Hayden ~ HARRIETT WELLS

Hayden

after Regina Spektor

HARRIETT WELLS

You approached me, even though I was with my little sister and two of her guy friends. You yelled my name while I walked away. You came up to me even when others were around. Your six-foot-two-inch frame intimidated me. Your brown hair was quickly turning blonde and your skin was fried from sitting in the sun for eight hours every day. I could see the green through your squinty eyes. Your chest was hairless and your veins pulsed as you carried a bright red paddleboard. You said you wanted to take me somewhere, somewhere other than this small town in Rhode Island. We hauled the kayak to the end of the pier in Swansea. I could see our destination island from where we were standing. It was in the middle of the lake surrounded by factories. I had never been to this place before; this was your place. You pushed the paddle in and out of the water while I sat on your lap; the champagne you were so excited to bring sat in between my legs, and the puddle at the bottom of the kayak grew deeper. You laid a blue and white striped towel out so we didn’t get the sand on our damp bodies. Your sculpted body created a shadow over mine. Your gold chain hung down almost touching the tip of my nose. We looked into each other’s eyes and didn’t say anything for a while. We didn’t have to. But you interrupted our silence with, “You are something else, aren’t you?” Really? I could feel the butterflies flying in my stomach. I could feel myself getting warmer, looser, opening up. You wouldn’t break our eye contact; it was like you were waiting for me to look away. I loved the way you looked at me like I was the only girl in the world. But I knew that’s not how the world works. Even though you loved my eyes, you always ended up looking somewhere else.

I liked being with you. I don’t know if it was you or the validation I had been looking for. I was the girl that guys went to for advice about other girls, not the girl that guys want to be with. But you were someone who gave me attention, someone who wanted me. I knew the people you worked with. I was close to them. They worked in the kitchen, while you worked on the beach. I know they wanted what was best for you and me. They all told me how amazing you were. How sweet you were. How you were good, unlike the rest. They said you were real, that you cared. You wouldn’t be with someone just for a hookup; it wasn’t temporary. It meant something for you. I saw girls walk up to you on the beach. They would talk to you, make you laugh, and ask for your Snapchat. And you would give it to them, with no hesitation. Since last summer, you gained 20 pounds of muscle, switched from working maintenance to lifeguarding, and you had the confidence you had been searching for after the sudden break up of your three-year relationship. She hurt you. I know she did, even if you didn’t want to admit it. You chose me. For our second date, I showed you around my place, Little Compton. I brushed my long blonde hair for the first time in a couple of days. It would never sit right; it was flat on the top and 63

poofy towards the ends. I tied it back in a low bun and pulled out some baby hairs to cover my cheeks that are just a little too big. I put on a white tank top and blue flowy shorts and painted my eyelashes black with mascara. When you picked me up, the first thing you pointed out was my mascara. You didn’t like it. You don’t like it when girls wear makeup, so I didn’t wear it again with you around. We kissed in the playhouse. We watched the stars on the golf course. I saw my first shooting star with you. You put your gold chain around my neck, and I gave you a charm with the first letter of my name to put on your silver chain. We always wore them. You met my family. My mom. My dad. My sisters. My grandfather. They liked you. You talked to them like you cared. When I was ready to leave, you stayed so you could hear the end of my grandfather’s story about growing up in Little Compton and being a lifeguard during the summers in the 1940s. You stayed to hear my mom talk about her job in Africa. You stayed to hear about my little sister’s boy drama. You stayed to see my “happy family.” I met your parents and your sister. It was weird; your parents didn’t speak to one another. I understood then what you meant about your parents’ relationship. We spent the night together in Swansea. We still wore our chains. You didn’t want to hang out, or when I asked you said you were too busy. But you still wore your chain. I could still see it sparkling in the sun while you sat on the lifeguard chair. Every day I would walk across the beach and try to get you to notice me; you didn’t. But you would Snapchat me later making conversations regarding superficial bullshit. Three weeks passed since we spent the night together. I saw you at a party at the beach. I was having a bonfire with a group I introduced you to; you showed up uninvited. You sat down without acknowledging me. We faced each other on opposite sides of the fire. They all thought we were together. They knew what I thought about you, how much I liked you. But you didn’t talk to me that night. You just looked at the fire, while I looked at you. Somebody said you were my boyfriend. Then another asked if we were dating; we both looked at each other not knowing what to say. Later that night, I pulled you aside and asked, “What are we?” You said you “enjoyed hanging out with me and my homies.” I wanted to understand. I didn’t know what was happening, what we were, what I did wrong. Our night together in Swansea meant something to me, and you knew that. I waited for your shift to end the day after the beach party. You said you didn’t want to hurt me. You didn’t want to hurt me like she hurt you. You took off your chain, but I didn’t. You said you didn’t want a relationship, so I said I didn’t want one either. You asked for your chain back. I saw someone else. I don’t know if I did it because I liked him or because I wanted to hurt you. You told me we weren’t exclusive, even when we were together, but I hoped you would care. You didn’t. I saw your post. So did my friends. They sent it to me asking what was going on, but I was asking myself the same question. They say she looks like me. She wears mascara and your gold chain.