Inspiration for this came from the quote below... it hit me hard and I was like, poor, poor girl. Thus this, possibly my shortest and most depressing oneshot.
The One He Forgot
"You know, this is terrible, but I can't fully remember when my first kiss was! It was a long time ago. It was just like a kiss--it was like, 'Okay, there you go!'" --Kevin Jonas, Popstar Magazine Jonas Brothers Special Edition, May 2008
I slapped the magazine closed, only halfway through, and pressed the heels of my hands against my stinging eyes. He might not remember--but I did. He was right; it was a long time ago. Five years, two months, and--I did quick math--three days. I wondered if he remembered the same thing I did. The description couldn't have been more different.
We sat on the porch, his dad's little church off to our left, and I leaned against his shoulder as the sun started to slip below the horizon. It had been just another day as close friends, though we both knew something was changing, something was blossoming between us--we just didn't know what to do about it. He started to speak, I turned to look at him, and both of us froze, the words dying on his lips. I remember like a picture how he looked in that moment. His hair, so much shorter than now, curled tightly against his head, those deep hazel eyes glowed warmly with the light of the sun, and the fiery touch of sunset cast his skin in a rosy, golden glow. The freckles on his lips stood out. I had wondered, in moments I didn't fully understand at fourteen years old, what those lips would taste like, how soft they would be, if we could kiss like the people in the movies. Then he leaned towards me, whispered my name in a voice more breath than sound, and pressed his lips so softly to mine.
When he left, my heart broke, and it crumbled away a little more every day that went by without a call, without an email, without a text. I tried not to blame him; he was busy and living his dreams. Eventually, I realized, if not accepted, that I wasn't what he wanted. I watched him shoot to fame, I browsed the pictures of him forehead to forehead with his pretty, glamorous girlfriend Zoe, or wrapped in her arms. He was still so amazing, even as he grew up and changed and matured. He turned from the soft-eyed, thoughtful boy I knew into a genuine, deeply passionate man. I watched it all happen, and I cried sometimes because I missed him so much. I read all the magazines, watched all the interviews, but never let anyone see how much I wanted him. And then came this magazine. Among a hundred gorgeous posters and pictures was the one quote that stopped my broken heart from beating. He didn't even remember? I remembered... I remembered everything...
The moment his lips touched mine stretched into several. The touch of his mouth tingled and burned in the most delightful way and he tasted like vanilla and strawberries. I wondered why, because he didn't even like fruit, but that's what it was. Warm, warm vanilla and strawberries. His hand came up and his fingertips danced along my jawline for just a moment, then we slowly broke our first kiss. My eyes opened slowly, reluctantly, to find him looking at me softly, a blush blooming on his cheeks. His voice rough and quiet, he said, "I've never done that before." All I could say was that I knew, and then I leaned against his shoulder again. A moment later, his arm wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me into a warm embrace.
I don't know what an "Okay, there you go" kiss was to him... but it was nothing like that to me. I ran a hand through my hair and tried desperately, but unsuccessfully, to stop my tears. It was one thing to know it was over, that he had moved on, that there was nothing between us anymore. But to know he didn't even remember our kiss, that it had meant so little to him... it cut me like nothing else could. I didn't understand. He had a million girls throwing themselves at him everyday, struck by his fame, his looks, his talent. But I was the girl who loved him when he was a poor pastor's son in a small town, the loner who had few friends, the boy awkwardly trying to find his place as a man. I loved him then.
I was the one who loved him when he was nothing but perfect. And I was the the one he forgot.
