shell of the man I knew. But regardless, I still valued him greatly. I wished for no more than to just see him once more. I promised myself that I would confess to him how I had (and still did) really feel.

I thought of all the opportunities I had probably had to fix this problem between us. But my fear had always stopped me. I was afraid that I would be rejected, to say the least. That, quite frankly, would’ve stung more than just losing him in the first place. Losing him, then being rejected by him. That was something I couldn’t bear. So I remained silent, watching his life from afar.

As I walked along the street, I stomped in a puddle, soaking myself to the knees. The water chilled my entire being. But it was invigorating at the same time. Paying mind to my mp3 player for once, I noticed that one of my favorite songs by his band, “Circle of Fear,” had been playing and was almost over. But the song it segued into put me into a near state of shock. I stopped walking, in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Wise men say only fools rush in, But I can’t help falling in love with you…” the King crooned through my headphones.

I looked down to my mp3 player to see if I was hearing this correctly. Just to make sure that my already unstable mind wasn’t messing with me. But it wasn’t. Quickly, I was brought back into reality, from the deep depths of my delirium.

“Anni?” a deep voice spoke, the low tones reverberating inside my chest. I recognized the voice.

I looked slowly looked up -- half hoping this was a dream, half not. Into those familiar eyes I found myself gazing.

“…Ville?” I muttered, dumbfounded.

A small, wounded smile appeared on his face. “I’ve missed you, Anni.”

I knew from then on, we were going to fix this. Together.