We Never Change

His name is Anthony. He makes me laugh especially when he's being stupid. He mostly annoys me though, but I don't know. I think that's one of the reasons why I love him. Does that even make sense? It doesn't, not to me, but I still think it's true. Anyway, not everything that's real necessarily makes sense.

One time he said something really dumb. I think it went along the lines of "You look like a hag in that dress." I had saved up for that dress, possibly a month's worth of allowance, or maybe more.

I wore it at a party I knew he'd be in, thinking he'd say something nice for once. I washed my hair and fixed it up nice and even allowed my mom to finally put make-up on my face, then I snuck into my sister's room to use her "very expensive perfume from her thoughtful and sweet boyfriend," as she put it. She wanted to kill me the next day when she found out that I had used it without her permission. Even more when she found out that I had used a lot. I wanted to make sure it would stay on long enough for him to know that I was wearing it. "God, you're such a little shit," was all she kept saying. And she rolled her eyes whenever I'd be in her way and stuff. Anyway, my dad dropped me off at the party and I saw people at the front of the house acting stupid and drunk. I guessed there was alcohol but when my dad asked about it, I lied and told him that they were naturally dumb and acted that way all the time.

I felt pretty sophisticated when I walked through the door. I held my head up high and straightened my back. The entire place reeked of smoke and sweat and everywhere I looked people were either drinking or trying to dance dirty with each other or falling over themselves. I tried to look for my best friend, Annie, but I couldn't find her. Later, I found out that she had been kissing the host upstairs in his room.

Anyway, I saw him sitting in the den with a couple of his friends after I gave up looking for Annie. I smoothed my hands over my dress and coughed softly. He lifted his head and took one long look at me. I felt my heart rise up to my throat as the corners of his mouth lifted. Then he said, "You look like a hag in that dress," or something to that effect. I tried to say something equally witty and painful, but all that came out was a weak reply. I pretended it didn't get to me by hanging around for a while, but after a couple of minutes, I stood up without excusing myself and went out to look for a telephone. I found one in the kitchen, where a couple of kids were playing the card games I never really liked, and whispered for my dad to pick me up. He had just gotten home from dropping me off.

When I got home, I took off the dress, sat at the foot of my bed and cried for a little while. Then, I folded the dress and put it in the farthest end of my closet, where I could never see it again.

There was this one time, though, when my dog died. I went to school looking terrible and bleary-eyed with grief. He asked me what had happened during lunch and I told him flat-out that I didn't want to talk about it. Then he got very quiet and just sat down beside me while I pretended I wasn't crying. He took my hand under the table and we just sat like that until the break was over.

It's been twelve years. I see him every once in a while, at bars with his co-workers, in church with his family, and sometimes at parties with his girlfriend, who is a pediatric oncologist and a couple years his senior. They're about to get married. In a month, I think. I was invited, but I have to fly out for a seminar on the same week.

I turn on my side every night and face the window. I think about the day his sweaty hand held mine in a painfully sweet and awkward effort to comfort me. My husband reaches out to hold me but I gently shrug him off. "It's hot, honey," is all I say. He kisses the back of my head and in a couple of minutes I hear soft snores coming from the other side of the bed.

You'd think that time would make things different, but it never really does. We just look older, dress better, get jobs, and start going our separate ways. But feelings never really change, and neither do we.