She remembered him. The boy who had meant so much to her.The boy who at one timed seemed to be so undeniably beautiful. Tan skin, ruddybrown hair, endless black eyes. She could almost see him now, with his long, dark eye lashes and his big, goofy smile that used to warm her heart.

It had been years since she'd thought of him and his dopey grin. That time she saw him in the mall and felt nothing, not a fleck of feeling toward his call and greeting, was the moment she knew she was liberated, and she was never held down again. But now memories were being dredged back up as though someone was cranking the handle on a rusty old well only to find that water still lay at the bottom.

Sixth grade. That wasn't the year she actually met him, but it was the year she became aware of his existence. Her friend had seen him in the school library and an instant crush developed. She, however, had no interest in boys at the time. They were icky, like her brothers. They were annoying and stupid, too. Who knew that by seventh grade most of her friends would be boys? That ruddy-haired one included. Who knew that the year after that, she'd be battling against feelings for him?

In her seventh grade year, texting had not yet overtaken instant messaging. Everyone had screen names. His was RedGemDragon. Red, like the glints of color in his hair. Hers was KashikoiCat, an amalgamation of two languages just like she was an amalgamation of two cultures. She remembered instant messaging with him. Hours-long conversations about this, that and the other thing. Things their seventh-grade minds thought were deep and prolific, whether they agreed or not. She remembered trying to persuade him to date her friend,that very same one who saw him in the school library and fell head over heels. She remembered revealing things to him, personal things she'd never shared with anyone before. Things about her family life and her anxieties and her worries, hoping that sharing these confidences would inspire him to do the same so that soon he'd trust her, and she could see whether there was any hope for her friend. He only did so to a limited extent, like telling her that he was afraid of drowning or that he thought he'd die young. But he became a vital confidant to her. Indeed, he became more.

That week when they went on the school trip in eighth gradeis what sealed everything. She could still vividly see in her head looking to her right and seeing him walk right on beside her. Even though he was popular and easy to get along with and could've easily made friends with anyone else in their group, he stayed with her, though she was the chubby, greasy weird kid who like Star Trek and watched anime. She didn't understand why he did, but she did understand why her heart beat faster and her cheeks burned red under the black light of the astronomy room in Space Camp.

She remembered arguing about the shape of eternity and that he thought time had a beginning because everything had a beginning. She argued because there was a larger, theological point to defend. She reminded him both matter and energy could not be created or destroyed. That a mathematical line had no beginning and no end. She pointed to the circle of his watch; that there was no starting point on it, nor was there an end. He opened his mouth to give the stupidest argument she'd ever heard from him: "The beginning of the circle is where the metal first hit the mold." Clearly metaphors weren't his strong point. She had to laugh in his face when years later he seemingly forgot about this debate and tried to use the very same example on her to explain the nature of time.

She entered high school forty pounds thinner and hopelessly in love. Looking back on it now, she realized what an immature and incomplete love it was. She never wanted to kiss him or hold his hand or any of that. But she loved that she could talk to him about things no one else seemed to think about. She loved that she could trust him and that he'd seem to understand. She loved those things about him, but, she realized later, that she didn't truly love him. And what she had failed to realize is that even though she thought they were great friends, not only was her love unrequited, but so was her feeling of profound friendship. When she found out about his parents' divorce in senior year, for example, long after they stopped talking, she realized that even though she told him about all the friction at her home, he never did the same. She had only assumed that his home life was as perfect as his well-manicured hair. And she realized, much later on, that he didn't actually understand her feelings at all. He thought, for example, that she feigned depression for attention. Oh, if only he knew how those feelings of aimless anxiety and despair would haunt her on and off like waves, advancing and receding, her entire life.

The day he started asking her about a new friend she'd met in high school, she knew why. But she pretended not to. After all, this friend had a boyfriend. And a crush. She must've been flakey--too flakey to deserve his love, at least. Little did she know that once they finally connected, they'd stay together for five years, and nothing less than level five rapids would tear them apart.

She remembered this very same friend talking to him in Senior year, asking him about his feelings for her... the very same way she'd done for another years before. She remembered asking, pleading, with the friend not to do such a thing. And telling her that that's the very same way she developed feelings for him. When she found out that the two were in love, though, she simply told the girl not to play around with his feelings.

Probably the strongest of any other memory was the memory of giving him her blade in Freshmen year. A symbol of penance and of a promise. She gave up a part of herself to him--a part of herself that she couldn't simply throw away. He kind of quivered and nodded his head and probably threw it away himself later that same day.

And she remembered those few manic moments staying up till three a.m. instant messaging with him while he did his best to calm her. Or sometimes they simply were wrapped up in some philosophical debate . Starting way back in seventh grade, continuing through till about tenth grade, when he started to pull away. When he started doing and saying cruel things, mostly to just get her off his back. She never asked back anything from him, or so she thought. But she never really realized how emotionally taxing she'd been either. How much it hurts a person to try to help someone who clearly needs it but who won't quite accept it. Years later, she'd understand.

She was still angry that he didn't handle it better, and outraged when she read his signature in her yearbook, but at least it all finally set her free. Before that, even though he'd gotten with her friend through somewhat conniving means on his part and she couldn't truly say she was still in love with him, she always thought of him fondly. Always blamed herself. After the yearbook signature, she started to realize he bore a lot of fault himself. Partially for not just explaining things to her. Mostly for using her in a really sadistic way--spreading rumors about her, really--to get close to his then-girlfriend.

He was in many ways the opposite of her new love. For onething, this one reciprocated her feelings; in fact, they were due to be married within a few months' time. For another, he was short whereas her fiancée is tall. He was ruddy whereas her fiancée is blonde. He had black eyes, though her fiancée's are green. His smile made her feel warm; her fiancée's makes her heart melt. Their personalities differed too. One was more serious, one is more easy-going. One loved to draw while the other likes to create music. There were similarities too, though. Both were quiet, almost stoic at times, for example. But both were big jokesters each in his own way.

It was this love that made her realize what true love was supposed to be like. It was this new love that made her realize that maybe, just maybe, she'd never really loved that boy at all. It was this love that made her realize just what her friend had lost. Still, she was afraid that when he died, a part of her would die along with him. He was a touchstone for the person she used to be. He was the only one who knew just what she was like in her most vulnerable moments of depression, self-deprecation, and self-mutilation. He was the only one she could've given her blade up to. Certainly, that wasn't the version of herself that she favored--that one in his head. But it was the one she most pitied. Even though she loves her fiancée so dearly, she just isn't the same person now as she was back then; she liked the version of herself that her fiancee knows. And while she was glad for that fact, she couldn't deny that the moment she'd given that boy her blade--no, long before when she had opened up her trust to him--he'd become a part of her. He was the only person that could prove who she was at that time in her life. The only one who could say for sure that she had changed.

And though she knew he was dead--that he faced a drowning death, the one thing he feared--that night she'd had a dream that he was alive again. That she, and his mother, and his girlfriend were all able to see him again. The three women who perhaps loved him best at each phase of his short life. That night, she gasped, covered her mouth with her hands and felt her tears well-up as first his mom then his girlfriend gave him tearful hugs to welcome him back. But she watched only from a distance to allow the two most important people to him have their moment. As she watched, she beamed with joy and contentment before she walked away. But that night, she cried when mid-dream she'd realized the impossibility of the situation and knew that the only ways those girls would ever see him again were either in dreams or by an act of God.

Do you believe we need to make sacrifices for the people we love? Do you believe in that whole give and take system?

I do. But I'm not saying it's easy. It's hard--not just for the sacrifices I make--but to watch J make his as well.

A small example: J just moved into the apartment that's to be ours soon. It comes with everything: refrigerator, microwave, oven, dishwasher, etc... but it doesn't come with a washer/dryer. I told J that we could wait. We could use his father's, we could coin wash... but he wants us to have everything. So he's selling one of his prized possessions: an original Hollinndagain album. A live album from his top favorite band, Animal Collective, which they themselves decorated the album covers of--each one of the covers are unique.

Right now on eBay, the starting bid is $250.00, with three people watching the sale.

He says it's not hard. It's just an item. But he may not be able to replace that it. He's just so dutiful. He wants to provide and protect and care for, and I love that about him. But I worry that he'll put himself on the back-burner. I love him.

But we all make sacrifices. I sometimes sacrifice time and attention I want from him. He sacrifices alone-time, cool-down time, game-time, energy after a hard day's work to give me some of that attention that I need. He spends time, money, energy, effort. He sacrifices his taste in decor for the apartment for me. And, of course, the sacrifice of the right to flirt with or date anyone else.

Still, what are all of these sacrifices when we receive all the benefits that we do? When we receive each other in return, fully and securely--or at least as securely as any person possibly could guarantee. When we receive support, morale, and genuine concern from someone who will do everything possible to make sure we are happy and well.

So recently I've developed an obsession with Foster the People (of course "Pumped Up Kicks" started it, but "Call it What You Want" kept it going). Along with this obsession came watching music videos and live performances. A lot. And you know what? One of the guys is really, really good looking.

The thing is, he and probably everyone else must know he's good looking because in probably more clear, close-up shots than even the lead singer. And he's... ya know... bassist and back-up vocals. Since when are bassists the band front man? Unless they're insanely good looking.

So I look at him in some shots and think "Dayum boiiiiiii"



THEN I look at him in other shots and think "He just looks waaaaaaaaaaaaay too manicured here. He must KNOW he's good looking. Therefore, he must be a total @$$hole."



LOOK at those eyebrows. What man does that? Unless he totally knows he's good-looking and wants to keep it that way.

I guess I just like my men a little more rugged. And a little more humble. And a little more... manly. Yeah. Manly... Or at the very least, I don't want their eyebrows to be better manicured than mine, please.

But I digress. There's just something about a guy who knows he's good looking. He can have such an attitude. Be a total wanna-be lady-killer (like the infamous Bentley!), or be a total @$$hole as mentioned before and completely blow off we average girls even from normal, day-to-day conversation because they think we'll be obsessed. Like the guys who won't even make eye-contact, but you have to deal with everyday because you sit next to them in health class, or they work in the cubicle next to you, or you see them at church or whatever.

There was this one guy I recall who wasn't even good-looking. Seriously, he had the least symmetrical face I've ever seen. Like one side of his face was quite literally tilted downward. His left eye was lower than his right eye, he nose was deviated toward the right, and even his mouth hung crooked. He had like... no eyebrows and a lumpy nose. And yet for some reason he feared I might get obsessed with him or something. Ignored me all the time we had to be around each other with friends, and then one day I saw him in a big crowd but figured he'd ignore me anyways, so blew him off and kept talking with my friend. He looked at me like "Hey! What about me?! You're supposed to be obsessed!" and while raising his eyebrows, trying to do a little nod, waving ever-so-meekly, was surprised to be met with a "Oh, hi."

 I passed by him three times at that mall (same shopping trip), one time walking around with a guy friend, and that was just it. He must've felt really stupid (though I must say this: for all his unfortunate facial flaws, he did get a ridiculously gorgeous girlfriend. Like so pretty that she's enough to bring their looks average up).

There's another guy I know who's always been cool with me, probably because I've had a steady boyfriend since I've known him, but he pulls that crap on my friend. Looks past her when they're in line-of-sight, doesn't greet her, is generally an @$$. And you know what? He's not that good looking either. At least he doesn't have a lop-sided face, but he's not great looking either. He has puffy cheeks and some serious forehead wrinkles for a twenty year old. Oh, and also, he's so hipster I want to punch him in the face. Not even kidding. Punch in the face. Wears the freaking tightest pants possible, the shoes, the deep v-neck shirts (but that's a rant for another time)...

Okay... so I guess it's not so much about guys who know they're good-looking as it is about guys who think they're good-looking. Or irresistible in some other way yet to be discovered.

Here's the real annoyance: I'll be nice to guys up till the point when I start to get the vibe they're into me. Sometimes the vibe is very obvious, sometimes it busts out later in the friendship, and if I'm not into them? Yes, I admit... I show it. I'm a b!+(%. But does that mean that everytime a guy feels like he's too cool for school it means I'm giving off a vibe that I'm into him? Because let me tell you... in my years as the nerdy, chubby, awkward kid lots of boys have busted these moves on me. And you know what? In 22 years, I've only seriously liked about 5 boys total. For the average girls, that's the number of crushed in one year of middle school. No lie.

But so now because of wanna-be-lady-killers like that, any guy who has the cool aura of a guy who's pretty damn comfortable with his looks is branded an @$$hole and blown off. See guys? See what you've done?

Anyways, do you ever have that bias against someone? Ever have an experience that proved your bias true or false?