Tunnel Vision

In semester one of ninth grade, I met my newest obsession. In semester two, I suffered the consequences. Her uniform consisted of baggy blue jeans that swept the floor as she walked, slightly oversized sweaters, and patterned socks with tattered sandals. She had shoulder-length brown hair that was somewhat unbrushed and was always carrying her mother's old copy of a classic novel by Camus or Kafka. She said she wanted to write the next great American novel–I believed that she would. 

When we first met, we talked every night over messages, which turned quickly into phone calls, and then hanging out. I met her in yoga class. We had known about each other for a while but hadn't ever spoken in real life. I was figuring out a way to get me through the first year of high school, and here it was. Every morning, without fail, my eyes were glued to the door to the classroom if she hadn't come in yet. We were inseparable—or, at least, I thought we were. 

When I invited her over for the first time, she beelined to my vinyl record storage and playfully admonished me for it.  She explained that their horizontal placement would warp the vinyl. The next time she came over, they were up vertically in a more fitting spot than before. I needed to impress her. 

After about a month of knowing each other, hanging around record stores, and holding eye contact for prolonged moments,  I realized this wasn't just a crush. But it wasn't love, either. This was something bigger—something that consumed every fiber of my being—all of the time. I couldn't control my constant and persevering thoughts about her. She found a way into my conscience and made a cameo in my dreams every night until I had to let go of her, which, at this point, was a very long time away. 

***

Friday, October 21st, 2022

I remember the first time I knew I had to have her in some, or,  in any capacity. It was a brisk blue evening in late October, and my high school was finishing off the twenty-twenty-two football season with a game against one of our school's rivals. The theme was "blackout," but, expectedly, she neglected it and wore her usual adorable uniform—a slightly oversized cable-knit sweater, barely baggy blue jeans, a white long-sleeve undershirt, and patterned socks paired with sandals. I definitely should've taken that pairing as a warning sign.

Now, I find myself pairing socks with sandals. 

She was holding a sterling silver trumpet that would later emanate the notes of classic band songs alongside our drumline. I really didn't mind that she was a "band kid." In fact, I thought it was pretty cute and unapologetically her. You would be surprised at how many people are appalled at the idea of being friends with a student in the school jazz band. 

She texted me, guiding me to where she was sitting on the bleachers. I gladly and immediately complied. As I made my way over to the right side of the student section, something inside me was uneasy. My stomach churned—at the time, I thought it was excitement, but now I know it was my conscience telling me to return to my seat. 

There was no stopping me now. 

I sat down next to her, flattening my jacket underneath my legs to prevent the cold bleachers from freezing my skin. When I sank into my seat, I realized I was still much taller than her, even without proper posture. I used to think I just liked the fact that she was five foot two aesthetically—now, I think I liked her height because it made me feel as if I had a physical asset that might be able to compare to the mental toll she had been bearing on me.

"Hi!" I say, overly enthusiastic.

"Hey! Glad you came over!" She says, reciprocal.

"How's your day been?" I ask.

"Pretty good, actually. I'm really glad it's Friday–and that it's the last game of the season. I would rather practice trumpet on my own than with everyone in band, freezing my butt off so I can play for the cheerleaders and quarterbacks."

"Why do you do it, then? Like, why are you in band if you don't really like it?" I say fastidiously.

"Oh, I dunno. Looks good on college applications, and if it's something I enjoy doing in my spare time anyway, why not do it in school, too—y'know?"

"Yeah, true. I guess I'm just not really concerned about college yet. I mean, we are only in our freshman year." I lie through my teeth to get a response.

"Yeah, me neither, but it's always good to be prepared for when y'are."

Our first few conversations were mostly meaningless, but they were completely necessary if I wanted to get closer to her. 

The day after the football game, I was busy going to a friend's birthday dinner, so we couldn't hang out. Even though I hate to admit it, I remember desperately wanting to leave and go hang out with her instead. That's what being infatuated with someone does to you–complete and utter obsession to the point where you do not enjoy other people's company as much as you would enjoy theirs. It's tragic, but unfortunately true. So the next day, she and I hung out at my house. 

Saturday, October 23rd, 2022

By this time, I was fully obsessed. Her smile, her laugh, her very tiny women's boxers, her eyes, and her soft, pale skin pulled me in entirely. 

I couldn't see her through the window at the top of my door, but when I opened it, there she was–standing tall and smiling in her uniform. 

I welcomed her in with a hug, and dopamine rushing through my veins. The sky was pink, and the air was calm, but all I saw were her sweet brown eyes. I then looked down to see three records in one hand and two tangerines in the other. She was very odd now that I think about it–but that's what I adored about her, I guess. 

We got to my room, and she placed her records and tangerines down on my nightstand. She brought the records to "spin on my turntable and show me some songs" but then revoked that idea because my record player was not up to par with her standards of what vinyl should be played on..which is fair. I have a much better record player now–a Technics Quartz. It used to be a Victrola from Urban Outfitters. One of the good things that came from our relationship was my newfound knowledge of digital media and music of the 20th century. If she hadn't educated me on that topic, I don't think I would be able to go into a used record store and identify any of the musicians or bands on the album covers. 

She shared with me some of her most prized knowledge that night. She told me about The Myth of Sisyphus which I had never heard of before, and how she relates to Sisyphus himself. She told me about Kafka, Nietzsche, and all of the authors and philosophers you have only ever seen one black-and-white photo of. Her knowledge went so deep that it scared me a little. Fourteen-year-old me had only read maybe a chapter of the book I was supposed to be reading for school and four out of seven of the Harry Potter books. But of course, her deep knowledge of old philosophers I had never heard of inspired and intrigued me even more.

During our hangout, we listened to music (digitally,) got a little too close physically for our relationship to be platonic, and placed tangerines on top of her eye sockets to make her look silly. It was all playful at one point.

After she left, there was a lingering smell of tangerine in the air. The fact that the rinds were still sitting impatiently on my nightstand helped, but I still remember the sticky scent actively infiltrating my lungs and seeping into my cotton clothing. I never liked the smell of tangerines or oranges–it was far too strong. But for her, I would allow it to waltz around my room like a ghost and paint soulless apparitions of us together.

The next time I got to see her in person outside of school was the weekend before Halloween. If I remember correctly, this is where things started to really get "out of control" per se. To celebrate the holiday, I invited about 15 of my friends over to my house for a small costume party. Sodas, snacks, and my latest hyperfixation were all going to be there. 

When I like someone, I have this odd habit of following them around whenever they're near. All my friends tell me I do it—it's really embarrassing. That is one of the reasons I go on dates now instead of group hangouts with my crush. Luckily enough, I didn't completely embarrass myself that night–probably because I was sober. But, when she and I did get a moment alone, it was pivotal to the course of our relationship.

Friday, October 28th-Saturday, October 29th, 2022

She was dressed in a skeleton suit, which was basically pajamas—It was a reference to one of mine and her favorite musicians, Phoebe Bridgers. Phoebe puts on a more "professional" version of a skeleton suit when she and her band perform (if that is possible). I was dressed as Pete the Cat, a children's book character that I was obsessed with as a kid. I had this costume planned out even before I knew her, and for some reason, I thought she would think higher of me for not doing a "basic" Halloween costume, even though I was just dressed as a cat who rides a skateboard and wears Converse. 

I kept my distance for most of the night–just to let her breathe, let me breathe, and let my tunnel vision relieve itself for a moment by actually allowing myself to look at and listen to other people. 

But when I did catch my breath, I went right back to her. At some point during the night, most likely around 10:00, she and I went out to the screened-in porch in the back of my house. It's pretty separated from everything, as there's a brick wall dividing the porch and the house, and it's two rooms away from the living room–giving us plenty of privacy.

I had no ill intention when going out to this porch with her; I truly just wanted to have time alone and be able to make eye contact without interruption. She really did have lovely brown eyes. I needed to focus on her voice, her eyes, her talking, her smile, and everything I loved about her. I would savor that and sip it with a straw when we were alone together. We were cuddled up on a swinging chair on the porch–even though it was cold, our body heat and intrigue for each other warmed us up like a furnace. Warm melodies still play in my mind when I think about this memory of us. No matter how much has happened since then or how much time has passed, that moment will always be replayed with a rose-colored filter because I remember just how soothing it was sitting there, appreciating her and me.

"Hey," she says, looking at me tenderly.

"Hi, silly," I say, smiling with nothing but happiness in my heart.

She placed a hand over my heart, mocking my huge crush on her and revealing that she knew I liked her.

"Your heart is beating really fast, Imogen."

She says my name, and it beats faster.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I try to play it off. 

To reciprocate, I laid my hand on her heart. To my surprise, her heart was beating at the same speed mine was. I could feel my cheeks becoming hot and red. 

"Your heart isn't beating too slow either," I say her name. 

We continued looking at each other when the other one wasn't and blushing whenever one of us said something slightly bold. There really is nothing like the feeling of mutual adoration.

Unfortunately, the moment had to end, and we had to go back into my red brick house and join our friends again. The night ended with everyone else leaving and her staying.  

We cuddled and talked until the stars faded into the light blue oblivion of morning. It felt like it was just us two in the entire universe. I remember brushing her hair out of her face so I could see her better. It turns out that it is quite easy to misjudge someone's character when you become blindsided by the illusive thoughts and conversations produced by physical touch in the black hours of the night. She told me then that she wanted to kiss me on the swinging chair that night. When I asked her why she didn't, she said it wasn't the right time. I still do not know what she meant by that–but I stopped trying to figure it out a while ago. When we woke up, we drank orange juice at my dining room table together. The sunlight had removed the night's armor from her face and body, making her more of a real person rather than a divine idea. 

After that night, I believe our friendship officially became doomed. We were headed into the gray area between platonic and romantic, and I started to become excited but also utterly confused. October's crisp sky began transforming into November's dormant nature, leaving me with no home to run to when I needed to hide. 

Sunday, November 6th, 2022

At this point, I was a complete fool for her. We were sitting in our friend Tonito's basement and hanging out with him and his girlfriend at the time, Simone. I remember feeling so incredibly cool. I knew about music; I knew people who could play guitar, drums, and bass really well, and I knew all about vinyl and record collecting. Tonito, Simone, and she and I all gathered in Tonito's band room. We started to play Weezer, Radiohead, and all the classic stupid indie rock bands. I was playing rhythm guitar, Tonito was playing lead guitar, Simone was on drums, and she was playing bass. The pick was positioned correctly in my hand, and I had all the right chords to play, but I felt distracted. Unfocused. Interrupted by the presence sitting down right next to me. She suddenly leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Can you hang out after? I wanna chill." She implies that she wants to, in teenage slang, "hook up" with me. She asks the question with a tone that makes me want to tape my ears shut. She knows I wouldn't be able to refuse. I tell her I owe her a few kisses. Simone started to play drums, initiating a jam session. I quickly snapped out of my trance and watched as Tonito started the song off with a high-pitched riff. I followed with matching chords on the lower strings. 

Don't get me wrong, I wanted nothing more than to kiss her. It was just the way she said it that, looking back, I become sick to my stomach. When she pulled away from my ear and looked at me after, there was this sense of urgency. It was almost like I needed to kiss her or do something before she left me forever. Her eyes told me that she wouldn't be there for long.

The next couple of "band" practices in Tonito's basement followed a similar pattern:

Go downstairs, talk and hang out on the couch for a minute, go into the music room, flirt with her, play songs (some original, mostly covers), and then leave. It was fun, honestly. I miss those late-night practices, the cool East Coast wind playing with my hair, and the crunchy dead leaves I would step on to get to the house.

It started to rain in mid-November. I was still high on her, but the comedown was fast approaching. We began to get more physical than anything else. We had already agreed on everything there was to agree on, with some compromises on my part, so there was not much else to talk about. She confided in me about her mental health issues, her expansive knowledge of everything there is to know about literature and music theory, and her terrible romances of the past. We knew everything about each other–the only thing we didn't know yet was how badly we would end. How unlucky we were to end up at the same place at the same time. We did so much damage–we were a tornado together. I have always been afraid of tornadoes. 

Monday, November 21st, 2022

The world was silent for one afternoon. It was a good day–the last day before Thanksgiving break. My friends and I were annoyed that we didn't get the week off. I walked on the color-coordinated linoleum tile in my high school, pondering what she and I would do that afternoon–we had plans. At 2:30, the time my school dismisses, we walked to my bus together. I nudged her with my left shoulder. She nudged back with her right. We waited for the door to bus #1132 to open. It was a newer bus, so the front protruded slightly instead of just having a flat window and the title "SCHOOL BUS" displayed on it. She walked up the stairs after me, following my narrow footpath of the bus aisle and dodging roadblocks of knees and out-turned feet. We sat down on maybe the fifth seat on the left side, with me in the window seat. She gave me one earbud so we could listen to music during the ride. The first song she played was Lover, You Should've Come Over by Jeff Buckley. She introduced me to that song, and I've loved it ever since–even though the memories I have with it are bittersweet. I can play it on guitar, though, and I do whenever a girl comes over because I want to impress her with my expansive indie music taste. 

We held hands the whole ride home. I felt like I needed to protect her–or, more so, protect us. Her head was nestled in the space between my shoulder and neck. I had her. I saw her, I wanted her, and now I had her. But something felt wrong. I only had her. The only person I had thought about for the past month was her. She was my bones, my oxygen, and my blood. She was the gravitational pull the moon has on the tides. She was everything–so how quickly would I have nothing? But at the time, I wasn't worried about that. My only thought was making sure I wasn't breathing too loud to make sure I wouldn't disturb her. 

I woke her up from her ten minute nap, and we got off at the second to last stop. The walk to my bus is only one block–pleasant when it's nice outside, and annoying when it's not. We walked home in the pleasant weather. She took her shoes off in the front hallway and walked to my room. She knew where it was. My floor took damage from our dense Freshmen year backpacks pounding onto it. We both changed into comfortable clothes, and she didn't close her eyes. We started to cuddle and turned on my TV so we could watch a movie and not pay attention to it. We decided on Whiplash, which is predictable if you know her. It was quiet when we were watching the movie, but there was a certain feeling floating around in the air. I couldn't quite decipher what it was until she looked back at me with brown and beady pleading eyes. I started to bleed with desire and carelessness. 

"How many kisses do you owe me again?" It was happening. She was going to kiss me. 

"Three," I say, sheer ecstasy covering my face.

***

"You are so pretty." She looks up at me, telling me sugar-coated sentiments on my appearance. I have never felt prettier since then. A few minutes later, after kissing again, I tell her she's beautiful. We were on the same page.

She left around 7:30 that night after having dinner with my family and making me fall in love with her, officially. She also left her sweatpants in my room, meaning I would have her scent for the rest of Thanksgiving break. It was a blessing and a curse. I remember looking in the mirror that night before bed and not recognizing myself. Looking into my eyes, I could see that all I cared about was the fact I was ever anything to her at all, platonically or romantically. I paced around the house and nurtured my thoughts for a few moments, and then I tucked myself into bed with her sweatpants under my pillow. Slightly pathetic, but everything I knew about myself or my life had dissipated into infinity–floating in the peripheral of my mind's eye. 

I remember crying to my 21-year-old sister on my great-aunt Annie's stairs about her on Thanksgiving. I had no idea what we were–what I was. I had been shaken by this more than anything had ever affected me before. Even on a holiday, she consumed me. She took me and threaded my feeble body through her needle to create exactly what she wanted out of me–what that is, I still don't know. Whatever that is–to this day, I still am.

I laid awake on the night of Thanksgiving. I had so many questions. I didn't know if she was using me or if I was being manipulated into some messed up system where she could frame it as if I was using her. It was so blurry. I felt like throwing up. 

Thursday, November 24th, 2022

I pulled my older sister Fiona away from the snack-before-Thanksgiving-dinner time to get some advice on what to do with myself. 

"Hey, can you come with me for a sec? I just want to talk to you really quickly."

"Sure," she says, following me to the beige carpeted stairs that lead to the second floor.

"I've told you about *her,* right?" I say her name and give Fiona a look that tells her exactly how I feel about her.

"Yes, you have. Did anything happen? Are you okay?"

"Well, yeah, I'm 'okay,' but I'm definitely not great. We hung out the other day, and, since then things haven't really been the same. Maybe I'm overthinking it because everything is technically the same, like texting and calling and hanging out, but I know something has definitely changed. A switch has been flipped."

"Okay, well, what happened when you guys hung out? Do you remember anything specifically?"

I held my breath.

"Yeah..um, we kinda made out for about an hour. It seemed really intimate, but like a good intimate, not a weird intimate. It was unlike anything I've experienced before. I guess it was strange because we're not dating or anything, but she's been telling me how cool I am and how much she likes me since October, so it's hard to understand, I guess." I second guess myself while I talk to my sister. 

She hesitated. "That's tough, Boo. I would probably suggest distracting yourself by spending time with us or your other friends to get your mind off things."

"Yeah, I've been trying to do that. I guess I'll try harder, though."

"Okay, Boo. Just know that I am always here for you no matter what. And always remind yourself that this is just one tree, in one forest, in a forest full of trees, in a world full of forest, and a universe full of worlds." We've been saying that to each other since we were kids.

"Thank you. I will."

We are interrupted by a small child telling us to come back and play a card game, but we give each other a reassuring look before we get up and return to reality.

The months of December, January, and February faded into gray. We still hung out occasionally, maybe went to a few record stores, practiced with the band, and smiled at each other in the hallway. She started dating a girl named Maribella, Bella for short, who she was completely head over heels for, and it was almost like I faded into the background. She progressively started to ignore me more and more as time went on, and suddenly, all we were was a memory. 

***

Tuesday, February 21st, 2023

We had a talk during lunch, separate from everyone else. One of my last memories with her is one of my least favorite. I texted her that day, saying I wanted to have lunch with her, and to my surprise, she said yes. It was extremely awkward. It felt like our quick-burning flame had been blown out by the passage of time and her manipulation of me. 

"Hi," I say, less than enthusiastic.

"Hey," she says, reciprocal. 

"So, how are we..? Like what is this?" I ask.

"I uh, I don't really know. I mean Bella and I are dating now, so..."

She implies that nothing will ever happen between us romantically again.

"Yeah, I mean, I'm kinda talking to Ella now."

I had started getting to know this really sweet girl in my second semester yoga class. She was pretty, cool, and I was interested. But I still had a lot of baggage to unpack between me and you know who.

"Yeah, how's that going by the way?" She pretends to be interested.

"It's going really well! We've been texting and calling and we're probably gonna hangout on Saturday. I'm really excited"

"Oh awesome, I'm glad!" She gives me a smile that tells me she might be genuinely happy for me–probably because I'm moving on.

"Yeah, she's awesome. But–anyway, do you um, like, want to continue our friendship? Or should we just stop..hanging out. I guess." I stutter over my words.

"Yeah I was thinking about that..I think it would be best for us to kinda stop..hanging out. I mean, our friendship felt slightly forced because we were both depressed and in need of the same thing, which was attention. I'm sorry."

My heart drops into my stomach.

"No, no I get it. That's fair. It's just hard because I thought we both loved each other a lot, especially in the late fall. Like, I don't know. I guess I just thought we would stay closer for longer. But I get it, though. Things were complicated." I try to make eye contact with her, but she looks out the window to her right and faces that view instead.

"Yeah, well, I don't actually know if we felt the same about each other. Like; I don't know if my love for you was as intense as yours was for me. I...sort of led you on. But then, we got too close, and fell in too deep, and I didn't know how to get out."

I feel my eyes clouding over. I look down at my lunch box and my Converse that are crossed over each other, and I feel like I need to lie down forever. Nothing could feel as terrible as this.

"Oh," I mumble, head buried in my chest. 

"Yeah, I'm-I'm really sorry." She talks to me with a hollow chest.

"No, I am too. I got too attached way too quickly, and I didn't mean to. I didn't want you to feel trapped or uncomfortable at all. My only intention was to get to know you better. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, mine too."

My vision is blurred for a moment.

"Um, do you still have that annotated copy of The Myth of Sisyphus, though?"

And then I realized, my peripheral vision had returned.