Sincerely

By Mrs King

Looking back I can’t really say I am sorry, because it made me what I am today. But looking back means seeing the story the way I remember it, and not the way it happened. So, here it is. . .the way I remember it. Don’t quote me, or tell me differently, because if this is not the way it happened and you change it, you might just change the person I am, and we wouldn’t want that. Or would we?

His smile was so innocent yet it lacked the sincerity a smile should have. I remember thinking to myself, "I want to make his smile sincere." It was early February and just a few days before, I had had my heart broken by a boy I loved. I was eighteen, and heartbreak came easy for me. I guess because I always placed my heart beneath the person with their foot raised, just waiting to stomp down. I always did have great timing.

He was eighteen also, and he looked like a bad boy. The kind that you don’t take home to mother. He was tall and thin, almost sickly. He had dark brown hair, pulled back in a pony tail, shaved underneath. He was pale, yet had a clear complexion, and his face was gaunt with dark circles under his eyes. Oh, but the light in his eyes lit up his face. His eyes could have been made from the very blue above me, closest to heaven. He was new, and interesting and I thought it would be easy to chase him while running from my last heartbreak. I was determined to make his smile sincere and be able to take him home to mommy.

So, we met. He didn’t want me, he wanted my best friend. She was blessed in the chest and as pretty as spring, but wouldn’t have him. I guess he just settled for me. I had other guys to date, but I only wanted to date him. He was sweet. He gave me compliments and was gentle with my heart. He respected me to be a lady (I really wasn’t) and he knew it, but he still respected me and I guess by doing that he taught me to be a lady.

Time went on and we had been dating for at least a month. (In teenage years, that is forever) He hadn’t even tried to kiss me. I wondered if I had mistaken a straight guy for a friend of Dorothy (if you don’t get it, never mind) You see, I was near madness to have him make a move, but he was just too nice.

One day in March he finally kissed me and I knew he wasn’t over the rainbow. Gay guys don’t kiss girls like that. It was magical and I have to admit that single kiss was the best kiss of my life. I was in love. With dark hair and deep set eyes, a thin, gaunt naughty looking guy that was such the opposite. He wasn’t a rebel. He was content. His pants were too baggy, but he was content. His family was weird, but he was content. His job wasn’t great, his appearance made people think him to be wild, he didn’t have a car, but he was content.

After that kiss, I claimed him for mine. He was my boyfriend, and I was his girl friend. I knew he would not get away because he was the boy that was happy with everything and would never be dissatisfied with me or anything for that matter. From now on, I wasn’t alone. I didn’t like his hair, or his clothes, he needed a car and a future, to go to school, to get a better job. He needed to be discontented with his life so that he could be better. But he wouldn’t be discontented with me.

So we went. We went out, we stayed in. We went together. He was happy with me, and I was happy he was willing to change. He got a car (after months of me nagging) he cut his hair, and changed his clothing style. He went to college, he changed jobs. I only changed my mind.

After two years of dating and being in love with him, I changed my mind. I decided it was time for me to be me, without having to teach him who to be. I decided to leave him. I would go far away and he couldn’t come with me. I wasn’t happy with my life, and I wanted to be me, alone. He let me go, and was happy I had been his for two years.

So now I am alone, with plenty of people around me and no one to change but myself. I look back at him and see a different person than the one I thought I saw. He didn’t need to change. Not from the start, not now, never. He was the person I wanted to be. The one who didn’t have a great job, or a car, or the perfect image of perfection, yet was content. He took what was given to him and was happy with what he had. Does he lack ambition, as some may say or was I just a nag, a pessimist and a crone? He was happy with me our entire relationship, yet I was wanting to change. Change him, change myself, change the world. To be happy with what one has achieved, or achieve what one is happy with?

I’m afraid I’m really not sure. Sincerely.