I’m too good for you.
You know that. I know that. Your mom even knows it. The second I walked through her front door, I think she half-expected me to snap my gum with an eye roll or sneer at her greeting. When I pulled her in for a hug, she nearly cried.
You stomped up the steps to your bedroom as I met your siblings downstairs. I knelt to their level and asked them about school, but they just asked me where you were.
Within a week, your room grew familiar — your bed, so close to the ground. We’d argue over which show to watch, and you’d always give in because who doesn’t love Carrie Bradshaw? And when I caught a cough that lasted three weeks, you scowled but still offered me tea and a blanket.
How we made it here, I’ll never know. Perhaps I followed the familiar melody of indifference, danced to the idea that one day, I’d become a singer and write lyrics that’ll change the entire song. But for now, we sit silent in your car at my university, staring at the street lights as you down another beer. We’re parked, but maybe you want the sensation of breaking the law by my side.
I’m too good for you.
I didn’t realize that right away. I didn’t realize it when I first saw your eyes on that dark autumn night; it seemed you were more timid than I with your soft voice. You barely spoke, but you laughed every time I said something stupid, or acted a fool like I always do. You didn’t push me away or narrow your eyes when I accidentally tripped and grabbed onto you for support. In fact, you grinned like we were best friends; and you caught me.
I didn’t realize it that time you forgot to meet your brother at the bus stop. I swore you were about to cry as you tore away from my lips, grabbed your coat, and sprinted out the door with a blotchy face. It was the first time I ever felt like the bad influence.
Now, months later, I’m piecing it together. Your refusal to meet my friends. Your jealousy over the guys in my dorm. Your disappearance each weekend I drive home to see you. All these signs I couldn’t read as you sped past them.
There was a moment when I should’ve realized just how damaged and complicated you were. We were sitting on the couch at your mom’s house, watching a movie using the projector your stepdad set up. You chugged some whiskey then offered me the bottle, knowing I had to drive myself home soon. “I can’t,” I told you, pushing it away.
“But it’s only two,” you said.
“Yeah, and I’d like to be home before my mom wakes up for work.”
“Come on, live a little.” You started kissing me in the family room, but all I could do was taste the alcohol on your breath and pray that your mom wouldn’t happen to walk down the stairs for a glass of water.
When your hands tore off my shirt, I broke away. “Your parents…” I said. “I don’t wanna be disrespectful.”
“They’re not gonna see. They’re asleep. Come on…”
“No, I don’t feel comfortable. We’re totally out in the open and, not to mention, on your family’s couch. I can’t do this here.”
I put my shirt back on just as your older brother opened the front door. I didn’t even know you had an older brother.
You turned your face away from me and stared at the TV, ignoring his existence. “Hi,” I offered. He just continued upstairs. An hour of silence later, I let myself out as you watched from the door.
From that point on, it’s like I couldn’t connect with you.
We couldn’t enjoy one night at movies without you sneaking liquor into the theater and demanding I be the DD, that way you can get wasted and sit through a night alone with me. We couldn’t triple date at the bowling alley without you showing up late and reeking of alcohol, my friends pulling me aside in concern.
And now, apparently, we can’t even be in the same car without you growing bored to death. I bite my lip and ask you why, why can’t we find comfort in the raindrops on the window and kiss to Jimmy Eat World with our seats way back? But you just laugh, because you want tattoos and dark lips, and
I’m too good for you.
It wasn’t always like this. Sure, there were times where I had my doubts. But I remember when my dad shared a secret recipe with you, and you went home and cooked it for your mom. You called me right away, and I could hear your smile through the phone. It was one of the first times I remember you actually getting along with her. I thought maybe you just needed a father figure, and maybe you were coming around.
I remember our first kiss, after an hour of walking through the mall hand-in-hand, getting to know each other and hanging on every word the other said. We walked to your car, and you asked me if it was alright, like you’d never done this before — but we both know I’m on a long list. It didn’t matter to me, though, because you were mine and I was yours; and I had faith in us.
I remember the times where we’d laugh so hard our stomachs would cramp up, like when my roommate walked in on us shirtless or when we ordered half the menu at McDonald’s. I remember you apologizing for the most innocent mistakes, like not offering to walk me to my dorm after dropping me off or accidentally getting gum in my hair while wrestling on my twin bed.
I remember it all, from the day you snuck into my dorm room to ask me out to the very moment you started pulling away. But I held onto you, my knuckles white with desire and the idea of being normal for once, taking risks and purely living. Because surely that’s how it feels to fall in love — it’s never smooth, always a bumpy ride, but the destination is worth it.
There was a night when you came to see me; and I didn’t realize it then, but my love had turned into the need to please you. I chugged a glass of wine before opening the front door and acted a little loopier than I felt. I grabbed your hand and pulled you up to my room, giggling.
Maybe if I gave your lifestyle a chance, I thought, you might see me as a better fit. “Come on, dance with me!” I slurred, twirling around you.
Sitting on my bed, you looked at me like I was some drunken mess you didn’t feel like dealing with. You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms, sighing about where else you could be that night, and who else you could be with. Because why would you waste your night in your girlfriend’s room when she doesn’t even turn you on anymore?
“What are you doing?”
What was I doing?
I was trying to impress someone I never could. I was trying to spark the same interest in you that I did when you first laid eyes on me.
The night we met, you spent hours in your car talking to me on the phone. When I fell asleep on the other end, you shut your eyes in the driver’s seat, cell still in hand, then woke to the sun glaring through the windshield.
So many moments were spent in that car. just sitting there. Just talking. Listening. Learning. Loving. Funny how we’re sitting here now in the same Camry, this time neither of us speaking a word.
We used to play with the radio, and I’d force you to listen to old Taylor Swift songs. Sometimes, you’d even sing along. It was in those moments that I found myself in love. The genuineness of it all was enough to keep me buckled in for the journey, because nothing dangerous could ever make me feel this alive.
But I guess I mistook your intoxication for diffidence, and your lust for love. I guess I’d already smacked my head on the dashboard when I smelled the liquor on your breath, ‘cause it wasn’t enough to send me running. If anything, I want to taste it now more than ever.
So I grab the can, and I chug – and you’ve never looked so in love as you shatter an empty bottle on pavement outside.
Shards of glass pierce my heart.
When did we start moving so fast? And how — how did we crash?
I’m too good for you,
but it’s too late. I’ve already lost myself.
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