It was still technically summer when I met him, though just barely. One of the hottest days ever, over 100 degrees, even at the beach. You may wonder why I consider this such a great memory, since it marks the start of my spiral down, but the day stands alone, beautiful and shimmering, alive with the promise of something wonderful.
I had been sick for a month and couldn’t eat much, which he attributed to a mental disorder, and it’s true I have that as well. But it’s also true I had been ill, whether he believed it or not. Nevertheless, I loved meeting him, loved the way he looked and spoke, loved his gentle criticisms, of which there were many. But I am used to being criticized by men.
This was the second time I’d met a man at Skyloft. The first time had been a complete disaster immediately and I’d gotten lost on the way back to my car. I had spent two hours walking the streets of Laguna alone searching for my car that night. So, this time I took photos of all the storefronts on the way from my car to the restaurant. And like breadcrumbs, we followed them back.
This first meeting lasted over six hours. Brunch, conversation, walk, beer, ice cream, walk… He kissed me on the beach, in the sizzling heat, as the waves rolled in. I think I was still slightly ill and dizzy, and my whole world tilted from the chemistry I felt for him. He appeared to be likewise smitten with me.
But I don’t know anything about men.
I was so happy, for a short time, before the crash, before the year of darkness. This was one perfect, sparkling day. There were three more. And then it was done.