I remember the first time you told me about your friends toy helicopter. You looked about eight years old as you told the story, eyes wide and full of excitement. It was like a breath of fresh air. It made me think you actually had a personality underneath that drone like demeanor. That was the first time I thought I could like you.
I wanted to get you that toy helicopter for your birthday, but thought it would be doing too much. So I got you Jameson instead. Alcohol is always “safe”. You surprised me by celebrating at Malibu like you were turning 10 instead of 30. I saw you laugh, and play. It made me smile. It made me happy. That was the second time I thought I could like you.
And then it was December, the week before Christmas to be exact. After passing by the same kiosk three times at the mall I bought you that helicopter. I was so excited to give it to you because I knew you’d like it. But I did’t want to give it to you because I thought you’d think I liked you. Besides, we both know you didn’t deserve it. So. I left it in the trunk of my car, neatly wrapped in silver and blue wrapping paper. I even put a bow on it. I thought about walking back and getting it, but my stubbornness got in the way.
I remember at the time, I was glad that it did. Because when I walked into your apartment, I saw a black helicopter sitting on your desk. I won’t lie. As relieved as I was, my heart sank a little.
“You actually bought a helicopter?” I asked, making it sound like a silly thing to do.
“Fuck yeah I did,” you replied as if it was a silly question to ask.
And that was the third time I thought I could like you. It was definitely the first time I realized that I cared more than I should. You know, I really wish I had told you this back then. No, I mean ALL of this. No, I mean MORE than this. Back when I only thought I could like you. That way I would’ve been over it by now, and it wouldn’t have dragged on for so long.
But most of all, I really wish I had just given you that fucking toy helicopter.