Valentine's Day: Pt. I

As the opening credits lit up the screen (basically, a sheet hung between two trees), Astrid came back from her popcorn trip with a bottle of champagne.

"I strongly doubt that’s popcorn. Or sold at the concession stand,” I noted as she took a sip.

“I have my sources for obtaining alcohol.”

“I’m beginning to see this,” I didn’t dare question. Some things were better left up to mystery.

“Have some,” she said passing me the bottle.

“Well isn’t this classy: two teenagers sitting at a walk-in drinking champagne from the bottle,” I downed a gulp, “By the way, why champagne?”

“Wine isn’t my thing. Plus, it’s a special night!”

“And why is that?”

Under the blue light of the movie, she smiled with something I couldn’t quite name.

“It’s Valentine’s Day, why of course!”

That something was obviously crazy.

"It’s nowhere near February, Astrid Dearest. I believe it’s time to take the alcohol away.”

“Why does it need to be February to celebrate love? And why can’t we drink champagne on some random night without a meaning! Days are special because we make them so. And tonight I deem special!” she toasted the night air with the bottle and drank.

Love…The word hung in the air, the four letters stretching and morphing into something much bigger than I could possibly pronounce, much less understand.

“What is love, even?”

Astrid sighed, taking in the question. She passed me the bottle with a sad smile and said, “A lie, but one that should be celebrated. What other lie has spread so far and wide and been accustomed by so many people? For some, it engulfs their lives and well-beings. Love is the embodiment of the power of lying. Something so great and powerful must be celebrated. It does, after all, make people happy for some time.”

“Right,” I swished the champagne in my mouth and let the alcohol fill the gaps and holes in my thoughts. As it slid down my throat with a slight burn, I found the holes bigger and more nagging than before.

“You asked me if I had ever been in love,” I said, oddly confident, “But you never said whether or not you were.”

“Buy into the lie? Sorry, I don’t conform.”

I kept my gaze focused on her, knowing her words weren’t true. Something in the unusual clarity of her voice and the way she was intently focused on her nails gave me reason to doubt.

“Once,” she admitted, “I guess. I was fifteen… it was stupid. It doesn’t even count. I mean, he obviously didn’t think that I was worth his time. You don’t forget people who are worth your time,” with shaking hands, she fumbled for her flask. When she pulled it out, she flung the metal container aside with a clunk and laid back. Even she knew alcohol couldn’t fix memories.

“I doubt he forgot you,” I said, lying next to her. The warmth of her fingers burned my own.

“He did. I saw him about a year after he stopped calling. I smiled and said his name. He looked right at me and asked who I was.”

Without thought, my fingers intertwined with hers. For a long while, we simply laid in the grass with the movie as background noise to our overwhelming thoughts.