Perfect Game
Rating: PG
Summary: There's something about this place that forces changes in you, changes in him, and changes in the speed of time.
***
i. the one you want
It's on Thursday, one of those unpredictable Thursdays, that you see Jake again. You know Jake. You've been in love with him your whole life, and it only took meeting him, and a little growing up, before you stopped. You were thirteen when you met him. The first thought that colored your mind when your eyes clapped onto him was, "I'm in love," quickly followed by "wow, he's cute!" The third, shaking you out of your little reverie was, "oh no! He's looking over here!" and then you duck.
When you were thirteen you were a bit of a weakling. It was fun though, a stage in the ritual of reaching for that elusive thing called love. It didn't matter that you barely spoke to him, because you were already confident of what your young heart was telling you. It was this little game you played, where you teased him by pretending to like the drinks from the café he worked at, and he had to outsmart you by realizing who you were and falling madly in love with you.
Of course, you never found out if it that happened.
You learn a lot about somebody by watching them. Jake-you forget to call him that sometimes-was not all-perfect as you first made him out to be. He was kind, but sometimes he could be cruel without meaning to. He was funny, but sometimes that exuberance only hid a barrier of frustration and unbidden anger that stood in the way of his soul. He had things that made you fall in love with him, but also things that made you stop.
It's easy to think like that when you're thirteen.
ii. remember what is
There’s a clock you find yourself watching a lot. It hangs on the wall lopsided, though shiny and blinding, and you think that-maybe-it makes the time move slower.
Seconds pass, and then you remember how even months don’t make a difference.
Jake shares your birthday, and the year you turned fourteen you thought that it must’ve been a sign. A year hadn’t changed much, only you felt older and more mature about it. It was this game you played.
At fourteen you felt bolder, and pulled together the courage needed to finally make your presence known (because he was turning out to be more than a little oblivious). You talked, and you laughed, and you felt like a piece of your soul was touching his.
And then came Kay.
Somewhere in the back of your mind you knew things really weren’t as they seemed. Somewhere underneath your little smile lay a hidden depth of jealousy. Underneath that jealousy lay a grudging admittance that Kay was really quite nice, and if only she didn’t have Jake you knew you would’ve been great friends.
Two weeks later you stopped going to the café.
iii. something undefined
It feels strange to be back.
Sometimes you think that there are worlds inside worlds, and this is one of those that will stay static while others change. It holds onto the past, gripping invisible threads of time like a lion crouching over its prey.
This place, you observe from the corner of he room, has not changed. Time moves slowly here.
You’re not sure why you came back. To regain a piece of yourself, you suppose, but you’re yet to find what you mean by that. It’s this game you play, but you’ve been playing for years now and you’re getting tired of it. You want to know who the winner is, and who the loser is.
In the corner of that old café, you sit and wait. You don’t wait long.
Jake comes in the same way that he used to, through the side door and waving to the woman behind the counter. He puts down his bag, and you relish your girlhood dreams with fire on your lips and a fist around your heart. He looks the same. He looks completely different. He looks exactly the same.
He is a winner, or a loser.
It doesn’t take a long time for him to see you, and you’re surprised by this first hint of change. He smiles at your slightly, lips curled higher on one side than the other, like a man does an old friend he never expected to see again.
You talk when he walks over, that same air of mischief and softness following him. It surrounds you, and for a moment, with your eyes closed, you feel lost in a sea of longing.
“Do you want to, you know, if you’re free-”
“I just want to know,” you say, cutting him off. The words die on his lips. “Who wins? I want this game to end.
When you get the courage-you never were a brave one-you glance into his eyes, and then quickly retreat. There’s confusion there, but it’s swiftly fading; only you’re not comforted because he’s slipping further away as well.
The silence lingers, awkward, like the gushing of a river over jagged rocks. You look at the clock again and decide that time moves fast here. One second can be raindrops in a pond, or the lifeline of a desert man.
“What game?” he finally says, although it’s like a formality, because before he’s even finished the words he begins to walk away.
And what game indeed? You search desperately for an answer, something you thought you knew but don’t, for him and for yourself. There’s a winner and a loser here, but first you need the game defined.
Lifeline, you think.
Laughter, you hear.
Heartbreak, you feel.
Life. Love. Lost.
Stop.
“Jake!” You call, and before you say it you think that truth has arrived.
He stops.
You stop.
The name feels foreign sliding off your tongue.
FINIS
Summary: There's something about this place that forces changes in you, changes in him, and changes in the speed of time.
***
i. the one you want
It's on Thursday, one of those unpredictable Thursdays, that you see Jake again. You know Jake. You've been in love with him your whole life, and it only took meeting him, and a little growing up, before you stopped. You were thirteen when you met him. The first thought that colored your mind when your eyes clapped onto him was, "I'm in love," quickly followed by "wow, he's cute!" The third, shaking you out of your little reverie was, "oh no! He's looking over here!" and then you duck.
When you were thirteen you were a bit of a weakling. It was fun though, a stage in the ritual of reaching for that elusive thing called love. It didn't matter that you barely spoke to him, because you were already confident of what your young heart was telling you. It was this little game you played, where you teased him by pretending to like the drinks from the café he worked at, and he had to outsmart you by realizing who you were and falling madly in love with you.
Of course, you never found out if it that happened.
You learn a lot about somebody by watching them. Jake-you forget to call him that sometimes-was not all-perfect as you first made him out to be. He was kind, but sometimes he could be cruel without meaning to. He was funny, but sometimes that exuberance only hid a barrier of frustration and unbidden anger that stood in the way of his soul. He had things that made you fall in love with him, but also things that made you stop.
It's easy to think like that when you're thirteen.
ii. remember what is
There’s a clock you find yourself watching a lot. It hangs on the wall lopsided, though shiny and blinding, and you think that-maybe-it makes the time move slower.
Seconds pass, and then you remember how even months don’t make a difference.
Jake shares your birthday, and the year you turned fourteen you thought that it must’ve been a sign. A year hadn’t changed much, only you felt older and more mature about it. It was this game you played.
At fourteen you felt bolder, and pulled together the courage needed to finally make your presence known (because he was turning out to be more than a little oblivious). You talked, and you laughed, and you felt like a piece of your soul was touching his.
And then came Kay.
Somewhere in the back of your mind you knew things really weren’t as they seemed. Somewhere underneath your little smile lay a hidden depth of jealousy. Underneath that jealousy lay a grudging admittance that Kay was really quite nice, and if only she didn’t have Jake you knew you would’ve been great friends.
Two weeks later you stopped going to the café.
iii. something undefined
It feels strange to be back.
Sometimes you think that there are worlds inside worlds, and this is one of those that will stay static while others change. It holds onto the past, gripping invisible threads of time like a lion crouching over its prey.
This place, you observe from the corner of he room, has not changed. Time moves slowly here.
You’re not sure why you came back. To regain a piece of yourself, you suppose, but you’re yet to find what you mean by that. It’s this game you play, but you’ve been playing for years now and you’re getting tired of it. You want to know who the winner is, and who the loser is.
In the corner of that old café, you sit and wait. You don’t wait long.
Jake comes in the same way that he used to, through the side door and waving to the woman behind the counter. He puts down his bag, and you relish your girlhood dreams with fire on your lips and a fist around your heart. He looks the same. He looks completely different. He looks exactly the same.
He is a winner, or a loser.
It doesn’t take a long time for him to see you, and you’re surprised by this first hint of change. He smiles at your slightly, lips curled higher on one side than the other, like a man does an old friend he never expected to see again.
You talk when he walks over, that same air of mischief and softness following him. It surrounds you, and for a moment, with your eyes closed, you feel lost in a sea of longing.
“Do you want to, you know, if you’re free-”
“I just want to know,” you say, cutting him off. The words die on his lips. “Who wins? I want this game to end.
When you get the courage-you never were a brave one-you glance into his eyes, and then quickly retreat. There’s confusion there, but it’s swiftly fading; only you’re not comforted because he’s slipping further away as well.
The silence lingers, awkward, like the gushing of a river over jagged rocks. You look at the clock again and decide that time moves fast here. One second can be raindrops in a pond, or the lifeline of a desert man.
“What game?” he finally says, although it’s like a formality, because before he’s even finished the words he begins to walk away.
And what game indeed? You search desperately for an answer, something you thought you knew but don’t, for him and for yourself. There’s a winner and a loser here, but first you need the game defined.
Lifeline, you think.
Laughter, you hear.
Heartbreak, you feel.
Life. Love. Lost.
Stop.
“Jake!” You call, and before you say it you think that truth has arrived.
He stops.
You stop.
The name feels foreign sliding off your tongue.
FINIS