Red hair, wrong clothes. Standing beside him until he turns his head. Lying beside him until he wakes up. Making everyone else seem drabber and flatter.. and never good enough.
That’s how he remembered Eleanor. His Eleanor.
He’d stopped trying to bring her back, but he’d never stopped needing her, he’d never stopped wanting her to be back again on his living room, watching MTV with him. He’d never stopped wanting to be back on the spring of 1986 on the school bus, holding hands with her and reading X-men or watchmen comics together.
It’s been a couple of years since he received the postcard with Eleanor’s scratchy handwriting which contains the three words that he’d kept on telling her. He used to smile by himself and caress it carefully like his life depends on it, he’d hold on to those words like a promise from the words of an innocent child who’ve never thought that promises are meant to be broken. He’d kept the postcard on his drawer beside Eleanor’s gift for him.
Stupid Asian Kid.
Perfect stupid asian kid that still haunts her. And probably will haunt her forever.
She could’ve called him. sent him letters telling him that she’s really sorry, but she didn’t. The least thing she did was to send him a postcard telling him how she really felt about him. How she felt about them.
She’s off to college in Minesotta and her uncle drove her to school on her first day. She didn’t have to ride the school bus because the university doesn’t even have school buses and she’s really glad for it.
He could’ve visited her, or tried harder. But he didn’t.
He decided to go in Minesotta for college. This was his only chance of being with her again.
He’s all set for his first day in school and was about to go tO first period when he caught a glimpse of someone.
No. Not someone– the One.
The only one that mattered to him.
He didn’t expect it to be this sooner. It felt like all the bands that they’ve listened together have gathered up inside his head and played all the love songs they both hated and loved to form a rabble of butterflies that lead exactly down his stomach that sent him sick, yet sweet feelings.
Red hair… He remembered how curly and lovely and bright her hair was.
But wrong clothes… gone. He saw Eleanor but it almost didn’t feel like it was her. With her knee-length floral dress that suited her like a princess on her tiara and damn– those bad ass boots that made her look like a cow girl from Texas. It’s like she has grown more features.
It’s like Eleanor, no. It’s not like Eleanor. It’s Eleanor, his Eleanor, with the volume turned all the way up.
She didn’t notice him as she entered the room and it made him even more sick to his stomach. How could she not see the light that suddenly illuminated everything from his to her path? How come she didn’t see the sparks that flew and how his eyes shone upon seeing her?
He was drove back to reality when the bell rang. He checked on his schedule and almost died when he realized that they’ll be on the same class. Nice.
Everyone has already settled when he entered the room. All attention was diverted to him when he stepped in front. All heads turned to him, the professor’s, the blondes, the brunettes, except for the bright red haired girl sitting at the last row beside the window.
“Ah! You must be Mr. Sheridan?” the old lady in front spoke with a very high-pitched voice, the one you’d expect from a music teacher or something.
And as soon as she said his surname, Eleanor glanced up.
And then their eyes met.