Blue eyes met mine across the dance floor as our old song played. I never asked why you always sang that one Tim McGraw song.
I hold loosely in my hand a glass of rum and coke that you used to make fun of me for drinking. You always laughed when I asked to try your drink and wrinkled my nose.
He asks me to dance with a small smile, holding out his hand to mine expectantly while my friends watch, and even though it's been years, all I think is you.
Blue reminds me of you.
Of the smoke clinging to our clothes, the smell of cheap beer. The floor was sticky with booze and jello shots that made two-stepping a bit harder to do. Our boots got stuck on the floor. We'd laugh and stumble as we tried to get back into the groove of the country line dance.
But you never could dance as well as I could.
I'd sing the song in between saying One, two, three, and laughing as you kept looking at our feet. You kept stepping on my toes, and eventually, all we'd do was sway to Tim McGraw.
You never danced until that song came on. You insisted that you enjoyed watching my friends and I two-step, laughing as the fellas couldn't keep up with how fast we'd swing—going around and around and around on the dance floor, my eyes catching your blue eyes every turn I took.
Your friends would ask why you never got jealous as another guy would spin me around, tossing me up in the air like I was Baby in that movie you liked. You'd just smile and say you liked how my hair tumbled out of the messy bun it was in, how my glasses would end up in your pocket, how I'd end up shrugging off my cardigan because it got too hot on the dance floor, and how, no matter if the fella I was dancing with was really handsome, I would still turn and smile at you, all wide and sweet.
But then that song would come in. You'd cut quickly in between me and my dance partner. Then you'd take my hand, yours rough and calloused, my arms around your neck as you crooned the words, leaning down to brush your lips against my ear.
It was the only time you sang to me.
And you'd sing as we swayed to the beat, the lights around us bright and hot. Couples around us clung to each other. Your hands on my hips were almost too tight. "The reasons that I can't stay, don't have a thing to do with being in love."
Maybe if I would've asked, it would have gone differently.
You always sang sad songs while I sang happy ones. And I remember the way your eyes crinkled as I sang Stay Beautiful, that twang you loved so much and that I hated just as much, more prominent.
I'd lean up on my tippy toes and croon, "If you and I are a story that never gets told. If what you are is a daydream. I'll never get to hold, at least you'll know."
But your eyes weren't like the jungle. They were crystal blue, hard, and cold the day you left. And I remember those feelings. Nothing was as Cold As You when you said goodbye. And blue eyes lie all the time. So I tell him no, tell him I'm waiting for someone, but you never show up.
I remember screaming and crying, begging for you to stay. Showing you the pictures we took at the photo booth at the carnival, with your arms around my waist as I laughed, my hair wild around my face. My favorite one is where you are staring at me with this expression. When we were so in love.
Remember when we were so happy? I ask. Even as you are packing up your bags. You blew twenty dollars trying to win me a stuffed panda. You never won it, but we still had fun. You keep packing your bags. I follow you out the door, throwing things at the car as you pull away. Later that night, the photo was just a Picture to Burn, some kindling to roast marshmallows as my friends tried to cheer me up.
I spent weeks writing songs, Teardrops on My Guitar, making the ink bleed and get all over my hand. Nothing felt right. No words summed up how I felt. There were no words to describe the pain.
My friends and I went back to the country club but every time I danced with a boy, I'd compare him to you.
His eyes weren't blue enough.
His teeth weren't straight enough.
His voice wasn't rough enough.
You were off finding A Place in the World while I was picking up the shattered pieces of my heart. Getting stabbed along the way. You were with another girl who looked like me but wasn't me. I was on The Outside, looking in, watching as you moved on.
While I couldn't.
God knows I tried, but I couldn't.
I saw the status that you and she are engaged now. All our friends are commenting on how happy they are for you. Every comment makes me die a little more. Every heart reaction makes me want to throw up. Baby, I'm Tied Together with a Smile while you erase me like you deleted all the photos of us on your page.
It's like I never existed at all. Maybe I Should've Said No the first day you asked me out. That's when it all changed, isn't it? We when we changed the status quo.
I saw your mom the other day. She pretended like she didn't know me, even though we'd been friends since we were kids. Remember when we wrote that song for her? Mary's Song. You played the guitar, and I sang the words.
Oh, how your mother cried.
Towards the end, it was screaming and crying. It was cold shoulders and awkward silences. Dinners at the table where neither one of us spoke. We didn't move the table to dance anymore. I didn't lay my head in your lap as you read to me. There was nothing. It was only anger. Maybe Our Song was never "My Best Friend." Maybe it was always "Angry All the Time."
-K
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