My weakest week

_O never give the heart outright,   
For they, for all smooth lips can say,   
Have given their hearts up to the play.   
And who could play it well enough   
If deaf and dumb and blind with love?_

Looking back, the worst week of my life was the week after my end-of-school trip. At first I was hesitant to go, I was convinced it was more expensive than it should and I didn’t want to either pay for it or ask my parents for the money. But after seeing all my friends were going, peer-pressure took over and I joined them at the last minute. My expectations turned out to be correct; all I remember now are the endless hours on the bus reading The God Delusion and Le tour du monde en 80 jours, and sneaking – with my friends – out of our teachers’ sight to get beer. The worst and best part about the trip – isn’t it funny how often in life the worst and best parts are the same? – was that I fell in love with my best – female – friend. We seated next to each other in class (we shared our last name) and we talked non-stop for the full trip. 

When we got back home, not being able to withhold it any longer, I called her up and told her we needed to talk. I had been sleepless for the past 40 hours (one never sleeps the last night of a trip), so my memories are rusty. I do remember, however, the look on my mother’s face when I told her I was going out at 11:30pm. “You’re going to go see about a girl, aren’t you?” she asked; to which I chuckled and left.

After a tedious subway ride with three transfers, she met me at her door and we went for a walk. This was a long time ago, but I still remember almost everything. How she laughed as she checked out the book I was carrying (back then I never went outside without a book), how we chatted about the meaningless, mandatory topics, and how she finally asked me what I wanted to say to her. Embarrassed, I gave her the introvert’s default reply to a feeling-related question: “you already know.” We argued for a bit: you know vs I don’t know, but, after a while, I got tired of the game and heads up told her that I had a crush on her.

Next follows a dreadful cab ride. A trip with my parents to our beach house. Never-ending nights of waking up soaked in sweat after dreaming of her. A couple of hours of running every day to forget. And, worst of all, scrutinizing my watch every waking minute to check if enough time had passed since my last message to text her back. “Has anyone suffered as much as I’m suffering now?” I remember thinking. 

God. If only I knew.