Forever Young

Dear middle-aged woman who sat next to me on the plane back to Los Angeles,

I’m really sorry for being the most unpleasant person in the world. Please understand that I was still fighting off my first hangover, and that I had just been kicked out of the country. Again, I’m really sorry.

Sincerely,
Keiko

P.S. If you want to make friends, don’t tell people about your eighty something cats. That’s weird.

- - - - -

Upon seeing my parents’ face at the gate, I knew I was in for a long ride home. Unfortunately for me, my head (and, let’s be honest, my heart) were not yet up to par. But did that stop my parents from lecturing me and making me feel worse about myself? Oh, no, not by a long shot. I sat in the back seat , rubbing my temples as they went on and on about me being so irresponsible and how they knew they shouldn’t have let me gone and how I better realize that that would be my first and last trip alone ever and blah blah blah.

While it was all really annoying, I had to agree with my parents. I had acted stupidly. I should never have gone. I deserved everything I was going to get.

And, boy, did I get a lot.

The media jumped on this story and it spread like wildfire. To add fuel to the fire, there were pictures: pictures of me entering the club with the boys, pictures of me downing a tequila shot, pictures of me holding on to Zayn, and, of course, pictures of me kissing Zayn. My face was all across the Internet. I read everything there was about me. It was torture, but I made myself sit there and go through every little thing. People talked about me like I was some whore, some slut, and some monster. People picked on every little detail of my appearance. They were merciless. They were brutal. They were ruthless.
On top of all that, some girls who were a couple years younger than me and had gone to the same high school as me recognized me from the pictures and leaked out my name. I got hate sent straight to my facebook and my twitter, and all I could do was bid the social networking world goodbye and delete my accounts.

I silently wished that it were that easy for me to disappear from the real world.

I tried to tell myself that it would pass. The management had told me to just keep quiet and let it all become old news. But, everyday felt so long and I questioned whether or not this scandal would truly go away. I spent the rest of my summer, sulking about at work and at home.

So much for fucking shit up in the summer before college.

- - - - -

September 2, 2012
”I know it’s been a while, but I hope all is well with you. x x – Zayn”

September 30, 2012
”Hello Keiko! – Zayn”

November 28, 2012
”I know you probably don’t want to, but I’d really like to talk to you. Please. – Zayn”

December 18, 2012
”I made a mistake, Keiko. I knew that before but I didn’t admit it. Please. – Zayn”

December 25, 2012
”Happy Christmas, Keiko! – Zayn”

December 27, 2012
”I’m not giving up on us. x x – Zayn”

January 1, 2013
” You know I'll be
your life, your voice, your reason to be
my love. My heart
Is breathing for this
moment in time.
I'll find the words to say, before you leave me today. – Zayn”

January 2, 2013
”Please just leave me alone. – Keiko”

- - - - -

It was a gray day in Los Angeles, a perfect excuse to jump under the covers of my bed and indulge in some good old television. I flipped through the channels, looking for a sappy romantic comedy when I caught a glimpse of a familiar quiff. I flipped back and my television screen showed me a picture of Zayn with a rather voluptuous brunette. The image was only on the screen for a brief second before the newscaster moved on to another celebrity sighting.

I considered what I had just seen for a moment, trying to decipher how I felt about it all. I had decided a while ago that I didn’t want anything to do with him anymore, but why did it hurt a little to see that picture? I wanted him to leave me alone, right? I thought it over a little while longer, “No,” I said to myself, “He’s not even worth it, Keiko.”

With that, I jumped out of bed, pulled on a pair of jeans, put on a sweater, slipped into boots, and grabbed my car keys. As I passed my mom on the way to the garage, she asked where I was going.

I shrugged, “I need to make a change.”

- - - - -

I ran my fingers through my new hairdo. It was now shoulder-length and ombre. It was the boldest thing I had ever done with my hair (as I had kept it the standard layered cut with side bangs since the sixth grade). I was really pleased with how it turned out, but if you asked me why I had done it, I wouldn’t know what to tell you.

Maybe seeing Zayn with that girl had something to do with it.

I was now sitting in a Starbucks, listening to the always-comforting noises of the rumble as the barista steamed the milk going into my latte, the crush of ice in the blender for someone’s Frappuccino, and the voices of patrons reciting back their drink like it was some secret code. There’s just something about coffee shops that just oozed cool and grown-up. With my new hairdo, I felt quite grown-up. The Keiko of yesteryear would’ve probably gawked at this matured Keiko from the other side of the street.

“A grande skinny vanilla latte with soy for Keiko!” chirped the blonde barista.

I bounded up to the counter and thanked her, slipping the cardboard sleeve around the steaming cup of coffee. I turned to leave the place, but, for the second time that day, I laid my eyes on a familiar quiff.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said under my breath. Directly in front of me were Zayn, Liam, and Niall.

Zayn’s eyes looked me up and down and he nodded at me, “Keiko.” The other two boys waved awkwardly, unsure of what to do next.

“Hi boys,” I said, staying where I was. After a few more awkward moments of silence, I decided to attempt to move past them, “Right, well, it was nice running into you guys. I’ve got to run now.”

I moved forward, half-wishing and half-dreading that one of the boys would stop me and force me to talk to Zayn. Instead, they moved aside to let me pass and mumbled “goodbye”. When I emerged on the other side of the glass door and out onto the cold streets of Los Angeles, I didn’t know if I was relieved or disappointed that the boys didn’t stop me from leaving.

A ragged homeless man approached me, “Miss, do you have some change?”

Change? Yes, I have a whole lot of that.

- - - - -

I’m ashamed to admit it, but I watched my phone closely for the rest of night. Whenever it lit up with a text, I scrambled to check who it was from but they were never from the person I wanted to hear from.

But, what exactly did I want to hear from this person? I honestly didn’t even know. I guess a simple hello would’ve done it. Even a “it was nice running into you” would’ve been okay for me. Or, maybe a “She didn’t mean anything, I’m trying to get over you.”

But, nope. Nothing. Zero. Zip. Zilch.

So, I went to bed that night with quite a heavy heart. Looking up at the ceiling, I asked myself, “What’s happened to you, Keiko?”