Do you ever think about friendship and romance? I mean, do you think that it's really possible to love someone without getting to know them first, without first being friends? I've always been kind of skeptical about the whole love at first sight thing. You see someone, you've never met them before, and all of a sudden you think you're in love? Attracted to them, maybe, but love, I don't know. Love is slow. Love is different. Love is real.
Friendship. Attraction. Getting to know someone... What did it all mean? And real. What was real?
The letters were getting increasingly confusing. Or maybe he was just getting increasingly confused. Ross was torn between treasuring the notes and wanting to tear them up. Never before had anything produced such a strange and instinctive reaction in him.
What did she mean by "getting to know them first"? He
thought back to the car ride with Melissa. Could that have
constituted getting to know someone? Could their conversation have
made her think about friendship before love? Or was he just jumping
to conclusions? Anything could be a clue, and the same anything
could have no significance whatsoever.
A confession - I've been attracted to you for a long time
now. Even before I realized, even before I started feeling the way I
do, even before love came into the picture, that attraction was
always there. I'd look at you and think... and then I'd stop myself
from thinking it, just like how I'm stopping myself from writing it
now. And I'd tell myself I couldn't... I shouldn't. But I couldn't
help it.
I can't... I shouldn't. The words echoed in his
head. When did an attraction to a friend cross the line and become
something more?
He struggled with himself, trying to stop the thoughts, but
it wasn't working. No matter how hard he tried to deny it, he knew
the attraction was there. He knew that no matter how many times he
tried to tell himself he couldn't, he shouldn't, it would still be
there. Every day, every time he looked at her, every time they
touched. It would always be there.
The attraction was fast, the feelings came slowly. It was
the little things, at first. You'd smile at me and I'd realize I was
blushing. You'd call my name and I'd realize I'd been waiting to
hear your voice say it. We'd laugh together and I'd know that I
could only laugh like that with you. Simple things, every day
things... it's what really matters. It's not a big revelation that
lets you know you're in love. It's the little things.
The little things... a smile, a touch, a clasp of the hand.
He thought back to the previous day, sitting in a coffee shop with
Julie. They'd ended up sitting there for hours, just talking, not
only about the letters, but about anything and everything. Laughing.
Completing each other's sentences. Being able to sit in silence and
not feel uncomfortable at all.
His admirer had obviously been able to accept the feelings
that lingered among the little things... why couldn't he?
Wait a second.
He suddenly sat bolt upright as a line from the note in front
of him seemed to pop out before his eyes. "You'd call my name and
I'd realize I'd been waiting to hear your voice say it"... Had he
ever called Melissa's name before the escapades of the previous
two days?
Finally, a clue. A distinguishing clue, something he could
actually work with. "Simple things, every day things..." Every day
things. If he'd referred to Melissa by her name at all in the past,
he certainly hadn't done so every day. And the letter-writer was
definitely writing about the past... the words on the sheet of
stationary were not referring to something that happened
yesterday.
Or were they? He stared at the ceiling in frustration. How
was he supposed to know? How was he supposed to figure out how
females thought when they were in love? Well... he had a female
helping him for that specific purpose, didn't he?
"Julie... you'd better be ready to answer some pretty heavy
questions," he said to his kitchen wall, then folded up his newspaper
and left.
Julie was in deep hiding.
She knew they were supposed to be doing off-ice training that morning before their afternoon practice, but she just didn't feel like seeing anyone. Neither had she felt like staying at home, where her wandering thoughts and blinking computer screen were sure to plague her. Instead, she'd holed herself up in the vacant rink music room, and there she sat, curled up in a ball on the floor between two stacks of CDs.
"You are pathetic," she mumbled to herself as she sat there listening to of collection of cheesy old love songs. "Really pathetic."
"Talking to yourself?" A head poked in the doorway, interrupting her disgusted self-analysis. "You know, they say that's a sure sign of mental illness."
"Oh, shut up." Julie gave her grinning partner the best annoyed look she could manage. "What are you doing up up here?"
"Uh... I left a CD in here last time, I think," he lied quickly.
She wouldn't let him get away with it.
"Liar," she declared bluntly. "C'mon, what are you really doing up here?"
"You tell me and I'll tell you," he compromised.
"I asked first." She looked at him pointedly.
"Okay, okay." He sighed. "I needed somewhere where I could hear myself think for awhile."
"Strange coincidence." She laughed. "Me, too."
"So, do you mind if I share your thinking space, or do you want me to leave?" he asked.
"Nah, stay." She patted the ground next to her. "Pull up a piece of rug."
He sat down, being careful to keep a safe distance from his partner. Close enough so he could be considered next to her, far enough so they wouldn't be touching if they shifted position...
There was silence for several minutes as both partners sat collecting and rearranging their thoughts. Whys and what ifs, whos and hows... they were all floating around, all getting tangled and confused.
Finally he spoke, breaking the stillness.
"You know the notes?" he said. "I don't think they're from Melissa."
"Really?" She turned to face him. "Why not? Did you talk to her again? Find out something?"
"No, it was just... something in today's note," he replied vaguely. "Something about love being something that grows out of friendship... out of every day things. Do you ever think about that?"
She winced. "Do I have to answer that?"
"Well... not if you don't want to," he said slowly. "But I thought, you know, you'd be able to understand how girls feel about that kind of thing..."
"Honestly, Ross, you say that as if we're all the same!" she exclaimed. "We're not. We think differently. We feel differently. We..." Her voice dropped. "We love differently."
"Well, what was it like for you?" he asked curiously.
"Could we talk about something else?" She couldn't look him in the eye.
"Of course, honey." His tone was suddenly softer, gentle. "I didn't mean to pry..."
"It's not that." She drew her knees closer to her chest, huddling up as if she were cold. "It's just... all this Valentine's stuff, all this love stuff..." Her voice faltered momentarily. "I get lonely sometimes."
Ross looked at her, astonished. He wasn't used to seeing his strong, independent partner so vulnerable. It was a side of her he knew very few people ever saw... and very rarely.
He gently touched her arm and left his hand there.
"Do you miss him?" he questioned quietly, not wanting to speak her ex-boyfriend's name.
She shook her head. "I don't miss him, necessarily... but I miss everything that came with him. Knowing there was always someone there... knowing I had someone to hold me when I needed to be held... knowing that unconditional love was always waiting. You know?"
He nodded. He did know.
"Do you miss her?" she asked, referring to his ex.
"Same as you, really," he responded after a moment of thought. "Not her, per se, but the stability, I guess. Just knowing... I mean, now, I don't even know what I'm feeling half the time."
They sat in silence again, only broken by her sigh. His hand moved from her arm to her shoulder and rubbed it gently. She didn't protest. His touch, when she let herself forget everything, everything but the fact that he was her partner and best friend and was there for her, was strangely comforting.
She laughed ruefully. "Look at us, sitting here and feeling sorry for ourselves. We're quite a pair, eh? Me, sitting here and almost crying over some stupid old love songs..."
"...and me, so desperate for something that I'm actually persuing this secret admirer junk," he completed. "Two of a kind, eh?"
"Eh," she agreed with a half-smile. "We're more alike than most people would think."
"Yeah." His hand moved from her shoulder to softly touch her cheek. She stared at the ground, but didn't... couldn't... pull away.
"Anyways..." She suddenly got up with a start and hit the stop button on the CD player just as the strains of 'Can't Help Falling in Love' were about to fill the room. She selected another CD and popped it in.
"No more of this depressing stuff," she said brightly. "We're supposed to be doing off-ice training, right? So..." She grabbed her partner's hand and pulled him up to join her as the boppy notes of 'That Thing You Do' filled the air. "C'mon. Let's dance!"
Ross laughed, seeing the old Julie back.
"Okay," he agreed. "Let's."
Friendship is such a nice thing, Julie thought to herself as she drove home from the rink. Such a nice, comfortable, warm thing... such a fulfilling thing.
Then why did she still feel that there was something missing?
For two days in a row, she'd let her conflicting feelings fall away and forgotten the jealousy, the longing, the need. She'd let herself be herself again, let him in, reminded herself of what it was all really about. But still, the longing was there. It wouldn't go away.
It's enough, she tried to convince herself. The friendship is real, it's enough, it's enough. But deep down, she knew it wasn't. She wanted more. She needed more.
When love took over, nothing less would ever be enough.
Two a.m. Ross lay awake in his bed, trying to sleep, but not able to stop thinking. There was something he was trying desperately to remember, but he couldn't quite grasp what...
Suddenly, his drooping eyelids flew opened and he realized exactly what he'd been trying to place.
"We're more alike than most people would think," Julie had said that afternoon. That sentence... those words... he'd heard them somewhere before.
The question was, where?
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