longer pieces by elliot

If I Had Three Lives

If I had three lives, I’d yearn for you in one. All I’d want is to be with you, why couldn’t you ever figure that out? All I’d want to do is to breathe, feel, and be with you. I’d feel alone, thinking no one understands me and feeling things that were too big for this world. I’d pray for the day that you knew me. Like, really knew me. Knew my room, with my gray-beige walls, my bed and my sage green bed sheets. I’d die if you knew how my hair feels after a shower, knew what towels I use, knew how I’d wake up and how I always have eyelashes on my cheeks. I’d want you to know how my lotion smells, and how I always wear my watch on my right hand, not my left. See now, I’d like to learn to love you. Not learning to love your face, the way you walk, and how your slight smile makes my day, but learning how to love your quirks and all of your happy moments. I’d like to learn to love your bad days, mistakes, and even if you were to get angry with me. I’d watch you in the hallways and the years would pass, and  my time with you shortened. Middle school would come and go as would high school. Soon it would be our senior year and I would watch as they announced your name as you walked across the stage, clad in black robes, and ready to move across the country for opportunities like no other. You’d forget about me, and I, you. I’d marry someone who I only enjoyed in fleeting moments and was never meant to be with me. I’d watch as you got  married as well, but maybe my eyes deceived me but you weren’t happy in those photos either. I’d age, and I’d lay on my deathbed with one regret and one regret only: that I never found my way back to you. 

If I had three lives in the second I would find out you loved me back. Our first kiss would be on the rooftop of some old building and we would watch the sunrise. You would say “I love you” and I would return it with another kiss. We’d get married on a pier, and the setting sun would reflect off the water would cast shining patterns onto my flowing white dress. We’d run to the coast, hand in hand, and carve our initials into the grainy sand, drawing a heart. We’d have kids. Two of them, one boy, one girl and we’d watch them grow up and become their own people. One would go to medical school to become a doctor and one would be unemployed, a stay at home parent, and starting a family of their own. We’d host Thanksgiving, Christmas, and every holiday in between. We’d bring everyone to the pier that overlooked the great sweep of sand below. We’d tell our grandchildren stories of when we first met and they would pretend to gag when we kissed. We’d love each other unconditionally and renew our vows on that very same pier many years later, just to keep ourselves alive, because without love, and without each other, we were no one. We’d grow quite old, and we’d move into a retirement home, but we’d miss that sand every single day. We’d try to live happily as long as possible. Then, I’d lose you first, to some rare disease that took your body and made it their own, and I wouldn’t be allowed to live all by myself anymore. Soon, I’d join you, I’d succumb to a long sleep, but, in those moments, we were love. 

If I had three lives, I’d find you in two. The other? Perhaps that life over there at a cafe, sitting alone, writing–a memoir, maybe a novel, or this piece. No kids probably, maybe a small apartment with a view of the beach and books–lots of books–and time to read. Friends to laugh with for a weekend, and a guy sometimes, to remember what skin feels like when it’s alive. I’d be healthy in that life, vegetarian, I’d practice yoga. I’d go to art films, farmers markers, drink martinis in swingy skirts with delicate jewelry. I’d go vacation on the Maine coast and wear a flannel shirt a weekend guy left behind, loving the smell more than I did him. I’d walk the beach at sunrise, find perfect shell spirals and study the marks the water makes in the sand. I’d have many friends, but only a few  would make my life feel full. I’d go on walks around my neighborhood and learn all the names of the dogs that would circle the block. I’d grow up, alone, but happy. One day I’d retire, and I’d spend my days sitting on my little porch, baking in the sun. I’d watch my skin grow wrinkled, but I’d vow to stay in shape, going to jazzercise classes. All the kids in the neighborhood would grow up too, thinking I was the “cool old lady”. I’d die, happy, healthy, satisfied, and alone, but never lonely. 

And I'd wonder if I'd ever find you again.