Gabriel

His photo is still on my wall. I tell my friends it's because he looks so funny with that cute pout and the braids falling over his face, but then I think 'Who am I kidding?' It's been four months and his photo is still there.

He's wearing a wine red t-shirt and I remember watching him across the low table, the evening wind howling outside the hut. Nobody ever notices the small things going on, but I do, and I see the way he's trying to catch his ex-girlfriend's eye. The way he keeps calling her name, and then staring straight at her, it's so embarrassingly
obvious, I think 'Oh Lord. He's got it bad'.

But the girl. Total ice queen. Miss Frigidaire, what have you. She doesn't even bat an eyelid. With her honey clear skin and deep brown eyes, she looks hot, and boy does she know it. She dumped him, obviously, and he's not over her, obviously.

So it's no surprise to me when he comes over and sits next to me, flirting loud enough for her to hear. I play along, at first for his sake, and then just for the hell of it, thinking no one would notice or care, except maybe May, who gives me the look of death when he touches my cheek.
May, being the faithful type, expects me to be the same, but then again her boyfriend is right there next to her, while Ben is a seven hour bus ride away and hasn't called me in four days (four days?!). And I wasn't cheating on him: flirting half-heartedly with a guy who's just trying to win his ex back doesn't count, right?

But then one day I'm lying on the rug reading a script for some play I want to audition for, he comes over and asks me what I'm doing on. I look up, search for his ex, but she's not around, which throws me off guard, and I'm thinking 'What?'. But I realise I'm being paranoid and he's just being nice the way he is to everyone, and I don't know him, and for God's sake can't a guy even talk to me without my assuming he wants to get into my pants? What's got into me lately?

Five minutes later, he's lying on the rug next to me, and we're reading out the script to each other. He's funny with his heavy Spanish accent, and our faces are close enough just so, and Ben doesn't even enter my thoughts. My mind is triumphantly squeaking 'See? It is possible to have innocent, harmless fun with a guy who's not your boyfriend!'

I want to ask him about his ex, maybe hint that he stands no chance, buddy, but then he hands me his camera, one of those professional ones with all the screws and buttons, and I fall in love.
With the camera, I mean.
He shows me how to focus and change the lens and so many weird things I can no longer remember, and in doing so he has to put his chin on my shoulder and his hands over mine as I lift it up to photograph the view from the window, but he tells me the light is too weak. So we go outside.

Ben has pudgy white fingers, and he tends to slur on his R's and lisp when he's tired, but I used to think it was cute. Then the R's got irritating and I started to notice how, when I'd curl my ankle around his foot under the table, he no longer responded.

I find myself walking with Gabriel along the silver shore. It's a grey, windy afternoon, the sun is tucked in behind the rain clouds, as the waves comes crashing in. I'm clicking the camera like a maniac, photographing my toes, the white foam of the waves, an old fishing boat, Gabriel's smile.
I'm making ridiculous small talk, giggling like a twelve-year old high on cough syrup, but Gabriel stays silent. Then he stops walking, and just stares straight at me. I get a little nervous by the way his eyes penetrate me, and I squeak "What? What's wrong?" Gabriel pauses for a moment, still staring, then he breaks into a smile and says "Nothing. You look pretty, that's all."

The line completely floors me and I have three voices screaming in my head: the first screams 'Pretty? The least you could do is call me beautiful, asshole!', the second screams 'That is such a line! He is so fake, I don't buy it!', the third voice just screams 'BEN!!'.

But then I hesitate. You see, if he'd called me beautiful or breathtaking, I'd have believed the second voice in me and played it off. But he called me pretty. You know that famous line from 'Uncle Vanya': 'When a woman's not beautiful, they say you have beautiful eyes, beautiful hair'? Well, that's how I am. People have told me I have a great personality and amazing teeth so many times I've stopped thinking 'Gee thanks, what about the rest of me?'.

Hell, the closest Ben got to a compliment was telling me I was a 'great girl'. Well. But then he blew it by telling me I was the biggest girl he'd ever dated. Biggest? I'm tall, but no one ever called me big, at least not to my face. I'm no Jennifer Anniston, but by the way he talks about her, Ben's ex probably is. And this guy Gabriel, that I barely
know, calls me pretty. And his crystal green eyes, they mean it. I think of my chocolate hair falling over my face in the wind, my striped purple shirt over my tiny shorts, my bitten nails and my pink nose, and I wonder 'Pretty?!'

Now we walk in a different kind of silence, since I've shut up big time and have completely lost my voice.

One day I was getting ready for my usual Nothing-Special-Date with Ben, which meant nothing fancy that he'd have to pay for, since he felt I wasn't worth his money. So I was getting dressed, pulling on my favourite jeans, except they didn't fit anymore and the buttons wouldn't close. I sat on the floor of my bathroom and cried for no
particular reason, hoping maybe the tears would lose me some weight fast. And then, when they didn't, I lifted the toilet seat and tried to do the most degrading, sickening thing a girl can do to herself. Just because I knew I wasn't worth it.

The water's really cold, I sneeze, and this guy thinks I'm pretty.
I notice that we're heading towards his tent at the end of the bay, and once we reach it, I know our walk will have to come to an end, but I don't want it to. So I kinda slow down, playing with my hair and talking nonsense again (I'm really good at it). Gabriel is still silent, and his silence reminds me of 'Pretty' and I blush, but he doesn't notice, thank God.

We're walking towards a girl sitting on the tip of the shore. She's wearing a red swimsuit and overall shorts, her black hair is tied back firmly and she looks fifteen. But I know she's twenty two, 'cause I recognise her as a friend of Ben's, and I think 'Oh Boy'. But then again, what do I have to lose? She's a sweet girl, and she can tell just by looking at us that there's really nothing going on, but go ahead, tell Ben, see if I care. See if he cares.

Ben always knew when I was trying to make him jealous, and he insisted that it didn't work on him. I felt like an idiot, dancing with other guys, flirting with his friends, while he sat there, shaking his head at me, not feeling jealous.
Call me old fashioned, but if you're not feeling jealous, then you're not feeling.

Gabriel stops to talk to her, she smiles Hello at me, and I grow impatient and somewhat jealous. I want to keep on walking, keep on keeping him to myself, but they're still talking and a voice inside me says 'Damn! So he is nice to everyone. Not just me.'

Eventually, I give up waiting and I tell him I'm going back. He doesn't stop me, I smile at the girl, and incidently she is the same girl that, four months later, I saw Ben hanging at the prom with. Being his usual leech self, Ben stuck onto her arm and the poor girl looked miserable. I hoped so hard that they're not dating, for my sake as well as for hers, because, yes, after everything that has happened, I still get jealous.

In the evening, after we've eaten dinner, he's still watching his ex. But then. Later on, something weird happens. When she's gone back to her hut, he comes and sits next to me, while the rest play charades. He rests his head on my cushion and watches me sleeping. I know this because I wasn't sleeping, only pretending to, and when I open my eyes, he's there, so close, crystal green eyes and his lips are pink. For a brief moment, neither of us blink, neither of us speak, instead we watch each other. Then he smiles. That moment is in my head like a photograph. Just like Gabriel, I don't understand it, but I definitely enjoy it.

A week later, back home, Ben picked me up with Chris and we all went to my favourite pizza place. Ben laughed at me when I chose what sounded like a great deli sandwich and turned out to be a miserable slice of cheese over butter on French loaf, while he swallowed his third slice of steaming vegetarian pizza. I remember thinking 'Thank God, everything is back to normal again'. And in the car ride home, I sat in the back, and he reached out and took my hand in his. I watched the way our fingers played and I got that numb feeling again, then I thought 'But 'normal' shouldn't mean 'nothing', right?'

The night before we leave, there's a big party in one of the huts, but I'm not in the mood. I take one look at the impossibly huge joints this Croatian guy is rolling and the rows of Black Label they've got lined up, and I just want my book, my bed and the midnight sky. Gabriel sees me standing up and tells me he's coming too. I kinda expected it since I discovered lately that he's one of those strict, conservative types
when it comes to drugs and alcohol, which is something really new to me.

Ben gets drunk at least twice a week and smokes up every Friday, which I'm used to, although it doesn't mean I like it. I regret Ben. I regret letting him have his way with me, play with me, bounce me around like a rubber ball, but I'm no rubber, and I bruised every time he touched me.

So we're in my hut and my roommate Anya is telling us about her adventures in Norway last summer. He's lying on my mattress (MY mattress) and I sit next to him, hugging my knees and smiling at the thought that Anya has no idea what's going on between us, but then neither do I.

He lets us braid his mouse blond hair and I take a photo of him pouting in that oh-so-cute way. Then he insists on my giving him a massage because his back hurts, but he tells me I'm doing it all wrong so I ask him to show me and he says "Lie down."

Anya's stopped talking and I know she's noticed something. His hands are on the small of my back, his fingers are tracing upwards vertebrae by vertebrae, till he reaches my neck. Then his hands slide over my shoulders, I'm not wearing a bra, and I know he knows I know, his hands knead my muscles like bread, and I let out a sigh so heavy, Anya bursts out laughing and the tension is broken.

The three of us are snuggled under the covers (on MY mattress). I'm in the middle, Anya's still talking, I'm watching the candle flame flicker over his face and trying so hard not to curl my ankle around his. Our toes are so close, and there's something in the air and I wish Anya would go to sleep, but she won't stop talking.

It's getting late and when he asks if he can crash here, I'm surprised, because this is not like him, but the wind outside is freezing cold and I don't want him to leave and sleep in his miserable little tent.
But then Anya suddenly develops morals and tells him it's not possible and when he gets up and leaves, there's an empty, warm space beside me and I'm seriously contemplating murder.

I should have known then. I should have picked up on the signs. It takes an idiot not to realize that if a complete stranger can turn me on just by playing with my back, and floor me just by calling me pretty, if I feel like a sex-starved housewife coming on t the postman, something is seriously wrong with my relationship. I guess I was an idiot.

When I saw him again, it was on the morning of my philosophy final which I hadn't read for, and I was walking in a daze of hysteria and fervent praying. He was coming towards me, tall and cute in a loose white t shirt and baggy jeans (Oh, Ben and your repulsive belly!). He saw me, and even at a distance, I could see the smile spread out on his face. I wanted to run into his arms and hug him real hard, but there
was some other guy with him, and I didn't want to embarrass myself anymore (I'd had enough humiliation in the past three days).

When he asked what I was up to and where I was heading, my eyes pleaded him to ask me about Ben. I was dying to say "Haven't you heard? We just broke up! I'm free at last!" and then see if his smile would grow. But he didn't ask. Come to think of it, he never had. It got me wondering, what if he never knew about Ben in the first place? What he had flirted with me because he'd assumed I was single? All along, I figured it was safe: he didn't really want me, I didn't really want him. I believed us to be partners in crime, each helping the other to regain what he had lost: him his ex-girlfriend, and I...what had I lost?

One day, Ben and I were making out in his car, when I pulled back and
said something that freaked us both out. I said "I love you baby, that's the only reason why I'm still here". He swore out loud, and pulled away; I had used the dreaded L-word, and he couldn't handle it.

Now when I think about it, I wonder 'Only reason? Loving him is the only reason?! Shouldn't there be something more to keep me going? Shouldn't it be because his eyes turn green in the four o'clock sun, because his lashes curl against his cheek when he lies sleeping beside me, because of his gut laugh and moronic sense of humour, his two-day fuzzy beard and old leather jacket smelling of Old Spice, because he makes me feel young and sweet and light as air, beautiful and so
bright, the sun turned pale? Now, by being with him, the question I needed most to answer was 'What had I lost?'

And when we've piled the bags into the trunk and squashed ourselves into the van, Gabriel stands at my window and says goodbye, equally nice to all of us, Goddamn him, and then, just as the van pulls out of the parking lot, he looks at me, straight at me, green eyes and all, and I think of 'Pretty'.

When I showed Ben and Chris the photos over at the pizza place, he looked at the shot of Gabriel in red one second too long but said nothing. Damn. It would have been less painful if he'd said anything.
Anything.
Just some sign that there's still an ounce of human feeling left inside of him.
Then he got to a photo Gabriel had taken of me with my head flung back, laughing happily at the camera, eyes shining like little stars, looking really funny and cute. Ben took one look at the photo, and then just cast it aside, his eyes telling me I bored him.
That ripped my lungs apart. Gabriel had called me pretty. And my boyfriend, the one I'm supposed to love, wouldn't even look at me when I laughed.

Later, much later, when I was dancing at the prom, looking hot in a little black nothing, seeing Ben leeching onto the overall girl, I felt jealous. Not of her, but of him. I didn't want him to move on before I did, I didn't want him to have life before I could piece mine back together again.

Later on, I went back to the coast, sat outside the hut and watched the ocean. I did a lot of thinking, mostly about Ben, but Gabriel kept sneaking in. I found myself missing him. Regretting the fact that I hadn't let anything happen between us.

Sometimes I wish I had cheated on Ben, instead of remaining the stupid, faithful dog I had been to a boy who had stopped loving me the moment we got together, a boy who made me miserable with or without him. A boy who left me feeling fat, ugly and unwanted because he couldn't love me for myself, and to this day, even when I'm in a little string bikini walking past a group of boys who whistle and call me
baby, and my best friends tell me I'm beautiful, I look in the mirror and I feel like the picture that Ben just flicked aside without a further glance.

That's why Gabriel's photo is still on my wall. Because every time I look at him, I remember the green eyes, his hands on my vertebrae and 'Pretty'. I think back to that moment, see myself with the hair in my eyes and the grin, the flannel shirt sliding over my tanned shoulder, my little toes hidden in the sand and my shriek as the waves spray me with foam. I think back and then I say "By God, Gabriel, you were right."