The only thing that’s not fair are these tapes, Hannah, because I was there for you. We were talking. You could have said anything. I would have listened to absolutely anything.
The couple sitting beside us on the couch, the girl was drunk and laughing and bumping into me every so often. Which was funny at first, but it got old real fast.
Why isn’t Hannah saying her name?
I started to think maybe she wasn’t so drunk after all. Maybe it was all a show for the guy she was talking with…when they were actually talking. Maybe she wanted the couch all to herself and her guy.
So Clay and I left.
We walked around the party, shouting over the music wherever we went. Eventually-successfully-I spun the conversation around. No more big and heavy topics. We needed to laugh. But everywhere we went it was too noisy to hear each other.
So we wound up in the doorway to an empty room.
I remember everything that happened next. I remember it perfectly. But how does she remember it?
While we were standing there, our backs against the doorframe, drinks in hand, we couldn’t stop laughing.
And yet the loneliness I entered the party with came rushing back.
But I wasn’t alone. I knew that. For the first time in a long time, I was connecting-connected-with another person from school. How in the world was I alone?
You weren’t. Hannah, I was there.
Because I wanted to be. That’s all I can say. It’s all that makes sense to me. How many times had I let myself connect with someone only to have it thrown back in my face?
Everything seemed good, but I knew it had the potential to be awful. Much, much more painful than the others.
There was no way that was going to happen.
So there you were, letting me connect with you. And when I couldn’t do that anymore, when I pulled the conversation to lighter topics, you made me laugh. And you were hilarious, Clay. You were exactly what I needed.
So I kissed you.
No, I kissed you, Hannah.
A long and beautiful kiss.
And what did you say when we came up for air? With the cutest, littlest, boyish smirk, you asked, “What was that for?”
Right. You kissed me.
To which I said, “You’re such an idiot.” And we kissed some more.
An idiot. Yes, I remember that, too.
Eventually we shut the door and moved deeper into the room. We were on one side of the door. And the rest of the party, with its loud but muffled music, was on the other.
Amazing. We were together. That’s what I kept thinking the whole time. Amazing. I had to concentrate so hard to keep that word from spilling out of my mouth.
Some of you may be wondering, How come we never heard about this? We always found out who Hannah made out with.
Because I never told.
Wrong. You only thought you found out. Haven’t you been listening? Or did you only pay attention to the tape with your name on it? Because I can count on one hand-yes, one hand-how many people I’ve made out with. But you, you probably thought I’d need both hands and both feet just to get started, right?
What’s that? You don’t believe me? You’re shocked? Guess what…I don’t care. The last time I cared what anyone thought about me was that night. And that was the last night.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and lean forward. I clasp my hand over my mouth and squeeze to keep from screaming.
But I do scream, the sound dampened in the palm of my hand.
And Tony keeps driving.
Now get comfortable, because I’m about to tell you what happened in that room between Clay and me. Are you ready?
We kissed.
That’s it. We kissed.
I look down at my lap, at the Walkman. It’s too dark to see the spindles behind the plastic window, pulling the tape from one side to the other, but I need to focus on something, so I try. And concentrating on the spot where the two spindles should be is the closest I get to looking into Hannah’s eyes as she tells my story.
It was wonderful, both of us lying on the bed. One of his hands resting on my hip. His other arm cradling my head like a pillow. Both of my arms hugging him, trying to pull him closer. And speaking for myself, I wanted more.
That’s when I said it. That’s when I whispered to her, “I’m so sorry.” Because inside, I felt so happy and sad at the same time. Sad that it took me so long to get there. But happy that we got there together.
The kisses felt like first kisses. Kisses that said I could start over if I wanted to. With him.
But start over from what?
And that’s when I thought of you, Justin. For the first time in a long time, I thought of our first kiss. My real first kiss. I remembered the anticipation leading up to it. I remembered your lips pressed against mine.
And then I remembered how you ruined it.
“Stop,” I told Clay. And my hands stopped pulling him in.
You pushed your hands against my chest.
Could you feel what I was going through, Clay? Did you sense it? You must have.
No. You hid it. You never told me what it was, Hannah.
I shut my eyes so tight it was painful. Trying to push away all that I was seeing in my head. And what I saw was everyone on this list…and more. Everyone up to that night. Everyone who caused me to be so intrigued by Clay’s reputation-how his reputation was so different from mine.
No, we were the same.
And I couldn’t help that. What everyone thought of me was out of my control.
Clay, your reputation was deserved. But mine…mine was not. And there I was, with you. Adding to my reputation.
But it wasn’t like that. Who was I going to tell, Hannah?
“Stop,” I repeated. This time I moved my hands under your chest and pushed you away. I turned to the side, burying my face in the pillow.
You started to talk, but I made you stop. I asked you to leave. You started to talk again and I screamed. I screamed into the pillow.
And then you stopped talking. You heard me.
The bed lifted on your side as you got up to leave the room. But it took you forever to leave, to realize that I was serious.
I was hoping you’d tell me to stop again. To stop leaving.
Even though my eyes remained shut, buried in the pillow, the light changed when you finally opened the door. It grew brighter. Then it faded again…and you were gone.
Why did I listen? Why did I leave her there? She needed me and I knew that.
But I was scared. Once again, I let myself get scared.
And then I slid off the bed and down to the floor. I just sat there beside the bed, hugging my knees…and crying.
That, Clay, is where your story ends.
But it shouldn’t have. I was there for you, Hannah. You could have reached out but you didn’t. You chose this. You had a choice and you pushed me away. I would have helped you. I wanted to help you.
You left the room and we never spoke again.
Your mind was set. No matter what you say, it was set.
In the hallways at school, you tried catching my eye, but I always looked away. Because that night, when I got home, I tore a page from my notebook and wrote down one name after another after another. The names in my head when I stopped kissing you.
There were so many names, Clay. Three dozen, at least.
And then…I made the connections.
I circled your name first, Justin. And I drew a line from you to Alex. I circled Alex and drew a line to Jessica, bypassing names that didn’t connect-that just floated there-incidents all by themselves.
My anger and frustration with all of you turned to tears and then back to anger and hate every time I found a new connection.
And then I reached Clay, the reason I went to the party. I circled his name and drew a line…back. Back to a previous name.
It was Justin.
In fact, Clay, soon after you left and shut the door…that person reopened it.
On Justin’s tape, the first tape, she said his name would reappear. And he was at that party. On the couch with Jessica.