Emily, Don't

Fiction

What if you never began to like me and gave me attention. You would sit beside me and you would poke me like I never noticed you’ve arrived. I wouldn’t look unless you poked me a second time and you’d put your face close to mine.

What if you never asked for my name and I never found out about yours. You would borrow my phone and pretend to text your mother, only to steal my number so you could call me at night.

What if you never begun to call and dragged me along with your sleeplessness. You would tell me you lived alone and your parents died when you were six. You never really had a mother to text. We would talk til the sun rose and you would tell me good night still.

What if you never asked me to play soccer with you. You would teach me and I would suck at it. You would show how to kick the ball and I would trip when I tried. You would laugh that heavenly laugh and I would laugh, too, not because I fell, but because it made you happy. You would fall beside me and lie down on the cool grass and your sweat dripped and I didn’t mind. You would tell me to try until I became better at it.

What if you never taught me math because I sucked at that, too. You would teach me how, during lunch and when the sun would set. I would ask too many questions and I would worry you would grow impatient, but you would teach me as slowly as you can to make me understand. You would hold my hand when you let me write. And you would hide your smile but I would still see it.

What if you never asked me to go with you to buy eggs in the convenience store. You would run and I would chase you and you would always run faster than me. You would drop the eggs and they would crack on the street and you’d just laugh about it. I would still be running and I would trip again and I would have bruises on my knees. You would hurry to me and carry me to your house to wash it. You would know how to bandage my wounds and would kiss it after dressing my knees. You would kiss my forehead and promise me you’ll never kiss my lips until we were married.

What if you never held my hand for everyone to see. We would both feel awkward in the crowd but it felt good because it matters to us and they would never understand. You would draw me closer to you and you would smile and be shy about it. You would kiss the side of my head and remind me of your promise.

What if you never gave me a ring to remind us about us. You would say it would be the first out of three rings that I’d wear. The second would be our engagement and the third, our marriage. You would let me wear it and you would hold my hand. I would be teary and you would wipe my eyes before my tears fell.

What if I never ran too fast to show you my paper. I got a B- in math. I saw you from afar and I called out your name and you saw me. I ran and you screamed, “Emily, don’t!” I did not hear because I was excited and thinking about what you’ll say about how proud you are of me. You ran like how fast you always ran. You reached me and held me tight and told me you love me when the truck came and it