Stars in New York City
Welcome to our column written by Managing Editor Caitlyn Mae Araña, called Catching Up With Caitlyn. Through letters, she addresses the trials and tribulations that come with learning and growing as a 20-something.
This semester, she will be focusing on one particular narrative that has impacted her over the years, although not all articles will be about this one situation. So, tune in for your weekly dose of drama and strap in ladies and gents… Nothing is off limits here.
Dear Jacob*,
“You’re still leaving. You said that you didn’t want to be together back in December because of that, but now you do. What’s going to happen when you leave?” Out of all the thoughts rushing through my head when you asked me to be your girlfriend, this was number one. This was the one that I asked you.
You said, “We’ll figure it out.”
Truthfully, that was all I needed to hear. I just needed to know that you were going to be putting in the effort. The first few weeks of our relationship went well. We were together almost every single night—basically up until the next morning—and it was almost surreal. We’d see a movie with your best friend and his then-girlfriend, or watch One Tree Hill (which I got you into). We celebrated my graduation. We celebrated your birthday. You even went to Philly with my family, which by the way, we kind of just don’t talk about you being in those family photos now.
I know I’m listing all of the perfect times, rushing through them, as if to fit some agenda where I am only writing bad things about you. But, don’t worry. I still want to remember all the good things. I still do remember. Because the good things were great—it’s just that the bad things hurt in ways that cast a shadow over everything that was great.
So, fine. Let’s get into the time that you first (in that relationship) told me you loved me. You know that I love this story, and I know that it can feel a little personal. But on this night, I was a lot happier than I was every other night. I don’t remember all the details of that night, but I remember almost all the details of that moment. I remember it being late, sometime between the hours of 10pm and 3am, and we were going through the Checkers drive-thru. You ordered for us both, and after refusing to let me pay (which always irritated me), we drove up to the next window where we’d receive our food. We waited, and it felt like time was moving slowly, contrary to the music on the radio that had an upbeat tempo. You took the food from the worker and passed it over to me. I remember the music being very fast, and you might’ve lowered it or maybe not, but it was quieter. Then, you told me you loved me. Mid-pass of a large coke or ginger ale, you told me that you loved me.
I remember pausing, putting the soda down, and then facing forward. I didn’t look at you. And it’s not because I didn’t love you. It’s not because it was awkward for me to say those words. Because, in fact, I did love you, and it wasn’t awkward for me at all. It was more that I was scared to say it and mean it. I wanted to make sure that this was going to be the last time that I would have to let you back in. I wanted to make sure that we weren’t moving too fast towards our inevitable breakdown. But, wow, I loved you, and so I told you that I did.
All of our happy moments seem to blur together, but all the times together that broke me and tore away at my soul seem to perfectly align in my memory, stored away in safe-keeping for times like this.
There was a night where I remember looking at you while you were driving, and I looked up at the sky. In New York, I saw stars. You know how big of a deal stars are to me. And I just remember smiling. I couldn’t stop. I felt my chest tightening and my stomach dropping over and over again. I remember that being the moment that changed everything. I was happy. There are no words to describe how elated I was in that moment, and yet, I don’t even remember what day that was, where we were going, or anything else about it.
I remember being places with you and how it made me feel. I remember eating breakfast with you and your sister, but I think I mostly remember it because it was the first time I began wearing false lashes. I remember going to our middle school parking lot and having a quasi-water fight with whatever water bottles were in the car. I remember feeling happy and comfortable in those moments, but I don’t remember anything else.
But then, there is the bad stuff. What I remember is when we didn’t see each for days before we broke up. What I remember is how we would constantly argue over the phone about absolutely nothing. What I remember is wondering if you ever actually loved me. What I remember is constantly being on edge, not wanting to say the wrong thing. What I remember is toxicity. Of course, there’s always something worse, right? It’s not like you would ever force me to stay in a relationship where I wasn’t happy, and you would never dare put your hands on me. But it was still toxic, and while the 12-year-old me, and hell, maybe even the 16-year-old me, would’ve thrived off of the drama, I wasn’t in the relationship for drama or to play any games anymore. I wasn’t in the relationship to prove something to anyone else. I wasn’t in the relationship for any other reason than the fact that I wanted to be with you. And you thought otherwise.
So, as much as I’d love to recap on all the amazing times we had, every time we laughed, every time we talked about our future together, or every time we told each other that we loved one another, I’d much rather talk about how everything we thought we knew about the future didn’t happen. I want to talk about how we failed so miserably that I had to go on and make a column dedicated to it. I want to talk about how my experience with you broke me down—so much that I had to force myself to completely rebuild who I was based on my own standards—on my own time.
And, so that’s what I did.
Only Love,
Caitlyn Mae
*Names have been changed to maintain integrity