Lucie’s college memory
I t was Christmas time in Seattle, and I’d decided to stay on campus for the holidays. The snow became so heavy that people could hardly walk on the street, but I still made my way to the corner of 8 th and Lemon Avenue where you lived. You’d gone home for the holidays to the East Coast, where your big family, including your six sisters gathered for festivities.
At first, there was nothing unusual about the green house I’d come to visit to feed the few fish in your apartment. But for me, the place had become a graveyard to mourn our relationship. Memories of us hit me all once, and I was certain that what drew me to come here was to relive the option to be with you. Aside from just feeding the fish that you cared only enough about to keep them alive.
Freshman year was not my best year. I’d spent much of it on the toilet, facing my eating disorder, and abusing laxatives because they made me feel skinnier. I knew right from wrong, and how the abuse affected my body, but I didn’t value my life enough to do something about it. In some ways, the cramping that I felt as a result of using them, was better than having to face the uncomfortable fullness of my emotions.
On the outside, I looked strong and intact. Every morning, I went for my routine run, then did my fitness exercises, which shaped my body into perfection and drew the ogling looks of boys in college. And even though I didn’t date any of them, their attention filled me with a feeling of relevancy. I put on my heavy make-up to hide any imperfections, my green eyes lined with dark mascara being the most prominent feature on my face, then headed to work at the school dining hall, serving food to other classmates, then cleaning up when everyone left. But I didn’t feel less than them. I liked my Cinderella-like job, it reminded me that I could indeed get through the life lesson that my father was trying to put me through.
I approached the door of your apartment building and opened it with the keys you left with me. As I walked in, a familiar smell hit me. The corridor had a distinct air quality, and it wasn’t like anything else I’d ever smelled. Maybe it was the combination of sullen carpeting and the mix of people who walked through with their pets. But it wasn’t an off-putting smell at all, just different. After years of studying French literature, I finally understood Proust’s passage about the madeleine. How a simple taste or smell could transport you—flooding you with memories you hadn’t thought of in years. It wasn’t the scent itself that did it, but the feeling it evoked. It pulled me back, made me realize just how much of you was in this place.
I got into your apartment as soon as possible because even in my coat I was freezing in this extreme weather. I quickly located the fish tank and tipped a portion of the feeding mix into the aquarium.
The few betta fish gathered on top of the water, their vibrant colors shimmering under the soft light. One fish, with a striking royal blue hue, seemed especially curious, swimming closer as if it appreciated my presence greatly. I leaned in, mesmerized by the delicate movements of its fins.
I looked around, wondering if maybe I could borrow an item of clothing as I’d underestimated the cold. Soon enough, I spotted a pink-purple-striped scarf on the ground. You’d wear something like this because you were so flashy, but even for your taste, this scarf was perhaps too girly. Without giving it further thought, I decided to wrap it around my neck to save myself from getting sick by coming here. I left the lights on for the fish, then couldn’t stand another minute in your apartment where we’d almost made love listening to the Last Broadcast by Doves. Plagued by flashbacks, I needed to get out as soon as possible out of this graveyard of what could have been .
Next, I sat on the steps outside, because I wanted to relive the moment that I’d always regret. It was all still so vivid in my memory. The pavement was hot from the summer heat. In the night, you still chose to wear your leather jacket and aviator glasses, maybe because recently, we’d almost watched Top Gun , except I was too timid to show up to join you for a movie night. I liked to spend my evenings alone, in self-loathing.
“Lucie, will you date me?” You asked, your voice steady but laced with a hint of vulnerability.
I felt my breath catch, a rush of warmth flooding my cheeks as I looked into your eyes—eyes that sparkled with hope and sincerity. Still, I focused too much on the reputation that traveled with you. The girls went in and out of your life like a weekly carton of milk. And most likely, so would I. I wouldn’t be able to stand the pain of it. These days, I called my own losses before they happened.
I was holding onto my innocence dearly, afraid that if we went that far with someone like you, it would break me. You smelled of cigarettes and alcohol, but strangely enough, it wasn’t repulsive. Instead, I found myself drawn to it, intrigued by your smarts and poise for life.
But the closer we got, the more I felt that tug of fear. After experiencing my dad’s drinking, I couldn’t get myself to touch alcohol, while you were always drunk at this time of the day. So, it was the thing that put me off but also made me interested in you at the same time. I was pretty sure there was a psychological theory about this. If only I could balance you out, I could maybe heal something that was deeply wrong within me.
It may have been a bore to drag around a girl who was sober at college parties, yet for you, it was worthwhile to stick around. The more I refused to fit in, the more you seemed determined to spend time with me. I could see the way your friends rolled their eyes or whispered behind my back, their contempt echoing through the crowded room. But you always set them straight, defending my conservative ways with a fierce loyalty that warmed my heart. I didn’t show it, but I’d never forget the genuineness of you.
Even when the group of eager, pretty blondes clamored for your attention, vying for a ride in your Discovery, you still found a way to include me. As the only brunette in that sea of golden hair, I felt out of place, yet somehow, I’d captured your interest the most. You’d glance my way, those warm eyes holding mine for just a moment longer as if to say that I was more than just the odd one out.
But I was here now. Alone without you in the dead of the winter. It was right here on this step where I’d said the words that caused me to be here alone in the first place.
“I can’t date you, James.” I’d let fear creep in. It was self-preservation instinct for sure. It was also everything that was wrong with me in one reply.
As a result of this, something changed on your end. A dark curtain fell over your eyes – and that’s when I saw it with clarity, you really liked me. And I’d blown it.
The scarf was most certainly another girl’s scarf. You went back to living the life you knew the best. You called it the Good Life because of the Wheezer song, and in that, I was the punk bitter and alone and you were trying to warn me against being like that. Now you had to prove a point to me. And I was too stubborn to do anything about it, to tell you how much I still cared.