It was four months into the final semester of my high school career and I didn’t even know the name of the girl who sat in front of me, but when I walked into Spanish class I noticed something was different: she had gotten a haircut. The weird thing about this was that I could not seem to remember what she looked like with long hair. Did it touch her shoulders? Did it reach the lumbar region of her spine? I realized I couldn’t even picture the front of her face until she turned around to view the clock and I saw how gorgeous her cerulean eyes were.
This realization reminded me of Jordan. Well, everything these days reminds me of him. But not being able to remember what she looked like before now… That’s what it felt like to fall in love with him. He brought so much joy to my bland and boring life. And maybe it was a nice life before I met him, but I can’t picture it now without him in it. The second he walked into my life, it turned cerulean.
I suppose I should back up a second, as you probably don’t understand the irony of that statement. You see, I watched Jordan die two Saturdays ago. We were celebrating our one year anniversary in Grand Haven, Michigan, when the waves swept him under. I saw his head bob up every few seconds like God was fishing for his soul as I frantically tried to swim to him. When I finally reached him, it was too late.
Just hours before, we were sprawled out on the warm Midwest sand looking at the clouds and talking about how one of them looked like a wedding ring. He told me it was a sign, and that we were going to get married here someday. Like every other millennial girl, I have my fair share of trust issues, but I believed him with every ounce of my being. I swear I heard the wedding bells the rest of that day until I reached his dead body in the salt-less water and they went mute.
When the bell rang, I rushed out of class, as I always do, but accidentally bumped into somebody at the door.
“Oh sorry!” I looked up and was met by a pair of cerulean eyes.
“Oh, no worries. Hey, you were Jordan’s girlfriend, right?”
“Yeah, I… was.” I’m still getting used to using the past tense when I talk about him.
She turned around and walked away.
“Hey, wait,” I shouted.
She looked back and said, “Yeah?”
“I like your haircut.”
Jessica is a communications manager for a local non-profit in Grand Rapids, MI. She enjoys playing guitar and writing in her free time.