Easy, Love

I can remember the beginning very vividly. We had been friends for around six months when I was certain the attraction extended beyond the platonic. One night I got a text: Just drove by your street and it made me think of you. He kissed me at a party and we snuggled under a blanket. A week later he asked me, “What are we?” “I don’t know.” “I want us to be together.” “I want that, too.” I was seventeen. It was so damn easy.

I had never wanted to be around anyone the way I wanted to be around him. I would leave for school an hour early so I could crawl into his bed with him for fifteen minutes before my day started. I’d skip dance class to sit at Charlie’s Burgers with him, my feet resting in his lap as he sat across the booth from me. We’d leave social gatherings early to park by the lake and talk about school and our families and television and nothing and everything all at the same time. I was the loudest swim fan at his meets, and he sent the biggest bouquet after my shows.

I was only seventeen, but I really loved E. I know I did. It’s the only romantic love I’ve ever known, and call me crazy, but I keep waiting for that second man to walk in and prove to me that love really is easy. It doesn’t involve games, or drama, or angst-filled Gchat messages that place blame and guilt. It’ll be as easy as my feet in his lap at a burger joint. I’m sure of it.