Step Into It

I laughed when I told him what he did to me. What he took from me. What he broke in

me. I don't know why I did that. Nothing was funny. Maybe it was to soften the blow for him?

To soften the blow for the both of us? I’m used to laughing when I’m with him, so maybe if I

laughed then it would be the same as always. Nothing would have to change. Everything would

be ok. Everything would stay ok. Maybe that's why I immediately forgave him, or told him I

forgave him. Maybe that's why I held him. Comforted him. Suppressed my own tears as I begged

him not to cry. That's kind of fucked up, right? I told him it was ok. It was not ok. We both knew

it would never be ok - but I laughed when I told him, so maybe it was. No. It wasn't. I’m

backtracking.

●

I don’t remember the first time I formally met him. I can’t remember ever having to

introduce myself. I guess I just always knew him. I do remember walking into class on the first

day of our second semester freshman year. I was running late (per usual) and didn't have time to

process any nerves I had going into a classroom full of strangers. It wasn't until I saw him that I

even recognized how nervous I was - or had been. When my name escaped his mouth, “Ellen,” a

weight I didn't know existed was lifted off my shoulders. I don't know how long that weight had

been clinging on to me - maybe just before that class, maybe since the beginning of that year,

maybe forever. It didn't matter, it was gone - I was lighter now. He was happy I was there. I was

happy he was happy I was there. He pointed to the open seat next to his. I smiled back at him and

sat down. I knew him before then, and he knew me. I don't know how, but we just did.

●

“What are you going to remember when you look back on this in 10 years from now?” -

that's something he would ask me a lot. He had a really good way of turning my “no” into a

“yes.” This isn't a bad thing. In fact, it's something I loved most about him. “What are you going

to remember when you look back on this in 10 years from now? Going to sleep? Or going to

D.C.?” He is the most spontaneous person I’ve ever met - another thing I loved about him. If

anyone else was to pitch the idea of driving two hours to D.C. in the middle of the night on a

Tuesday, I would jokingly say “let’s do it” because I know they wouldn't mean it. With him, I

said no because he meant everything he said - I mean, he was crazy. Driving two hours to D.C.

in the middle of the night on a Tuesday is a bad idea, right? But driving two hours to D.C. in the

middle of the night on a Tuesday was a good idea if it meant I got to be with him. Maybe it was

me who was crazy. “I don’t want to go without you,” he told me. God, he was good.

It was 1:00AM when we got there. The air was cold. It burned my cheeks. I wished I had

brought a warmer coat. He hugged me when I told him that. I was suddenly ok with the coat I

was wearing. I had been to D.C. once before with my on a school field trip in 8th grade, but I

didn't remember it being this mesmerizing. Maybe because it was in the middle of the night, with

only street lamps lighting up the scene like stars fallen down to earth. Or maybe it was because

of the quiet, an escape from the noise that seemed to suffocate our campus. Maybe it's because

no one else was there. Maybe it's because he was.

I was so tired on the ride home, fighting the weight of my eyelids as I looked out the car

window. Every time I put my head in my lap and surrendered, he would tap my arm and tell me I

wasn't allowed to sleep. “Why not?” I would ask with a smile. “I just need you to be awake for

this,” he told me. That was all the explanation I needed. If he wanted me awake, if he wanted to

soak up my presence as much I wanted to his, I would fight a little longer and do that for him. I

loved him. I didn't fall in love with him in that moment, I just realized I loved him and probably

always had. He told me I was his best friend. That was five weeks after I sat down next to him in

class.

●

We never talked about sex. We never talked about attraction. We never talked about what

we meant when we said we loved each other. We really didn't need to. It wasn't necessary,

required, relevant. That’s what made our relationship so special; we never had to work for

anything, everything just already was. “You're the one person I never get tired of,” he would tell

me. I never got tired of him either. When we were together, it’s almost like we were alone. Never

lonely, just alone together. I always found peace in that - especially when you're 19 and feel like

you can never catch a break, that work never stops piling up, that your roommate never give you

a second to breathe, that everything seems like forever. When I was with him I was calm. The

world would pause for a little and all it would be is him and me. We never kissed, never

expressed romantic desire, none of that. We didn't need those parts of each other to love - or

maybe we wouldn't have been able to handle it. Maybe I wouldn't have been able to handle it.

●

There are sometimes a “no” cannot be turned into a “yes” no matter how badly we both

might want it to. One morning, I woke up next to him. No, he woke me up next to him. It was

6:00AM. I was half asleep. What he suggested next, I said no to. I told him I wanted to go back

to bed. Maybe if he said “I just need you to be awake for this” like he did on the way home from

D.C, that still would have been the only explanation I needed. Maybe if I was convinced that he

wanted to soak up my presence like I wanted to his, it would have turned out differently. But this

time, when I asked him why I couldn't fall back asleep, he responded, “I already put on a

condom and everything.” That morning he did not turn my “no” into a “yes.” He turned my “no”

into “no” into “no” into “no” into “no” into silence.

A blank stare at the ceiling.

A countdown.

●

When I was seven years old I gave myself a black eye. I had been playing T-ball for a

total of three years, so basically I was a seasoned pro. When I was seven years old, I graduated

from T-ball to “parent pitch.” My dad happened to be the coach, which also meant he filled the

role of the “pitcher” in “parent pitch.” I was up to bat, standing at home base with a helmet too

big for my small head, a heavy weight clinging onto my shoulders, and a pit in my stomach. I

had never hit a moving baseball before, so this was a pretty intense moment in my seven years of

living. Right before I got up to bat, my dad reminded me to “step into it,” meaning right before I

swung with my tiny little arms, I should step forward with my left foot. So I did just that. I

“stepped into it.” I mean I stepped right into it. My whole body followed the lead of my left foot,

which perfectly placed my left eye straight into the moving baseball. It wasn't until my dad came

running up to home base, picked me up, and said “I’m so sorry” that I started crying. Soon

enough, my eye became purple and every morning my dad would look at me as if I was a glass

child that he had dropped and shattered. I hated the way he looked at me. I hated how looking at

me could make him feel bad. I made him feel bad. I felt so much guilt for stepping into it. Why

did I step into it? How could I be so stupid to step into it? I know he told me to, but I saw the ball

coming and I stepped into it anyways. “I shouldn't have told you to step into it” he would say, “I

shouldn't have stepped into it” I would respond.

●

One time, he asked me to pick him up from a train station in Delaware. I said no. I had

homework and it was a two hour drive to get him, and then another two hour drive to bring him

back. I told him to just take the train, I mean he was already at the station for god’s sake. “I hate

taking the train alone.” He told me, “you're the only thing I look forward to about going back to

school.” Do you see that? See how good he is?

The drive from Delaware to Lancaster is angelic. We took the back roads, not the

highway. We didn't plan that - it just happened. We drove right through the sunset. No rolling

fields, just flat land. No distractions. The sky was the same hue of orange as the tip of the

cigarette we shared while singing in the car. He looked so beautiful sitting in my passenger seat.

There we were. The two of us, alone. That was my favorite day.

●

We never had to work for anything - everything just already was. I didn't love him for

loving me, I loved him for being. It just happened. Are we working for it now? I don't know. I

know how sorry he is. It kills me to see him so sorry. No, I want him to be sorry. No, I want him

to have nothing to be sorry for. I want to go back to that morning. Or maybe the night before. Or

maybe the first day of our sophomore year. Yeah, the first day I knew I already knew him so I

could tell him right then and there “I’m going to love you. I probably already do. I can't help it.

I’m going to have a hard time ever saying no to you because that's how much I'm going to love

you. I'm going to want to do whatever it takes to make you happy, because I know it will make

me happy too. Most of the time I'm going to love every second of it. But one day I will say no

and I'm going to mean it. I’m sorry if that's confusing. I guess it could be seen as unfair, but it's

my no to say and your no to accept. Most of my no’s will turn into yes’s and you're going to take

the weight of the world off my shoulders and open my heart, feeding my adventures I will never

forget. It's going to be something I love about you most. But on that morning I say no, please

listen. And know that sometimes I will laugh when things are not funny because that’s how

much I’m going to wish I could still love you.”