The Best There Ever Was

Justin Lo

July 16, 2006

Ryan was unstoppable. His friends had tipped him off, and he was barreling down the hallway like Calvin and Hobbes on their wagon. Unstoppable.

He seized the doorknob to the old high school art studio. The door obediently flung open and revealed Ophelia. Dear, dear Ophelia, kissing someone else.

“I-it isn’t what it looks like!” she cried as soon as she saw him. But unfortunately, she saw him much too late.

“I’ve heard that one before,” Ryan deadpanned. “You gotta try a little harder than that.”

“N-no, wait!” she stammered, unable to come up with any good explanation. The boy was still kissing her on the cheek, and that was certainly not helping her cause.

It was all in vain, anyway. Ryan was long gone.

Ryan awoke with a jolt.

“Dammit, not again!” he scowled as he glanced at his dorm room’s lone window. Still dark.

Exhaling audibly, he hopped out of bed to make himself a cup of coffee. He knew from plentiful experience that he wouldn’t be getting back to sleep any time soon.

It had been two years already since his seemingly perfect relationship with Ophelia had come to its tragic, innocence-shattering end. He had never spoken to her even once since then, and he never planned on it. So why did he always dream about her, and especially about that day?

He wasn’t even in town anymore – he’d since graduated and moved onto college a few states over. He was doing well enough by any measure, and he had plenty of friends. But the longer he went without meeting a single girl of interest, the more he realized that maybe God had only allotted him one shot at love. And ironically, it wasn’t even him who blew it.

Ryan cursed his luck, fixing up a bowl of cereal and milk for breakfast. The trees outside swayed a little from side to side as the first seedlings of dawn sprouted up in the distance. By the time the light was in full effect, though, only the lone silver spoon in the empty Corningware bowl was left in the room to see it.

The young man was already outside. It was chilly, and he was fumbling with his fingers to try to slide on some gloves. Nothing out of the ordinary seemed to be going on – just the way Ryan liked it. No one was ever outside this early on a winter Saturday, though, so it was not unexpected that the conditions would be favorable. One might say that Ryan had subconsciously tailored his life to a vision of simplicity and regularity, for a life of order is a life without worry.

Of course, this would be the moment to cue in the girl at ten o’clock, approaching quickly. He didn’t see her at first – and he didn’t see her now. If he had hypothetically been riding in a helicopter at that moment, he would have noticed her highly unusual trajectory. But as it stood, he first met her when she crashed into him, sending both of them into the snow.

“Oof!” he groaned. He saw the figure dressed in a white jacket lying beside him. Her long and well-groomed hair spilled gently onto the surrounding snow.

“Hey, are you alright?” he asked.

“Unngh, wha?” she replied, looking up at him. “Wait.” She stared at him bug-eyed for a bit, but then suddenly regained her composure. One could almost hear the gears turning in her head, they were churning so quickly and deftly.

“Do I know you?” asked Ryan.

“I don’t believe we’ve met before …,” the girl said. “But I’m … um, Renée. Um, nice to meet you!”

Renée was undoubtedly beautiful. Ryan slowly become cognizant of that fact as he helped her up and dusted off some of the snow. She seemed to have a secretive smirk on her face that was cute beyond words, and it rendered Ryan a bit helpless, just standing there.

“Nice to meet you, too. My name is Ryan.”

The two of them smiled awkwardly at each other, unsure of what to do. Ryan, for his part, was also rather handsome, and the two seemed to just be enjoying the sight of one another.

“Um,” said Renée, for whom finding words seemed to be like finding needles in a haystack. “Would you like to go have some coffee or something?” She sounded a little hopeful, and her fingers were twiddling about nervously.

“Well, I already had breakfast.” She was crestfallen. “But I’m sure some more coffee couldn’t hurt.” She smiled anew.

The two were seated at a cramped table next to the window, their hands symmetrically cupped around their coffees. The table’s metal frame was white; the coffee lids were white; the snow outside was white. Beside this backdrop, Renée’s gloriously rosy cheeks stood out like delicate embroideries on an otherwise flat sheet of cloth.

“Oh, so you’re twenty, too!” exclaimed Renée.

“No, I’m twenty, not twenty-two,” said Ryan.

Renée laughed, shaking her head. “Too, like t-o-o.”

Ryan nodded quickly in agreement, trying to minimize the awkwardness of the moment.

“Well, tell me a little about yourself,” said Renée, trying to let the conversation restart itself on a fresh foot.

“Oh, I’m just a student. I guess I like pretty normal things … music, reading, you know.”

“Normal’s all relative, anyway! It’s normal to like music and reading, but I’m sure you have your own unique tastes in songs or books.”

“I suppose so,” agreed Ryan. “Well, I just play a bit of guitar.”

“Oh, acoustic or electric?” asked the girl before taking a sip of her coffee.

“Acoustic,” said Ryan. “I haven’t played for awhile, though.” He looked a little bit downcast, so Renée decided not to push the topic any further. In any case, she herself looked inexplicably affected by his sudden change of mood, for her eyes were suddenly overcast by shadow as she hung her head slightly.

“How about you?” asked Ryan.

“Well, let’s see,” replied Renée, gathering herself quickly. “I like dancing and painting, long vacations, and a smidgen of poetry.”

“Are you an art major?”

“Oh, not really,” she said. “I’m focusing mostly on writing right now.”

“Then it’s a bit more than a ‘smidgen’ of poetry, isn’t it?” said Ryan with his eyebrows cocked in mock suspicion.

“Yeah, I guess so. I was going for the understatement effect. In case you didn’t like poetry or something. Or writing in general – I don’t just do poetry, in any case.”

“Poetry is alright, I guess,” he said after a pause.

She laughed, crossing her legs and knocking her toes together. Her eyes had a motherly sheen to them that seemed to calm Ryan down. He couldn’t help but feel his heart thaw just a little bit in the winter cold – just that little, uncommitted motion. Certainly lesser in magnitude than even frozen foods sitting in the refrigerator.

“I have to go, sorry,” he said suddenly. It was a gag reflex in his personality, Renée realized right away, and she seemed to have a tolerant soft spot for it.

With understanding lyricism in her voice, she quickly answered, “Of course, of course. I mustn’t keep you here in any event.”

But she knew that he didn’t really have to go. Where would he have to go at this time, anyway, but back to routine? And yet routine was like an obligation unto itself. He thanked her for the pleasant time and started walking out, slowly.

As if the authoress of this short episode, Renée knowingly followed him outside, watching him pause in front of the brick wall to stare out at the slushy, muddy street. She stayed a couple feet away, far away enough that she wouldn’t be threatening to his peace, but close enough that he would know that he could still talk to her if he wanted. It was a generous availability, a favor that only someone well-matured would know.

Ryan knew that, too. He sensed her presence there – well, he knew she was there, in any case; he didn’t look at her, and he hadn’t done so ever since he had last exchanged words with her inside the store, but he knew she was there, waiting. Waiting for what, was up to him.

‘She’s a nice girl,’ Ryan’s heart told him repeatedly. He wanted to say it, but something was holding him back. The nightmare. It had been so many years, though, he wanted to tell himself – he wanted to be free of it once and for all. Maybe a new love would drown out the old. Maybe God wanted to give him another chance, to make up for the last disaster. There was a lot of uncertainty. He turned around – to see Renée very slowly turning around and starting to walk away. But slowly. Very slowly. As in: “catch up to me right now” slow.

He bounced into action, quickly overtaking her.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Can we maybe … m-meet again … later … sometime?” he asked.

“I think that would be okay,” she said, smiling.

“N-not that I mean a date or anything. You can bring your friends,” he said.

“Oh, certainly not a date! I don’t even know if you’re single or not, goodness,” she returned quickly. She put a lot of thought into each of her words, more thought than most would give. She took care, for instance, to make sure that he would not have the discomfort of doubting for any additional moments, that she herself was as single as a slice of Kraft cheese. It was less out of desperation, if indeed there was any within her bosom, and more out of consideration for his insecurity.

“Well then – perhaps the park over on Haverton Street?” he offered.

“I think that ought to do,” Renée said. “In a week, perhaps?”

Ryan nodded. “Something like nine o’clock.”

“Alright, good deal,” Renée said. And Ryan shuddered. Renée quickly wrapped her arms around him to try to coax away whatever it was that had resurfaced. “I’m sorry,” she said in a low voice, “Should I say instead … ‘it’s a date!’ ?”

At this, Ryan blushed.

“D-date,” he stuttered.

“You’re hard to please, buddy,” said Renée as she released her hug.

Afraid he had irritated her, Ryan tried to apologize, but Renée simply placed an index finger near his lips, saying, “Shhh. I was joking, okay?”

Ryan nodded, and then she was gone.

One week was a long time, and without having swapped cell numbers of e-mail addresses, it was even more so. It would be easy enough to look one another up in the university directories or scour various other sites for information, but something out there, stroking its long white beard, advised against it.

It would be something like cheating. One week is one week. Some things are near instantaneous: our reaction to a hot stove, getting goosebumps when we’re cold, swallowing after taking a bite. But trying to understand and distill the feelings that start developing, that can take many days, even with concentrated thought.

On Ryan’s end, on Monday, it seemed perhaps like fledgling love; on Tuesday, just friendship; on Wednesday, he kind of liked her; on Thursday, the moments that scared him resurfaced. Come Friday night, as he lounged in his room with a bowl of lightly buttered popcorn in front of the TV watching an old Clint Eastwood movie, he still didn’t have any clear indication of who Renée could even be to him.

Was there an opening in his heart for someone? He looked around, at the bland bookshelves, at his dusty computer, at the cheap magazine-insert poster of Bruce Lee on the wall. The place could certainly use some feminine touch-up. There were almost no traces of Ophelia left in here. At least Renée wouldn’t have to see that. But they were all in the closet. In that closet that Ryan dared not open. It repelled him; his body knocked him backwards; he would stumble back onto his bed.

There was a blue plastic fold-out towel stand in front of the closet, standing guard. With all this set-up, one would think that Ophelia herself were locked up in the closet. But no, Ophelia was on her way, somewhere else, somewhere out of Ryan’s scope of thought. He had never considered finding out where she had gone, what she had done. In his state of ignorance, he instead had invented a sort of alternate timeline for her. Based on probability, she probably was over a thousand miles away from him at this point. He himself was already a good ways from home.

He munched on a fistful of popcorn as the gunfire began on screen and in his head, the latter shots spent to exorcise the memory of Ophelia once again. Tomorrow would be Saturday, and maybe things would start to change.

Eight forty-five at the park: Renée was standing there on a sidewalk across the street from one of the side entrances. She was bundled up heavily like last time; you could only see a small portion of her face, and a few rebel strands of her somewhat short brown hair peeking out. She shuffled about in a circle; you could see her well-worn path, for her boots had kicked up the snow into a colosseum around her track.

Ryan arrived ten minutes later, and he did quick rounds. Without sighting his date, he sat down on a bench. Renée came running into the park and stood before him, breathing heavily. The condensation of her breath flew apart into the wind, fogging the view of her face.

“You’re here after all,” said Ryan.

“Yes, I am,” she answered. “I’m not late, am I?”

Ryan glanced at the large clock mounted in a ridged green pole. “Nope, you’re two minutes ahead of schedule.”

“That’s good,” she said, clasping her gloved hands together. The two walked, side-by-side but without contact, down the right-hand path. The heavy snows last night had prevented a lot of the regulars from coming. It was a rather quiet place, as such, but not without its charms.

“Oh, look!” Ryan said, pointing at the snow.

Renée looked over and saw the small dog paw-prints in the snow that pranced around idly. “The silly little thing,” she said. “I’ve never had a pet in my life. Do you have one?”

“No, me neither,” said Ryan. “But it’d be nice.”

“Yeah, puppies are so cute.”

And they resumed their walk along the downy path. It was a pleasant and gentle stroll, of a pace not too much faster than the pigeon’s strut or the duck’s waddle.

“How long do you think the snow will last?” asked Renée suddenly, making Ryan perk up a bit in surprise. But her voice was not too incongruous with the ambient sound. The pitch of it was certainly a bit lower than most girls’, maybe even to a point of exaggeration, but it was still not too unusual.

“Maybe two weeks,” Ryan said. “It’ll melt, but the snow might still come in again. Winter’s definitely not over yet.”

“Mm, so for two weeks, we won’t see what this park truly looks like.”

“Would it be that good if we could?”
“Yes, I was wondering the same thing …,” said Renée, and then she let the silence drift in once again.

The two arrived at the bottom of the hill, where many of the park’s paths met at an aster; in the center was a small amphitheater, and five or six people were gathered there, chiseling ice sculptures.

“Hey, I wanna give that a try,” said Renée.

“Is it free?” asked Ryan.

“We can find out.” The two of them descended down the steps to the center, where they inquired about the ice.

“Oh, you’re more than welcome to join us,” said the tall man in charge. He pointed to a still-untouched chunk of ice. “Please share one, though.”

“Thank you,” Ryan said. Turning to Renée, he asked, “So, what should we make?”

“I don’t know,” said Renée. “How about we start on opposite halves and just start, and then see what happens?”

The idea was bizarre, but Ryan trusted her artistic intuition.

Ryan began knocking away large portions from the corners, and Renée followed suit, taking the gesture one step farther and making what seemed to be a crude ear. Like this, wordlessly, they tried to take in cues, and they slowly made it inwards, closer and closer and then – they met each other in the center, with only a few finishing details to go. With deft hands, Renée cut a few facets to form an eye, then carved away a few channels to leave some whiskers.

The two stood back and then burst out laughing.

“Your side is an inch too high!” complained Renée.

“On the contrary, your side is an inch too low,” countered Ryan.

The resulting cat was not too badly formed; Renée’s half certainly showed more technical skill, but there was a careless humor to Ryan’s half. And they were indeed staggered by a full inch.

“It looks like he got cut in half.”

“Maybe it’s a bad omen,” said Ryan worriedly.

“Nah, it’s just artistry,” replied Renée. “You see how it’s still held together? It just shows that people who are one inch apart in height can still date each other.”

Ryan shot her an incredulous look.

“I was kidding!” she said. “Okay, sir, thank you for your time,” she said, projecting her voice towards the man.

The man gave a chuckle when he looked at what the friends had produced. “Not quite on the same wavelength yet, huh,” he said.

Renée harrumphed. “Just you wait. If you shield the right half and let the left half melt away just a little, the two halves will be perfectly matched.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” said the man.

The two were already on their way.

“It’s already eleven, isn’t it,” said Ryan.

“Yeah, it is. Listen, I should be going, but here’s my cell number, so call whenever you want, okay?” Renée said, handing Ryan an empty half of an envelope with the digits scribbled barely legibly on the back.

“Alright,” said Ryan. “I guess we’ll part ways for now.”

The next moment, he felt hair brushing against his face as the slightly shorter girl planted a small smooch on his cheek.

“Ciao!” she said, skipping away.

“Innocent, my ass,” Ryan grumbled. “Something is up with that girl … I wonder what ….”

Someone had entered his world, just as he feared. It was hard to understand. He couldn’t just rely on the books anymore.

He let out a frustrated growl as he kicked a box of neatly organized junk toward the corner of the room. ‘Why on Earth am I cleaning my room now?’ he wondered. But the answer was obvious: in case Renée would be visiting soon. Was she any more than a friend, though? He never cleaned up if any of his friends were coming over, even if they were girls.

Even though she had kissed him, she seemed to be the type who would greet anyone with that sort of kiss. The problem of course was that he was not of the same type – and that mismatch, that conflict between the external cues of the foreign personality and the instincts of the selfish personality, were probably the primary cause of Ryan’s current flustered state.

He had yet to give her a call, even though it had been three days already. He hated himself for not calling, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, especially when the nightmare had recurred just the past night.

“Hey, Ryan!” came a shout from outside.

Ryan opened his door to reveal Yuri, a friend from down the hall.

“I think you have a package down at front desk,” he said. “It was marked ‘perishable’ or something.”

“Wait, really?” asked Ryan. “I didn’t know anyone was sending me anything ….”

“Well, just letting you know. You don’t have to go get it right away. Just a suggestion, though.”

“Yeah, thanks,” said Ryan, leaving for the stairwell, closing the door behind him. He jumped down the steps two at a time as he always did, reaching the ground floor in no time.

“Hey,” he called out to the girl working desk. “I think I have a package.”

“Oh, yes, are you Ryan?” she asked.

“Yes, I am,” he answered.

“We actually left your package outside, to keep it from getting too warm.”

“It’s really that perishable?” Ryan asked.

“Yeah, apparently so,” said the girl.

“Nnngh,” Ryan managed to groan, sounding somewhat like a cow. “Alright, alright, I’ll go up and get my jacket.”

He turned around to scale the stairs, completely missing the smirk of satisfaction on the girl’s face for a job well done. A minute later, he arrived again at the desk with his jacket on, heading outside.

The snow was rather heavy, and any boxes left outside would have long been buried beneath the snow. Ryan scoured the front yard of the dormitory for any signs of a lump.

As he crouched down to investigate one of the more obvious humps of snow, a shout suddenly reached his ear from behind: “Delivery, delivery!”

“Huh?” he said, craning his neck around as far as it would go, which was probably a mistake, as he was hit directly on the nose by a well-formed snowball.

“Jesus Christ!” he shouted. “What are you doing?” He swiped the snow off his face to see Renée peering down at him cutely, kneeling halfway and resting her hands on her knees.

“Ooh, they really did get you out here,” she commented.

“Damn it! Yuri and the desk worker, conspiring to tell me those lies!”

“It wasn’t a lie,” Renée said sweetly. “If I brought the snowball in, it would have melted, wouldn’t it? I think that qualifies as perishable. Don’t you?”

She plopped down onto the snow beside him.

“Sometimes, just because you aren’t lying, doesn’t mean you’re telling the truth,” muttered Ryan.

“Well put, well put. And just because you don’t call, doesn’t mean you don’t want to see me, right?”

“I’m sorry.”

“About what?” asked Renée, standing back up again suddenly. She had meant only to get back on her feet and assume a better position for interrogating Ryan a little. But instead, her movement was too sudden, too spontaneous for her to control in the wet snow with her enormous snow boots, and she lost her balance, accelerating as she helplessly flopped into the light pole behind her.

Ryan quickly leapt forward to grab her, but in the badly lit yard, he could still tell that there was some sort of injury as he watched a small portion of the snow dye itself red. With all the strength he could muster, he lifted Renée up and brought her inside, up the elevator, to his room. The desk worker looked on, biting her lips with concern, but deciding not to complicate matters.

He looked at her crumpled figure on the ground, melting slush flooding the carpet beside her boots. With his towel, he had dried off her face and hands; the small wound had already stopped bleeding.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Ugh, that was careless of me,” she said. “I’ve always been told I don’t have very much grace.”

“That has nothing to do with it,” he reassured her. “It could have happened to anybody.”

“But I set myself up for it, didn’t I? If I hadn’t tricked you into going outside in the first place in hopes of going somewhere, then it probably wouldn’t have happened ….”

The girl seemed unusually insecure, suddenly vulnerable as she had never been before; it had always been she who seemed to be in complete control of the situations, of her words, of her world. But now the tide had turned, and it was her time to be carried in the currents of someone else’s defined destiny.

Ryan held onto her hand instinctively and asked her if she wanted something to drink. She nodded, and he left the room. With painstaking care, she pressed against the ground with her palm until she could finally sit up. The room was completely bland. Not a hint of character or hobby anywhere. Nothing was distinctly missing, save for the heart of the room.

All the objects seemed to be there only to serve as a diversion. There were a couple shirts and pants hanging up on the walls, textbooks on the bookshelves, a floor lamp, a small pot with an aloe plant in it. But they were things to look at, so as not to look at something else.

It was the closet – Renée was sure of it. Ryan had taken the care to clean up most of the room, but he had left a pile of stuff in front of that closet. Curious, she stood up and walked towards the closet, experiencing a rather unpleasant headrush. She gagged but quickly recuperated, trying to minimize how much sound she was making.

The towel rack was pushed safely to the side, and she bent over to open the closet when the door swung open.

“Wait, what are you doing?!” shouted Ryan, nearly spilling the hot cocoa he had prepared for her. “Don’t open that!”

“Oh, and why not?” asked Renée with a devious, twisted grin. “ ‘Special’ DVDs?”

“N-no, that’s not it!”

“Then what is it?’

“Just don’t!” Ryan said with an expected fury that made even Renée frown. “Just don’t,” he said again, this time more calmly. He held out the mug of hot cocoa in her direction, but she declined it, pushing his hand aside and walking towards him.

“Your room looks terrible, did you know that?” asked Renée. “It’s a mess.”

“But I just cleaned it!” said Ryan.

“Just because a room’s clean, doesn’t mean it isn’t a mess,” said Renée, following Ryan’s earlier pattern. “It’s a mess because I think something here,” she said, poking a finger into Ryan’s ribcage, “is a mess. Now, I want to know what’s in that closet.

“Look, I don’t care if there are pictures of me in the shower in that closet,” she continued, “or if you’re hiding ten bottles of vodka, or if it’s a pet you’ve been secretly keeping in this dorm against the rules. But if you don’t tell me what’s in there, I’m going to go take a look myself.”

“It’s my property, so it’s my business,” said Ryan.

“Oh, it is, is it? Fine, I suppose since it’s not my property, it’s none of my business?”

“Exactly,” said Ryan.

“That’s not logically valid.”

“Huh?” asked Ryan.

Renée pulled out a piece of paper. “Here, look,” she said, sitting down cross-legged. Ryan looked over her shoulder. “If p, then q, right?” Ryan nodded. “That means, ‘if not q, then not p’ is also true.” Ryan nodded again. “But ‘if not p, then not q’ is not necessarily true at all.” Ryan nodded again. “So, what’s in that closet?”

“Hey!” shouted Ryan.

“Yo, Ryan and girlfriend, tone down the argument a little in there?” called Yuri from outside. “Some of us are trying to nap.”

“We’re not arguing!” said Ryan.

“Yes, we are!” said Renée.

“Ryan, your girlfriend has just proven that she’s right. You might want her to help with your math sometime. Just a suggestion, though.”

Ryan threw up his hands in the air. “Fine! You want to know what’s in that closet? I’ll tell you what’s in that closet. But you better not turn all weird and moody on me because of it.”

“Why would I …?” asked Renée.

“The only reason I didn’t want to tell you was because I didn’t want you getting all jealous and stuff on me. The gifts my ex gave me are in that closet. You can go look at it, for all I care.”

“Really?” asked Renée. “I might just take you up on that offer.”

“Okay, now you have to tell me what’s in your closet.”

“Oh, I do?” said Renée, opening up the closet and pulling out a few boxes.

“Yes. We’re equals here, aren’t we?” said Ryan.

“I suppose so,” said Renée. “So, in my closet, there is an encyclopedia on the top shelf. Complete set, Encyclopaedia Brittanica, 1987 edition, from my dad. Then on the clothes hangers, I have all my skirts, blouses, and dresses. I stuff my casual clothes into the drawers, so those aren’t hanging up. I also have a tie from an old Halloween costume. And below that are a few boxes. A few of them have stuff from my ex, too. And then waaay beneath those where nobody would ordinarily look, I have a couple magazines my friend gave me when I told her I was feeling horny. How’s that?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to force you to tell me all that … I was just feeling -”

“- Vengeful towards girls, who never treated you fairly before?”

“Hey, don’t put words into my mouth!” said Ryan.

“But it’s true, isn’t it? I do sympathize, if that’s what happened. I don’t mind telling you things like that, Ryan. I know I can trust you. I know I can’t trust Yuri who’s standing outside eavesdropping, ahem ahem,” (sure enough, awkward shuffling was heard just outside the door), “but I know I can trust you. And I just want you to trust me, okay?”

“I guess,” said Ryan, softening, melting just a little bit.

“Good,” said Renée. “Now, I know this is a taboo topic with most girls, but it’s not today. I want you to tell me about her. Your latest ex. You can leave out the sex – I know it was good. One of my girlfriends has already alerted me to the fact that ‘even if he says the sex was bad, the sex was good.’ But I want to know about your heart, and what she did to it.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you. And because I want you to like me, but you can’t until you get over this. It’s been obvious since day one that you’re still not over something. The way you tried to escape from the coffeeshop; the way you glanced around that park, only half-assedly looking for me (and missing me completely); the way you’re acting now, as if your ex’s gifts were some sort of undead zombie haunting your closet!”

“Well, this is my first time talking about this. It might take awhile.”

“Take your time. I wasn’t planning on getting back to my home till late tonight, anyway.”

Renée finally took the mug from Ryan’s hand, taking in a generous draught of the warm, sweet goodness. “Mm, this is delicious.”

Ryan smiled and relaxed a bit more, trying to settle in before starting his story. The sun, behind the clouds, began to set.

“So her name was Ophelia, and she was the most amazing girl I had ever met. Really, the best there ever was. She would help me whenever I needed help, she would take me out to lots of cool places. She even got along well with my parents and convinced them to buy me a lot of the things I wanted.

“In a way, I felt inferior to her. I mean, I tried my hardest. I did what I could for her, and I bought her the gifts on the list that her girlfriends slipped to me. Especially that necklace with the blue gemstone. She really loved that one.”

Renée let out a small laugh and a small belch at the same time. “Um, excuse me! Go on, go on.”

Ryan shook his head. The pleasant aroma of the chocolate reached his nose as Renée blew gently on the surface to cool it down. “So, it was all going well, but I thought that maybe I wasn’t enough to satisfy her. And …,” he said, trailing off.

He swallowed tightly and retied his shoelaces while Renée happily lapped up some more of the hot chocolate.

“And …,” he started again, his face darkening somewhat, “I was right. She had been two-timing me with a handsome upperclassman. And that was that. I don’t know if it was fair, but I dumped her right then and there. The girl who I didn’t deserve – I dumped her. Isn’t that ironic? And I’ve been dreaming about it ever since. But I can’t bring myself to admit that I should have given her another chance.”

“Mmhmm,” said Renée. “Well, she was two-timing you, as you said. Why would she deserve another chance?”

“Because maybe the best girl who ever was might still have been a young girl then. I made my share of mistakes. Maybe she had to make hers.”

“You’re a nice guy, you know that?” asked Renée. “But you shouldn’t always be nice. I’m sure that deep down, there’s another voice than this one that says to be nice to her. Isn’t there?”

“Yes,” Ryan whispered. “It hates her for doing that.”

“Maybe you should indulge it. This Ophelia is far away, anyway. Just shout it out! ‘I haaaaate you. You’re a piece of inteessssstine!’ Try it,” said Renée, her hands sweating slightly so that the mug nearly slipped out of her hands. She set it down gently onto the carpet.

“I don’t know if that’ll help,” said Ryan.

“Hmm,” said Renée, scratching her chin. “Then I think I have another idea. You see these two boxes of stuff?”

“Yeah?” said Ryan.

“I see a lot of letters poking out here. And pictures and stuff.”

“So?”

“What do they have in common?”

“They’re romantic?” offered Ryan.

“Mrr-rr,” said Renée, imitating a gameshow rejection buzzer. “They’re flammable! Let’s burn them!” she announced with glee. “You have matches somewhere, right?”

“Well, Yuri next door is the local pyromaniac. He has a lighter we could use, I suppose.”

“Perfecto!” exclaimed Renée. “Come on, come on, let’s do it then.”

“Psh! And you said you weren’t the jealous type, Ms. Let’s-burn-up-your-ex’s-stuff.”

Renée pouted, putting her hands on her hips. “Now, now, I’m not being jealous,” she said, looking at Ryan straight in the eyes. “This is for her, too! Don’t you want her to be able to move on, wherever she is, and not have to worry about you still holding on to something of her?”

For the first time, Ryan saw the irises of Renée’s eyes. They were a brilliant green that complemented her short brown hair very well. They were daring, witty, beautiful in a clever way. And Renée looked even the more vibrant with Yuri’s elaborately decorated lighter in hand.

Although he never replied, Renée pressed on. “Alright, you grab one box, and I’ll get the other. Unless you don’t want to do this.”

Ryan contemplated for a moment, then smiled. “Actually, I think I really do.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Renée.

The two marched out of the building like two penguins proudly seeking the sea. For the first time in years, Ryan was just enjoying himself, chatting idly, taking weird shortcuts that more often than not didn’t work. The two ended up in a secluded spot, shaded by buildings and trees. And there, they began unpacking the boxes.

“Here, do the honors,” Renée said, handing Ryan the lighter. She piled a few leaves and sticks into the center of a small crater in the snow. With a simple click, the flame slithered onto the piece of paper and sank its fangs into its delicate constitution. The blackened paper consumed by the luminosity of death by fire drifted to the ground where the cradle in the ice began to blaze.

Ryan unfolded another letter. “Our date at the beach. Wait a second, it was a double date, and he was there!” He chucked the partially unfolded letter into the fire, exhaling slowly.

“Ooh, this photo,” said Renée, pulling the small dog-eared photo out from her box. “You two look kind of cute together here, actually.”

“Yeah, she’s kissing me on the cheek. I guess she was saving the kiss on the lips for him.”

“Well, guess that one goes too, then!” said Renée tossing the photo like a frisbee.

Ryan was right in front of the flame; Renée was a little bit off from being directly across from him. Their faces glowed a bit, but it was hard to make out the faces through the flames and smoke. By now, at least half of the boxes’ contents had been thrown into the flame. Little by little, Ryan felt his life returning to him, snatched back as the arteries that had burst open when his heart broke back then were finally sealed by the flames’ sterilizing caress.

“Renée … thank you,” Ryan said, a few tears dripping out from his eyes onto the snow. No more words were spoken after that for fifteen full minutes, as the rest of the contents went into the flame, save for one.

“What are you waiting for?” asked Renée. “We can’t stay out here too long – we might get caught or something!”

“Well, this is the last letter … she sent me.”

“O-oh?” Renée said with a neutral tone of voice that was not quite as low as before.

“Yeah, it was … after … afterwards. I … I wanted to know what it said, but I never opened it. But before I burn it, maybe … maybe it deserves to be read. I think I at least owe her that much.”

“Then read it, or throw it away, whatever,” was Renée’s curt reply.

“Dear Ryan,

I don’t know when you’ll read this … if ever at all. But maybe you will, and that’s enough for me. I hope that you are doing okay now. I’ve tried to make myself scarce these past two weeks, so I don’t think you’ve had to see me at all.

I wanted to convince myself that you overreacted, that what I did wasn’t that bad. I wanted to blame you for dumping me like that without even listening to me. Yet my conscience wouldn’t let me. I still love you. I didn’t love him – I just lusted after him. But I loved you.

I wanted you to know that. I wanted you to know that I want to still be here for you. I want to tell you to forget about him, to put that behind us. I guess I might be wishing for too much.”

Ryan sniffled slightly. “She was nice down to the very end. Never said a cruel word to me. I guess I should hurry and not be making comments to myself.”

Renée nodded vaguely through the flames.

“If you can’t forget it, then so be it. But just know that I –”

Suddenly, a gust of wind from the nearby shore flew in and snatched the letter, thinly held between Ryan’s hands, and condemned it to the fire, which flickered, pretended to stop, then restarted again, consuming the read and unread words indiscriminately.

“Dammit,” said Ryan, collapsing onto the ground, holding his hands to his face.

“It’s okay,” said Renée, approaching him.

“I wanted to … at least … you know, finish reading it. But maybe this is why I wasn’t enough in the first place. I can’t hold on to what I have.”

“If it really means that much to you, Ryan, I must admit that I peeked at your closet before you got back and read the rest,” said Renée. “It went kind of like this:

“If you can’t forget it, then so be it. But just know that I am very, very sorry. More sorry than I’ve ever been before. You were my first love, the one who showed me that warmth and love are more important than grades or popularity, the one who made me realize who I really was, what I was really capable of doing.

“I loved you, I loved you more than anything else in this world. I was still young when I told you that I would care about you forever and stay by your side forever. But that’s what I intend on doing. You kept your promises to me. I was selfish and didn’t keep mine to you.

“But it wouldn’t make sense that, having broken my promise, I would have the right to just break all the rest of the promises at once. So I will be here, for you, waiting. For that day when you read this, and decide – decide to tell me you don’t want me here at all. Or decide to tell me … that you’ll give me … one ... more … chan-”

With this, Renée fell onto Ryan’s shoulder, sobbing softly.

“You idiot,” said Ryan. “You opened my closet and read the letter, my ass.”

He wrapped his arms around the girl, who was, for a second time, so frail in his arms. The flames had healed his bleeding wounds, but they had only hurt her more. The wind quickly took note of the situation and smothered the flame, leaving the two of them arranged awkwardly in the snow as the sun finally set beneath the horizon.

For a long, indeterminate time, the two were just there. Renée finally stopped crying and crinkled her nose slightly, sneezing onto Ryan’s defenseless face.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” she managed between hiccups. “Anyway, you’re free now, Ryan.” Another hiccup. “I don’t know what I came here to do, but I know that what I came to do is done.”

She leaned in and kissed him on the lips.

“I will fly away now.”

She unzipped her jacket and let it drop to the ground as she moved towards the gray moon. Ryan watched as she walked awkwardly in those boots too big for her, her hair tossing about, and moonlight beaming down, teasing her shirt and chin, and then finally illuminating the blue gemstone at the nape of her neck.

She was running to the best of her ability. The snow was thick and heavy, and she was shivering from the cold. She was a mess, but it felt good as the tears washed away the make-up, as the hair began to shift back to its natural color, as she sang out in her ordinary voice. She was finally free, too. Because he had finally read it, and he had finally made his decision.

On the one hand, she felt a little empty now that the ordeal was done and suddenly she was alone again without the constant thoughts and worries. But it was still relieving and comforting in its own way. She turned into the coffeeshop. It was getting late, but there were still a few people there. They let her in even though the shop was formally closed.

But she had scarcely made it in two feet when she was tackled from behind.

“ ‘Lia, the ordinary human asks a person to make a decision in order to hear the response.”

“And I’m ordinary?” asked Ophelia, taking a seat and gesturing for Ryan to take one as well.

“No. Ordinary people also don’t randomly take off their jackets in freezing weather,” he said, handing her the white jacket that he had picked up off the snow.

“So, why have you accosted me in this coffeeshop?” Ophelia asked flippantly.

“Don’t be so sour!” Ryan exclaimed. “I think it’s unfair for a boy to chance upon his girlfriend and have it be called ‘accosting.’ ”

“Chancing upon his ex is an entirely different matter,” Ophelia deadpanned.

“And how do I rectify that?”

“You have to undump me.”

“I have to what?!” exclaimed Ryan.

“Undump me! U-N-D-U-rrgh”

Ophelia was unable to pronounce the “M” properly because her lips were suddenly acquainted with Ryan’s. “I love you,” he said. “There, you’ve been undumped, you weirdo.”

The coffeeshop broke into applause as the two stood up, beamed for a moment, then left. There was still a lot of catching up to do. They rushed off into the distance, tripping a lot, catching each other a lot, and whispering “I love you” to one another a lot. All the way back. And although they didn’t hit the park, one could confidently say that any passerby would have seen, in the central amphitheater, an ice statue of a cat, with a white sheltering cloth blown off and resting at its left paw, very nearly symmetric, the most brilliant ice sculpture of them all.

Fin