The first time I told a stranger the tale of you, was only weeks after it all ended. I kept the tears back with the crutch of a beer. I stood in his backyard just hours after meeting him, and avoided meeting his eye contact as I explained the beginning of my summer. I’d told the same story before, to my parents, and to my cousins, and to my bestfriends- but not yet to anyone that couldn’t guess the ending before I began. “So yeah,” I let my hair fall in my face before I quickly drank the remainder of my beer. “That’s what happened to my relationship.”
Without a word, he was on his feet, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. “Oh honey. That’s awful. I’m so sorry that happened to you.”
What happened between us, didn’t happen to me, it happened for me. I knew my solution, to your problem, very early on in our relationship, but I chose to love you instead.
The last time I told the tale of you, I was sitting on my feet, on the edge of my bed, with my bong between my knees. I was in pajama shorts and a flannel. It was 3am, and all the windows and doors were open. I was facing the boy I’d just brought home from the bar. “So that’s my deal,” he sat up briefly to pass me the lighter. “How’d you end up all the way out here?” He leaned back, adjusting the pillows on my bed.
“Well,” I began as I pressed my finger into the half burned bowl and flicked the lighter.
Now it feels just like explaining the plot line of a Netflix series I’d been binge watching. You could guess the disgusting ending, but the beginning was so beautiful, you’d think there’s no way it could end so terribly- I told myself for 3 years.
“Wow.” he raised his eyebrows. “That’s awful.”
“Fuck, right?” I laughed, as I passed the bong back across the bed. “But now it’s all over, and now I get to be here!” I sat back and spread my arms out as I looked across my new place. “My little house on the prairie.”
Wild Little Hare 