Who Could Ask For Anything More
January 17, 2010
I used to drive into town all the time to rent movies from Cam.
I remember how I would watch a movie three, four times just so I could see his face. He worked at the blockbuster on the corner of Holiday Hills, and I used to stop in after work sometimes the summer before my junior year. I had just broken up with Nick for the millionth time and my friends had alienated me because of it. I was bitter about it and instead of just facing them, I ignored the issue completely.
But Cam was a ray of sunshine. He smiled everytime I’d stop in, he was only two years older than me, and he always asked what my plans were. Everytime I would smile and laugh, “nothing tonight, Cam.” He asked me about Nick, I would shove the issue off. He would recommend movies, I would watch them. Then I became dependent on the activity of seeing him every few days. I didn’t want to watch a movie, but I wanted to see Cam, for the companionship.
We went on one date. It was the last date I’ve been on, more than two years ago. He pulled out my chair, said I looked pretty. He pretended to care about my favorite bands and movies. He probed my mind for my dreams, my hopes, my fears. He played footsie with me under the table. He dropped me off and walked me to my door. He didn’t even try to kiss me, not once.
His last words to me were, “you have really pretty eyes, you know that?”
Nick had a sixth sense for that sort of thing. I don’t think he had any clue about Cam, infact I know he didn’t. But Nick called me the next day. He wanted to see me. I obediently went.
Nick never knew my favorite color, or my favorite flower. He never noticed my eyes flickered green when I was sad, or that when I am thinking really hard about something, I look angry. He never saw the red flickers in my hair and never knew I rented Pride and Prejudice more than 100 times because it was my favorite movie.
I saw Cam at school a few days ago. I was upset about something when I saw him, not outwardly upset, just flustered. He smiled at me, the same big smile I loved, and looked into my eyes. He asked if something was wrong.
He never said so, but I could tell how he knew. My eyes must’ve been green. He must’ve known.
The last thing he said to me as we parted ways was, “you have the prettiest eyes, did you know that?” I smiled and said someone might’ve told me that once before.
