I met Jake when I was eleven. To me, he wasn’t just “my older brother’s friend.” He was a thirteen-year-old – an older man. Jake and my brother would sit in my brother’s room, door closed, and shake their heads to the music of Guns’n Roses. I would desperately try to think of excuses to knock on my brother’s door, just to get a peek or a quick smile at Jake. I found something attractive in this computer whiz. But I was just “Phil’s baby sister,” so the lines were drawn: He was the friend, and I was the annoying little sister, two seemingly incompatible titles.
Jake went away to private school, and I missed his presence in the house, even if it had just been behind my brother’s locked door. A few months after he left, Jake wrote a letter to Phil, and at the end of the letter, in barely legible script, he scribbled, “Say hello to you sister for me. Is she still cute?” I lived on the line for months; it was enough to give me a constant flutter in my stomach.
In the summer of 1993, Jake came home. One evening the phone rang. When I answered it, the voice on the other line responded, “Hi, Leesa, is Phil around?” I searched my memory, trying to remember the familiar voice on the other line. After a few seconds, I realized it was Jake. JAKE!
“Actually he’s not here. Where are you?” My voice shook. I couldn’t believe it when he replied, “Cranbrook.” He was home.
Our friendship began the instant he spoke again and said, “Well if Phil isn’t around, I guess you are going to have to talk to me.” That night, we got together and sat in the park for hours.
I brought a friend along, with the intention of setting her up with the friend who accompanied Jake. I watched as Jake talked and laughed with my friend, Mel. I realized I wasn’t going to be the one setting anyone up. Jake was obviously interested in Mel.
When Jake and Mel became a couple, my heart sank. To my selfish pleasure, I felt smug later that month when they broke up, and Jake called me to complain. We ended up talking again, and my anger toward his dating Mel wore off rather quickly. It was hard to stay mad at him.
Although he left for school again soon after that, his letters were now addressed to me, with side notes that read, “Say hi to Phil for me.” Our friendship was growing stronger and stronger.
He left his school two years later, only to move farther away. I thought we would both move on, since we were so far apart, but we only grew closer. It wasn’t long before I realized I was officially in love with him. Whenever he came to visit, it was like a whole new adventure. We felt free to act like kids, but at he same time, we had endless conversations. We laughed and shared our secrets and I always dreaded the day he had to go back home.
Every time he visited, I told myself, This is it. I am going to tell him how I feel. I promised myself that I would before he left, but I never got the guts to confess my true feelings.
Jake came home again a few days ago. I swore to myself that there was no more next time. The words just flowed out of me. He cut me off, leaned over and kissed me. I expected to feel complete bliss, but, surprisingly I didn’t. This is Jake, I reminded myself. Remember? You love him! Still, I felt nothing. When he looked at me, I could tell he felt the same. I believed that kissing Jake would be the last piece of the puzzle to complete my perfect fantasy. Yet somehow the puzzle pieces just didn’t match up.
Jake left again today, and for once, his leaving doesn’t feel like a tragedy. We are best friends, nothing more, and always will be. So maybe this isn’t a storybook ending. Perhaps my childhood sweetheart will not become my fairy-tale prince, but we can still live happily ever after.
by Leesa Dean
ENJOY READING IT~!HAHA!
finally finished ART..but still hv presentation waiting for me..
AI...but no matter how much i need to work on, i will go to bbq anyway! |
