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She swept into his life for the first time on a Monday, all windswept hair and beautiful shining eyes. Her cheeks were rosy from the heat and her hair was frizzy from the oppressive humidity. He doesn’t remember details, but he remembers that it felt like being hit in the head by a two-by-four. His friends had laughed and ribbed him on when he got up to approach her and her friend, but he couldn’t hear them past the roar in his ears.
“Hi,” he says smoothly, turning on the charm that worked on so many girls in the past. She smiled at him shyly, but her friend just glared. He wonders now if he should’ve taken the hint then and walked away. He can’t make himself regret it when he sat down and talked to her. They stayed in the bar until close and walked on the beach after. He didn’t sleep that night, but he was too high on life to care.
He fell in love for the first time on a Tuesday. They spent the day together with her glaring friend and his obnoxious roommates looking on. He never wanted to stop touching her and he never wanted to leave her. He laughs now at how he wasn’t afraid of the love he felt for her despite his previous protests against it. He never dwells on that, though, because his heart aches when he remembers that day.
He never noticed how pale she was beneath that beautiful tan or how she tired so easily compared to others. She smiled the whole time, but her friend had dragged her away when it came night time. He remembers now how she didn’t protest and he calls himself all kinds of fool for not noticing the signs before. He could see her friend lecturing her as they made their way to their hotel room. He wanted to follow them, but made himself stay.
He made love for the first time on a Wednesday. They spent the whole day together again sans their friends. He made an effort to touch her whenever he could and he found that it was hard to stop. She gave him that same shy smile when she invited him to her room, but it didn’t deter her from their task. He took her virginity and she took his heart. In hindsight, he doesn’t think it’s a fair trade. She cried when it was over, but she wouldn’t tell him why so he held her in the sweltering heat, wondering if he could be any happier.
His heart broke for the first time on a Thursday. They had slept in each other’s arms and it was, he still thinks, the best feeling in the world. They made love slowly that morning, but her eyes were sad and wet. It took her until the afternoon to finally tell him what was on her mind.
“Do you think it’s unfair for someone who is dying to wish with fall in love for the first time?” she asked. He had to think a moment before he answered. Talking to her always made him think.
“I’m not sure,” he said, settling on a safe answer.
“I think it’s selfish. You shouldn’t make someone suffer through that heartache when you know beforehand the outcome. It’s like,” she waved her hands in that vague way of hers that he had fallen in love with in such a short time, “knowing that the stove is going to burn someone, but you put their hand on it anyway.”
“That doesn’t really make sense, love,” he said with a chuckle. She doesn’t laugh back.
“I’m in love with you,” she said. He breathed a sigh of relief at the words.
“I love you, too.”
“I wish I didn’t. No, actually, I wish you didn’t,” she whispered and he couldn’t understand.
“What?”
“I’m selfish,” she whispered, “I’m dying.” And he finally got it.
He married for the first and only time on a Friday. The small ceremony was on the beach, with her glaring friend as her disapproving maid of honor. He couldn’t help but cry when he was finally told to kiss the bride, but he tasted her tears too. He tells this story to his nephews and nieces while twisting his wedding band around his finger. Sometimes, he confides in the eldest girl when she turns eighteen, I wish I were dead, too. And he hates that it’s the truth.