if this is your first time reading the olivia chronicles, feel free to start from the beginning. then there’s the first letter, then the second letter.

dear dimestore therapists,

ah yes, the party. i hate to write about that night, especially the first part of it. looking back, the way the night started seems so…juvenile, particularly since it ended the way it did. but unless i just deal with the pain and write about what happened, you’ll have no idea why i am where i am today.

i can’t believe i am actually going to be telling you about a night that happened when i was a junior in high school. as far as i can tell, most people do everything in their power to completely bury that part of themselves, and here i am giving whoever has this web address complete access to one of my life’s most mortifying experiences. goes to show that some women will do just about anything for closure.

that night, aidan picked me up at home after his basketball game; it had been a huge win against our rival, and he was in high spirits. since he lived next door, i suppose could have just walked to his house, but he always insisted on picking me up like we were on a date or something. in hindsight, my complete naivete in regards to our “friendship” is a little stunning.

when he pulled up in his black audi, i dropped a kiss on my mom’s cheek and said good night. she was sitting at the kitchen table in a sweatshirt and jeans, nursing a mug of tea and waiting for her popcorn to finish popping. she had big plans with colin firth as darcy, she said, and i should go to the party and have fun. i always hated leaving her alone on a friday night; it seemed so…sad. but she never let on that she was lonely or wanted me to stay, instead she encouraged me to get out and be a teenager.

aidan’s car had blacked out windows, but for some reason, i felt like he was watching me. i had taken special care getting ready: dark trouser jeans, a black halter under my black pea coat, red peep-toe pumps. i almost never dressed up, but i think i was feeling a little self-conscious because i knew i would be going to a party at jackie’s house. jackie, the girl of the year-round tan and the perky breasts. the girl of the waterfall of lustrous black hair, small waist, and closet full of labels i hadn’t even heard of. the type of girl that is put on the planet to make girls like me want to cry in the fetal position while stress eating.

so yeah, i looked different than normal. i had even run my fingers through my bangs and put on lipgloss. it was a banner night. maybe it was because i felt so uncomfortable in those stupid heels, but i couldn’t help feeling as though i was being slowly examined and critiqued, and even that i’d been found wanting. it wasn’t a pleasant sensation.

the walk down my driveway felt like a plank walk: long and excruciating. thankfully, at the end of the walk was aidan’s warm car, not a certain death by drowning. or at least that’s what i thought at the time.

when i finally opened the car door, i saw aidan looked his usual self: clean-cut, athletic, mama’s boy. he was so comfortable in his skin all the time, like there was nothing in the world that could ruffle his feathers. that always pissed me off about him, still does. i usually felt like i was two seconds away from tripping over my own feet or saying “condom” when i meant to say “condominium.” not that either of those words was in my daily vocabulary, but that’s the type of thing i obsessed about: making a fool of myself.

when i got in the car, he whistled. not like a catcall, but more like he was letting out a breath he had been holding for some time. i wasn’t sure what to make of that, and my first instinct was to get defensive. i thought he was about to start teasing me for trying to look like a girl.

but he wasn’t. he told me i looked beautiful. and i didn’t know how to handle the compliment, so i got all bratty and told him to stop being ridiculous. he looked a little hurt, but bless his heart, he persisted. no, seriously, livvy (that’s what he called me. that, or liver), you look really amazing. what did you do to your hair? brush it? and i was like, seriously, aidan, i didn’t agree to go to this stupid party with you because i wanted to be made fun of. can we just go?

he wouldn’t go, he just sat there staring at me, car idling. some other conversation happened, i think, but all i can remember is the look on his face when he leaned over the console to kiss me. his face was completely open, no fear, no reservations, just hope. he was so close the humidity of his breath was making my hair curl. his eyes were half-closed, lips half open, and although i hadn’t been kissed all that many times in my life, i knew what was about to happen.

so i slapped him. really hard, across the face. i think i even pulled my hand back as far as it would go, until my elbow was touching the cold pane of the passenger side window. the sound was like a gunshot in the confines of the car, and as i pulled my hand back, i saw the bloom of a handprint start on his cheek.

as soon as i did it, i knew our friendship as it had been for the past ten years was over. but still, i blame him: who the hell told him it was ok to try and kiss me?

funny thing is, that wasn’t even close to the worst thing that happened that night.

yours,

olivia

— Alexis

Tagged as: olivia