If He Had Been with Me

by Laura Nowlin

The anticipation never escapes our perception.”

And I love him. For all of my memory, I have loved him; I do not even notice it anymore. I feel what I have always felt when I look at him, and I have never before asked myself what it is exactly. I love him in a way I cannot define, as if my love were an organ within my body that I could not live without yet could not pick out of an anatomy book.

It’s the way I love Finny.

I am a virgin, and I cannot drive.

I know that someday I will die, and I know that someday I will lose my virginity; these two things seem equally probable, equally impossible.

My Finny. He isn’t your Finny.

I know that. But there is a difference between knowing something and feeling it. I’ve known that he wasn’t my Finny anymore, but now he is on the other shore, separated from me by an ocean I am afraid to cross, and I can feel it.

I try to picture Jamie and me breaking up. My first reaction is a shocking sense of relief; if Jamie and I broke up, it would mean that he wasn’t the great love of my life; I wouldn’t have to feel guilty anymore that I sometimes think about being with someone else, wondering if it would be better, maybe even perfect with him.

the idea that love could be so impermanent scares me.

Everyone always says you never get over your first love. I imagine myself with someone else and longing for Jamie, my first love. I take a deep breath and remind myself that will never happen; Jamie says he’s going to marry me.

I find tears over physical pain so embarrassing.

feels like the perfect moment to write. I’m not sure where the story begins, but I know what I want to happen. Like most of my stories, it will end tragically.

But I’m older now, and I realize that a career of nothing but writing stories all day is as likely as marrying my dream pirate prince.

I know it’s impossible that every day I spent in here was happy, but that is how I remember it.

“I think it’s just to truly love somebody before we die,” Brooke says.

“I think,” I say, “I think we’re supposed to experience as much beauty as we can.”

“No, because sometimes sad things are beautiful,” I say. “Like when someone dies.”

I try to puzzle out what is real and what isn’t, what I can have and what I never will.