I fell in love with a memory, once. Circumstances change, fade, multiply and diminish, but certain memories burn into the heart and head forever.

She wasn’t beautiful, not in the sense that men’s heads turned to stare, not beautiful in the sense that as for make-up and eye-liner, she didn’t care; she was an acquired taste, a gentle wine set to grow in flavor and texture; life-long beauty.

She was wholesome. Not in the ‘never touch a drop of liquor’ way, but in the gentle smile and ready comment; balance and fortitude seemed to fit her demeanor, as well as poise.

But she’d always take my hand and welcome me to class, whether it be one of the few times I’d attend seminary or the first day in journalism. And as always, she cared. Not too many people care these days, and this was a person who’d talk to a person to find the person inside.

So we talked, and grew, finding dualities in personalities, small catechisms we’d recite, peaceful routines that spelled comfort and familiarity. And for every tap against my chest when she smiled at me, I’d smile and nod to myself, isn’t so.

And then the dance began, the gentle dance that follows high school. Boy meets girl, boy and girl move through the mindless motions, does he like me? does she like me? before the inevitable strikes, and either clanging bells or the sound of ripping paper attach to the couple in question.

The gyms are loud and noisy these days, during dances. In the movies and teen magazines it’s peaceful, the soft speakers spilling romantic music over the airwaves. The partners move in unison, their bodies finding patterns indecipherable to outsiders, and the slow, awkward movements of a high school dance step become the waltz of a sixteenth-century ball.

I’d avoid her, of course. Too cool, too calm, too collected, too comfortable with my own prowess on the dance floor and with the huddled groups of boys in the room to ever bother with the nonsense of a forceful sweeping-away. And so I’d talk, and walk, and slowly move closer, always keeping firm track of her position in my mind, all the better to find her for the next dance, if I didn’t again walk away.

And of course, the moment. The chance to talk, chat, listen and respond, the opportunity to stand close enough to feel her heartbeat, the moment in time in which all emotions, all decisions and shallow thought fade to a small light at the back of the mind.

That is no emotion, that is no feeling; that is reacting.

Too often the dates of high school students become cheapened to harmless glimpses into an adult life or the fumbling in the backseat for quick fulfillment; I never dated her. To take something so pure and untouchable as a hopeless crush and slowly twist every facet of its identity; that is the death of self.

And then, for prom, the epitome of popularity, materialism, and high school romance, I didn’t ask her. It’s difficult to describe the feelings that accompany the enjoyment of a relationship better served in a reality removed from pavement and stop signs, and it’s more difficult to imagine the lack of the roll of dice.

And something so perfect and honest and free, something so intangible but tastable, must always falter, miss a beat. The CD will always skip if played for too long.

Her mother, of course, contracted an illness. Quite serious, with the hospital visits and constant medications, quite deadly with the eventuality and brutality of the crime. And so, this girl cried.

I sat in my chair, letting the glow of the computer screen wash away the scene of tragedy playing out behind me, and I sat in my chair, refusing to leave for fear of hurting self.

Not knowing that in hurting others, the scars mark the owner.

If I could change one moment, one decision, one tiny tick of the second hand, I would walk over to her and gently lean her head against my shoulder, feel her heartbeat against my chest, and cry with her.

Instead, I cry alone.

And when I saw her again, months later, the pendulum spinning back and forth with the accuracy of an arrow, I avoided her, dancing away again, is this my place? to her, how are you? and away again, back in a minute.

I held her for a moment, and said, “I wanted to take you to prom.”

“I wanted more than anything for you to take me.”

I fell in love with a memory, once.