Begin Again
Jenna Gibson
BEGIN AGAIN
DECEMBER
I was reading, sitting at the coffee shop on the corner of 25th and Wilson, when you decided to come talk to me. You told me that the guy who shot John Lennon was found reading Catcher in the Rye, and the guy who tried to kill Ronald Reagan had a copy of the book in his room. I asked you if you were suspecting me of murder, and you asked me if you could sit down. I obliged, and you told me that your name was Wes, and that you were named after your great-grandfather. I dog-eared the page of the book I was on and looked at you instead.
You asked me to dinner the next day, at some hole-in-the-wall in Brooklyn. We ate sushi, and you told me that you were a senior at NYU, hoping to become a writer. I asked you what you liked to write and you told me you wanted to work for National Geographic, but you also dreamed of being a fiction writer. You said that you didn’t have the patience, though, so you wrote articles instead. You asked me what I was doing with my life, and I told you I was a junior at Columbia, working at an internship. I talked about how I was working my way up to be a music and fashion writer for some big magazine corporation. For the moment, though, I was just an assistant. I told you my favorite movie was Almost Famous, and that’s what made me want to be a writer in the first place. You laughed and told me that your mom used to babysit Kate Hudson when she lived in Los Angeles, and then she went to Ohio State and met your father. You were born in Warren, Ohio in the middle of March. I told you I was born in August and grew up in Long Island, and I always wanted to go to Columbia.
Two weeks later, you showed up at the apartment I rented with some of my classmates, holding two tickets to see The White Stripes in your hands. That night we listened and sang and danced and laughed, and afterwards you held my hand and guided me through the crowd. You offered me your jacket, and, even though it was freezing, we walked around New York for what felt like hours. You told me that when you were little you used to have posters of the Backstreet Boys in your room, partly because your little sister was obsessed with them, and partly because you were too. I told you my mom used to make me watch YouTube videos of live performances from The Rolling Stones, and that’s why I loved Mick Jagger so much. We ended up at Rockefeller center, and you kissed me in front of the big Christmas tree and told me your favorite Christmas movie was It’s a Wonderful Life.
On New Year’s Eve, we watched the ball drop and saw too many strangers kissing each other, and we sat down in the window seats of a 24/7 diner and tried to guess the relationships between the people who passed by in front of us. You told me that you always wanted to travel the world, but you hadn’t been anywhere but Ohio and New York. You said you wanted to go to Venice, but didn’t think it would ever happen. I didn’t tell you that I got an internship to go work in London over the summer. Even though it wasn’t Venice, I knew you would want to go with me, and I didn’t know if I wanted you to do that just yet.
FEBRUARY
Your mother passed away on Groundhog Day, and you asked me to come with you to Ohio, because you didn’t want to go to the funeral alone. I told you that I had school and didn’t want to miss it, and you faked a smile and told me it was okay. You took the bus the next day to Warren, and you told me you would call me when you got there. I said that you didn’t have to.
You called me the next day and told me that your father couldn’t handle being by himself, and that you would be staying with him for a while. You called me on Valentine’s Day, and we simultaneously watched While You Were Sleeping and laughed at each other’s commentary. You talked me into watching The Matrix, and we spent the rest of the time on the phone talking about the ways Keanu Reeves bothered us. You called me again a day later, and you told me you missed me. I smiled and told you that I was going to London over the summer, for an internship, and you ended the phone call with an “okay.”
Three days later you sent me a package in the mail, and I opened it to find J.D. Salinger’s “A Girl I Knew,” with a note attached that said you were sorry for reacting so sourly, and that you just didn’t want me to be away for so long.
A few days later I started missing you, and I realized that I liked you more than I thought I did. I didn’t ever admit it to you, though. I’m pretty sure that’s why you didn’t come back.
APRIL
I wrote you a letter and I told you that, even though we were never in love, we could have been. I told you about the last relationship I was in, when I thought I loved him and he said goodbye two days later. Ever since, I was always afraid of committing too soon.
Some people don’t want to know how you feel until they’re sure of what they feel. I think that’s what happened with me and you.
I told you that you didn’t have to reply, because I knew you wouldn’t want to. I sent the letter and focused on school, and when you decided to come back to New York, you didn’t tell me.
I saw you in a grocery store near NYU, asking some girl if she preferred Earl Gray or Chamomile. I dropped the box of Cheez-its I was holding and ran out before you saw me, and stood outside for five minutes just in case you would come looking for me.
You didn’t, of course. I got into a cab and went back to Columbia, and I asked the cab driver if he had ever loved someone but didn’t know it until after it was over. He just smiled and said something in another language. I took it as a yes.
“Corey, it doesn’t even make sense. You dated him for, like, three months, and you didn’t even like him.” My friend Alyce told me that same day, watching me with pity as I quoted The Notebook.
“I want all of you…Forever…Everyday…You and me…”
“You need to get over it,” she told me. I glared at her and kept watching anyway.
I know you never liked Alyce, and maybe that’s why I didn’t take what she said to heart. I felt like I needed to, though, and so I tried to get on with my life. I deleted your number from my phone, and I threw away all the letters I tried to write you but never could. I agreed to go out with some guy Alyce knew from her marketing class.
He took me to a restaurant that was filled with people who looked like they knew all the words to “Wonderwall.” I asked him what he wanted to do after graduation, and he told me he wanted to be a salesman. When I asked him what he wanted to sell, he told me that he would sell anything, as long as he made money.
I asked him what his favorite movies were, and he told me he only watched movies when his friends made him. He said his favorite bands were The Strokes and Oasis, and that he knew every single word to “Wonderwall.” I laughed, and I knew that you would’ve too.
I tried to get over you, I really did. But he wasn’t you. No one could ever be you.
JUNE
For some reason, I was surprised to find that it was always raining in London. There were probably only ten days of the summer when there wasn’t at least a drizzle. I wore rain boots almost every day, and found myself aimlessly splashing into puddles. I listened to “London Calling” as many times as any typical tourist would, especially the days when I would have to walk through Trafalgar Square to get to where I was going. Double-decker buses crowded the streets, eager families sitting on top of them and pointing at every new turn. Big Ben loomed over the city, and it reminded me of the Empire State Building. I smiled and thought of New York, and then I thought of you.
The internship made not thinking of you a lot easier, but occasionally the magazine would play music over the speakers. One day “I Want It That Way” came on, and I went to the bathroom and spent too much time resisting the urge to call you.
You called me once when I was in the middle of Trafalgar Square with one of the girls I worked with, and I didn’t answer. I was too afraid of what you would say. Sometimes I think about what would have happened if I had answered the phone.
Two days later you called me again, only this time at two o’clock in the morning. Your words were slurred together, and you told me that you thought about me every time a Stones song came on, and when anyone said anything about Kate Hudson, and when Veronica broke up with you because she knew you didn’t love her. You told me you loved me. And I said, “I know.”
We didn’t talk for the rest of the summer. I was waiting for you to give me some kind of sign that you wanted to talk, but, being so wrapped up in waiting, I didn’t realize that you already had.
AUGUST
On the day I turned twenty-one, I acted like I was perfectly fine, but was secretly yearning for a phone call from you.
My parents called. Alyce tagged me in a post on Instagram. Some of my coworkers texted or Tweeted me. My classmates called to make plans for the evening.
But the one notification that I wanted the most never showed up on my screen.
DECEMBER
Two weeks till Christmas. I walk along the outside of the ice rink in Rockefeller center, watching children fall and couples hold hands, trying to keep each other from falling. An elderly couple sits on a bench a few yards away from me, and I smile at them as I pass. I think of the final scene in Serendipity, and have a temporary urge to go find John Cusack and ask him how he got everything to work out for him. Slivers of snowflakes start to fall, and I thank my past self for deciding to bring a hat with me. It feels colder than it did last winter.
I keep walking, not yet wanting to get in the cab and head back to my apartment. It’s too nice of a night to just ignore it.
Something catches my eye as I turn the corner of 25th and Wilson. The coffee shop I stopped going to last spring has a book store attached to it now, and I try to resist, but I have to at least go see if it’s any good.
The boy at the cash register asks me how I’ve been, and I tell him that I’m good. I order a Chai Tea Latte, and tell him that I’ll be looking at the books until my coffee is ready.
I go straight to the classics, hoping to be comforted by familiarity. I smile as I see it. Catcher in the Rye. I pull it off the shelf and thumb through the pages. It has the smell of an old book, and I’m about to put it back when I hear a laugh coming from behind me. I could recognize that laugh anywhere.
“At least you’re not sniffing glue.” I hear the smile in your voice, and I turn around. You notice the book in my hand and nod. “Good choice.”
“You should get it.” I tell you, “I’ve heard some crazy stuff about this book.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, someone told me that when the guy who shot John Lennon was caught, he was reading this book. And the guy who tried to kill Ronald Reagan had this book in his room.”
“What a coincidence,” you smile. “I’ve heard the exact same thing.”
The boy brings out my latte, and I set the book back on the shelf. “Do you want to sit down?”
“I might as well,” you say.
I tell you that my name’s Corey, and that I’m not named after any of my relatives. My parents had just seen Empire Records the day before I was born and thought it was cool to give girls names usually meant for boys. I tell you about London, about how I shamelessly listened to The Clash and actually enjoyed the everlasting rain. You tell me you got an internship working with National Geographic, and that you never should’ve dated that girl over the summer. I tell you that I tried to go on a date with a guy from school, but his favorite song was “Wonderwall.” You laugh and tell me you’re glad I got out of that one.
I tell you I’m glad too. You ask me how senior year is going, and I tell you I’m afraid of being one of those people who peaks in college. You say that that’s impossible, and you tell me that in the summer you’re going to Venice.
I tell you to bring a lifejacket.
You tell me that you’re thinking of bringing two.
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Maybe: I asked if you suspected me of murder, and ….
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I absolutely love this story Jenna! You do have a way of making your stories come to life. I like how the characters both waited for each other but still continued their lives and in the end they finally got on the same page. Great Job!
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I am such a big fan of your writing. You are a magical being who is able to fully capture whatever you are thinking and put it on the page. I don’t have any comments about editing or revisions. There were a couple places with awkward wording but Dr. Pickard picked up on that.
Overall YAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSS it’s beautiful. I love it.
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Jenna! I really did love this story. I love how you wrote this almost like it’s a letter to this guy from the narrator or perhaps like she’s reflecting on the past in a conversation with him. I also like how it’s separated into different months so that the reader fully senses the passing of time. Overall, loved the plot. Fantastic job!
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I love the reality of this story from the amount of detail you’ve put into every scene. It really gives the reader a sense that the events actually happened. And also putting it in second person makes it feel even more personal. Awesome job.
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