Thirty
thirty
NOT OVER YOU - GAVIN DEGRAW
OWEN - JULY 10, 2013
T he thought lingers, gnawing at me every time I glance at my phone—something is missing. Despite the smooth surface of my relationship with Karissa, it’s as if there’s this deep, unshakable void. A pang of regret tugs at me, sharper than I’d ever want to admit. It’s not just the friendship I miss, though that’s a big part of it. It’s the connection. The ease. The way we just clicked.
Callie could send me a single text, some random teasing comment, and it would brighten my day in a way that nothing with Karissa ever has. With Karissa... everything feels dull, like we’re just going through the motions. I know I shouldn’t compare the two because they’re so different, but the truth is, I can’t stop myself. I keep wondering if I rushed into this thing with Karissa, trying to fill a space that maybe she was never meant to fill.
And the worst part? I’m still hung up on Callie. It’s been eating at me every day. And there are so many reasons I keep telling myself it shouldn’t. Especially because I’m the one that said we should just be friends rather than pursue anything further.
The days blur together, one after the other, each one feeling more like I’m drifting farther from who I used to be. I’ve been trying to keep things going with Karissa, hoping that maybe something would reignite between us if we spent more time together. But every time I’m with her, it’s like my mind drifts back to Callie, replaying every moment we shared, every laugh, every smile. I can’t stop comparing and I feel fucking terrible about it.
Sunday night, we went to this new restaurant in town, one of those trendy places with dim lighting, overpriced cocktails, and tiny portions that are supposed to be gourmet. I wanted to believe that a change of scenery might bring us closer. But even as we sat across from each other, talking about our days, about work, about her friends, I found myself tuning her out more than I care to admit. All I could think about was how Callie would probably laugh at the pretentious menu, making some sarcastic comment that would instantly lighten the mood.
It’s not just the conversations that feel off; it’s everything. We’ve spent time together, sure, but we haven’t really been intimate. It’s not that Karissa isn’t attractive–she’s beautiful, no doubt–but there’s a nagging sense in the back of my mind that something’s fundamentally wrong. The spark just isn’t there. I keep thinking back to Callie’s smile, wishing I had a picture of her… or had gotten her fucking last name.
It’s not Karissa’s fault that there’s this emptiness she can’t seem to fill. I can’t bring myself to just rip off the bandaid and end it. But I need to. There have been moments when she’s asked me if everything’s okay.
She asked it softly one night as we sat on her couch, the glow of the TV casting shadows across her face. We watched The Notebook –yes; she tried to Notebook me–and I spotted her more than once during the film looking over at me to see if I was having any kind of emotional reaction. When the movie was over, she asked me if everything was okay and I tried to play it off.
But even as I nodded, I could feel the weight of my own lies. How could I tell her that every love story just reminds me of the girl that I stuck in the friendzone without giving us a fair shot because of the windshield time?
By Wednesday, I had replayed that conversation in my head a thousand times, wondering if she could tell that I’m struggling to see the point to move forward in our relationship. We haven’t been together that long and might as well have a clean break now.
Then, out of the blue, I get the call that could change everything for me.
I’m elbow-deep in pipe dope adhesive, trying to fix a busted valve, when my phone rings. The number’s unfamiliar, and I almost let it go to voicemail. I’m not in the mood for telemarketers, but something makes me answer it.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Owen?”
“Yeah, who’s this?”
“This is Sandra from the Verizon store in the Iowa City Mall. Someone turned in a phone and according to the serial numbers, it belongs to you. They said they found it in the drop ceiling above the hospital lab.”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
I stand there, my phone pressed to my ear, stunned. I can’t believe it. “You found my phone? That’s amazing! I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I hang up, still in shock. After all this time, my phone—the one with all the photos and texts from Callie—has been found. I should feel relieved, maybe even excited. I’ll finally have Barrett’s pictures back, along with all the memories attached to them. But it hits me that this is about more than just a phone. It’s about everything I’ve been avoiding.
I stand there, wiping my hands, the weight of the moment sinking in. I’ve been pushing down feelings, trying to move forward, but no matter how hard I try, Callie is always there, just beneath the surface.
The thought of having Barrett’s pictures again chokes me up, but it’s not just the photos—it’s everything tied to them. All the little moments I’ve tried to forget, every conversation with Callie, every laugh, every text. It feels like I’m being handed a second chance, not just with the phone, but to finally confront what I’ve been running from.
I let out a long breath, the wrench heavy in my hand. Maybe it’s time to stop avoiding the truth and face what I really want—and who I really want it with.