"i Don't Know Who You Are"

Author's Note: I attempted to make this as concise as possible. I'll admit that I failed. Read on from paragraph 16(?) ("When I got back to my granddad's Chevy...") if you just want the gist of the story.

In the spring of 2010, I enrolled in an English class where I had the opportunity to sit next to two great-looking girls. I befriended both of them---a large feat for an someone like myself. One of them, I became close with---she and I remained friends for some time; I don't know if we still are, but that's primarily because she's moved to the other side of the country.

The other girl was a different story.

For two months, I was riding high on my connection with "Lisa." (Name has been changed.) I know I shouldn't do that, but that's current knowledge---I didn't know that back then. I wasn't aware that I was unwittingly placing her on a high platform---I can't call it a pedestal; it was something much higher---and giving her all the power in our friendship. I can't exactly say this wasn't the natural order of things: She was attractive, popular, and well-liked by people of both genders. I, on the other hand, was an awkward, unathletic Aspergian who had never been this close to a hot girl before. Maybe it was expected that she held all the chips; whatever the case, I exacerbated it by pushing the chips further to her corner of the roulette table.

We had a great friendship. And then, one fateful Memorial Day weekend, it all fell apart.

On Friday morning, I walked with her to the parking lot. The day being Friday, we hugged goodbye. I felt safe, secure, and warm---among many emotions, but those were the big ones. I had no idea that this would be the last time I would know for sure she was in my court.

On the Tuesday morning that we returned to class, I overheard Lisa talking with someone else. She mentioned that, over the weekend, she had hosted a party and played beer pong.

I couldn't believe what I had heard. Beer pong.

Oh, no, I thought. She's a drinker---a girl gone wild.

Normally, I'm able to spot those people from a mile away, but this time I was blindsided. This sweet lady who went to church and did well in school lived a double life on Saturday nights. Before, I could actually subconsciously imagine myself in a relationship with this woman; now, I didn't know if I could do it. This shattered every illusion I had of her ability to amaze.

And yet, I still held Lisa in high regard. But it was too late. The rest of that week, our friendship was no longer on a high. Instead, it went through a roller coaster---often by the hour. Even though it was more than a year ago, I still remember the events of that week vividly. I put everything else in jeopardy---I forgot about school, my other friendships, my relationships with my family, just about everything---trying to fight my way back into this girl's life. She responded ambivalently, denying me the love I craved. Maybe I selfishly believed that I could save her from her drinking. Or maybe I was just desperate to keep her, since I knew that---whether she was a drunk or not---building a friendship with her was probably the only good thing going in my otherwise dismal life.

Before I knew it, though, the roller coaster was over. Our relationship had flatlined. I spent the rest of June 2010 trying to resuscitate it. I undertook various measures. I visited her at her work. I sent her a text message now and then. I even---in a moment of complete desperation---phoned her mother, to ask if anything was wrong. No fruit.

I can recall someone saying something along the lines of, "A good relationship is one that you'd fight for, but sometimes, you can't be the only one fighting." That certainly was true here. I know because I had one trivial connection left with this girl: Her Facebook. With this, I could watch her post statuses and photographs showing how her life was just dandy without me there. I could see that she had gone on to carry on her good life, while I was left to pick up the pieces and bleed.

And I bled. Nothing else mattered anymore. I gave up taking care of myself. I frequently burst into fits and sank to rock-bottom depression. I would walk a lot---often to places that reminded me of her. Before, I had consumed a lot of soda. Now, though, it was dangerous---at times, I could down an entire two-litre bottle in one night. I also stayed up later. Like my soda consumption, I had always stayed up late, but it had become extreme---sometimes, I would stay up so late I could see the sky turning a blackish-blue, the signal that morning is nigh at hand.

And then I landed a job as a reporter-in-training for the college newspaper. With this, I managed to slowly piece my life back together. But I did one more thing.

One night, I printed out the lyrics to various miss-you songs and pasted them into a greeting card. I then printed out Lisa's name and pasted it to the envelope. I woke up the next morning just before 4:00 A.M., while the sky was still dark, and quietly left the house. I then used directions from Google Maps to drive to her neighborhood. I parked about a block away and walked the rest of the way to her house. I was wearing gloves (to cancel out my fingerprints) and a hooded sweatshirt with a ball cap (to shadow my features). On top of this, I wore my eyeglasses rather than my contacts, so that I wouldn't be easily recognizable anyway. With a pounding heart, I walked up her driveway and placed the card under the windshield wiper of her car. (I have an ability---don't ask me where I got it---to subconsciously memorize people's license plate numbers. That's how I knew for certain it was her car.) Once that was completed, I turned around and ran like a racehorse back up the street, only looking behind me to see if anyone saw me. I was never approached about it, so I assume that I was in the clear.

When I got back to my granddad's Chevy, I climbed in the cab and turned on some Phil Collins. Although I was certain I had done this undetected, I nonetheless drove around town a little to frustrate any trail I might've left behind. As I drove, trying to clear my mind with Phil Collins's help, I suspected that I would never encounter this girl again.

I was wrong. September came and school was back in session. On the second or third day, I ran into Lisa.

"Oh my gosh, I've missed you," she gasped as she threw her arms around me.

You missed me?! I thought angrily. I was RIGHT HERE! Waiting just for you! What was there to miss?!

It soon dawned on me that this was part of her having all the chips. Not only could she push me out of her life and walk away without a scratch, but she could walk back into it, knowing full well that the only thing I'd be able to do would be to run straight back into her arms. Or at least that's how it would have been. But I was stronger. I wasn't going to do that. I was going to keep myself at a distance. In fact, I knew there was a chance I might never encounter Lisa again.

It turned out to be harder than I thought. She kept bumping into me. Every time she did, I kept a cool front, but behind my face I was angry. She just chatted with me, thinking nothing had gone wrong. This pissed me off intensely. I knew she thought nothing was wrong. Why would she think that? She was the popular girl who suddenly realized that a man actually cared for her, instead of some bad boy with a hot body who just wanted to use her.

I organized my thoughts about this over Christmas Break 2010. Telling her about the card I put on her windshield might scare her and lead to me getting in trouble with the police. I knew simply asking her why she pushed me out of her life six months ago would only lead to a side-stepping, "I didn't push you out at all."

Early January 2011 was the last time I acknowledged her. We chatted briefly in the hallway. She told me again that she missed me, and I said frankly, "Sounds like a personal problem." With that, I walked away, all the while hearing her say that she loved me. Yeah, sure.

My 20th birthday was the first week of February. As a birthday gift to myself, I decided to cut off everything. I went through my phone and reread all of Lisa's text messages that I had saved. Then I deleted them. I then pulled her number from the directory and, using another phone, called her, taking care to block my number. I did this to hear her voice one last time. Then I deleted her number. Finally, I went onto her Facebook and rewound her profile a full year. Once that was done, I clicked "Remove From Friends." Then I wrote about what I had just done on my own Facebook, taking care not to drop any names. I ended the status I had just posted with the words, "The next time we pass in the hall, I'm going to blink and pretend we've never met because, as far as I'm concerned, we never did."

The next---and last---time I encountered her was the following month. I was walking toward her in the hallway of the college's administrative building. She was standing in a line. She said my name when I was in sufficient range.

I had seen her moving her lips, so I couldn't have denied that much. But I could deny something else.

"Who are you?" I asked.

I chuckled on the inside. "Who are you?" Nice one, Rusty!

Naturally, she was confused. "Huh?"

I looked back at her and shook my head. "I don't know who you are." I said this in a level tone, hoping to imply that my day was a grinding one and I didn't have time or patience to chit-chat with strangers.

With a brisk step in my stride, I strode away from the line and down a hallway to visit another office before exiting the building. As I entered this office, I felt my phone vibrate. At the time, I had been in a texting conversation with a friend of mine, so I assumed it was a text from him. My mistake. Lisa had held on to my phone number. Because she was no longer in my directory, an unidentified phone number showed up, rather than her name.

I opened the message. "You just said you didn't know who I was. It was me, Lisa!"

I thought about saving the message in case I... well, in case something happened that required me needing it. But I tossed it. As it turns out, I didn't need it anymore. I never encountered her again. A few weeks later, I burned the photos I had of her. I erased every reference I had of her on my computer.

In sum, I completely shut her out.

Sometimes, I think it's bad that I shut someone out. But then I tell myself that this was different. It was Lisa. She had shut me out first. She may have had all the chips but, once and for all, I was going to tell her to keep them for herself and leave me alone. I was leaving the roulette table for good.