It’s something I can never fully explain to Lena. She won’t understand, because she loved Charlie in a way I couldn’t. She hurts from the loss in a way I don’t. And, although I’m plagued by anger and confusion and sadness and guilt, she’s plagued by heartbreak. I see it all over this crazy adventure: it’s in the way she needs us to be here, searching for something as yet undefined amid the smells of saffron and turmeric in street stalls and undulating trance music in sweaty London clubs and the beautiful, polluted waters of the Arabian Sea. It’s why I say yes to Bangkok, even though I’m fairly certain the answers aren’t waiting for us there, even though I know it might be dangerous, even though I know my parents are probably already booking their flights out to bring me home. Lena needs something and I feel compelled to give it to her, or at least to be there while she searches. None of it is logical, all emotional. My heart hurts for Lena every time I see the loss on her face, even though technically the same exact person has disappeared from my life. I’m just not suffering in the same way.
It is no secret that I was questioning things with Charlie; but I couldn’t tell anyone. None of my old friends from Liberty—the school I attended before we moved to the eastern side of the city during my junior year—kept in touch after I left. The couple of casual friends I made didn’t understand why I’d date someone who didn’t live right there, who couldn’t make out in my parents’ family room or the hub of a station wagon at the drive-in, who couldn’t split a six-pack in the dark corners of someone’s unfinished basement. My parents disapproved of the way I hopped on flights and trains, single-handedly (in their minds alone) sustaining the financial models of Amtrak and Southwest, industries designed (again, just in their minds) to capitalize on Before Sunrise moments. Industries I bought into with babysitting money alone. They called my bluff, and I couldn’t bear to admit that they were right. It was all for nothing.
Adam was the last person I should have sought comfort from, but I did it anyway. Adam knew Charlie and didn’t completely trust him. He never said so, but it was always there. Adam liked me, however, from the beginning. He was like a salve, a trusted friend when Charlie was impossible to trust. He was comforting, while Charlie was variable and extreme and moody.
Flash back to April: I’m sitting on the sofa waiting for Charlie to text, flipping through my parents’ Netflix until I settle on a French film, the slightly steamy tale of an uptight writer whose world is blown wide open by her publisher’s free-spirited daughter. It’s a fairly predictable, cotton-candy plot, at least for the first half—I’ve seen it before—but its easy French eroticism does nothing to distract me from the dead silence of my phone. Charlie and I scheduled a FaceTime session at one p.m. my time, seven p.m. his. It’s 1:10 and I’m starting to suspect it’s not going to happen.
Charlie is forever promising to call, forever forgetting. Forever neglecting to respond to my text messages, the last of which read, “Hey! Thank you so much for the book recommendation, can’t wait to pick it up!” In actuality, Charlie recommended a book I had no interest in at all—a nonfiction account of the emergence of indie rock musicians in Germany. I’m not sure why he sent it in the first place. We haven’t seen each other in six weeks now, the longest we’ve ever gone, and we’re talking an average of twice per week aside from the occasional email. It’s starting not to feel like a relationship at all. I used to convince myself it was better this way; it’s my senior year of high school and I have to ace Honors Physics II in order to keep my scholarship to Georgetown. I don’t have time for a distraction. The phone rings and my heart picks up. But one quick glance at the caller ID tells me it’s not Charlie.
Still, my heart doesn’t drop. It lifts at the sight of Adam’s name. I pick up the phone, taking a breath first to ensure that my voice remains neutral. I swallow the guilt that’s filling my chest. It’s not wrong to get excited about Adam’s calls, I assure myself; it’s the opposite of wrong. I need a friend. Ever since switching schools, I’ve had pretty much no one but my dog and Charlie for company.