Happy Valentines Day!

Valentine’s Day. It meant nothing to me back then. Its importance only increased from meaningless date to regular date day when I met Luke.

 I never viewed myself as one of those fashion-obsessed, giggling maniacs eyeing every jock and booing the emos, nerds, non-jock types. Seeing Luke, the withdrawn boy who transferred recently made me giggle like them diva zombies. His dirty blond hair hung in a curtain emo style, had this football throwback jersey and held a Guide to Calculus. He looked like Dr Frankenstein turned to fashion instead of monsters. Every girl stared at him like he was dirt, but I stared at him like I stare at horror movies. Drooling. Well, figuratively. Amylase (like the enzyme, yeah) whispered to me, “Kat just look at that loser. He looks like a…an” I shrugged and muttered, “A perfect match.”

Well, Amy tried not to talk to me after that little incident, though she has forgiven me already. I followed, or ‘stalked’ as Sid termed, that “weird tall dude” everywhere. I chose the sane things he ate in the cafeteria. Tried to sit as close as possible to him in every class we shared. The best yet, was hiding behind the dumpster when he walked past (It was a desperate situation then!). Luke finally noticed my noticing though, one day after school.

“You’ve been following me everywhere, doing the things I do. Don’t, it makes me uncomfortable.” Luke muttered when he cornered me after the last bell rung. We were the only ones left in class. He tried not to look into my eyes as he said it. I blushed, turning redder than prissy Miss parker’s Ferrari. He glanced at my expression and grinned, showing not-so-white white teeth. I returned the favor and smiled crookedly, grinding my teeth in a wave. I stammered an apology, but Luke shushed me and said, with embarrassment, “We can be friends. For now. Then you can mimic me however you want…Katherine?” I nodded faintly at his guessing my name correctly. He left the classroom quickly, leaving me standing there like a red London telephone booth until Amy found me there ten minutes later.

Luke was reluctantly accepted into my circle of loners, a paradox yes, but no one cares except the grammar Nazis or vocabulary nerds or whatever. Six became seven. Kat, Amy, Sid, Fred, Grace, Heather and Luke. A lucky number I felt, but my girlfriends thought otherwise.

“I don’t know what you see in him Kat.”

“He’s so creepy the way he looks at us sometimes!”

“Can’t we boot him out and call it a day?”

I rebuffed their comments with the same answer I now always use to skeptics on my relationship. The blunt yet dreamy sentence of, “Luke is just, so, COOOOLL!” Everyone gave up by then. Luke started to change once he entered our Loner’s Circle.

He started wearing red and black outfits, my favorite colors. He wore different hoodies of various colors when red and black ran scarce. He listened to metal and House. All these sudden changes of tastes served to tell me one thing: He changed for me. I went over the top when I realized it. So I readied myself for the next step.

“Luke, I like you. Like, like like you.” I blurted in front of him. In the cafeteria. Full of people in earshot. Everyone started laughing except my friends and Luke. Luke looked at the nearest group of divas, which promptly shut them up, then gazed at me. His brown eyes pierced into my blue-green ones. Like them prison searchlights when looking for an escaped convict. In this case, the searchlights were looking for truth. They must have found truth, for Luke broke out into that grin which always gave me that little thrill and said, “Best news ever. Let’s.” I laughed in joy and hugged the silly boy.

Okay, maybe you’ll start to doubt my story-telling skills but that’s exactly how I remember it. We started going out regularly, since we got two pairs of parents’ approval. We watched movies, cycled, ate, studied, and did everything that could be done together under the sun. We were happy.

“Hey Kat, catch!” yelled Luke as he threw the Frisbee. I caught in, but not before hitting the grass. “I flashed thumbs up to my boyfriend as he rushed forward concernedly. “Nicely done.” he praised as he helped me up. “Perfectly done, you mean.” I retorted. Luke held up both hands in surrender. He was wearing the exact same outfit that day I first saw him, which brought back three month nostalgia back to me. We tossed the Frisbee among one another a few more times until I caught it again and threw it with Luke written on my strength.

The Frisbee soared and landed on the empty road. Luke ran to get it and stopped at the pavement. Left, right and left again as his parents had taught him. He confidently strode towards it and picked it up. He held it aloft like a trophy and called, “Caught it!” Then he flew to the right, Frisbee flung out of his hands.

It didn’t reach me; its target was never me.

My target wasn’t the Frisbee either. Mine was the prone body of my boyfriend lying in front of a dented car.

Two weeks, it had been. Two weeks since the doctors cleared Luke from the operation room and moved him to a public ward. Two weeks Luke had been lying there as if asleep. Two weeks I felt half of me had been torn away. I tried to visit him every day. To sit at his side and hold his hand. To lay a wet cloth on the head I so loved. To tell him I love him and please would he come back. Luke never stirred. Not a flicker or a twitch. Frozen except for the gentle rise and fall of his chest. I envisioned Luke as if he was just taking one of his many power naps. I cried too many times. Repeated his name over and over, hoping to hear mine from his lips. Until 14^th February last year. I was at Luke’s side again, chanting his name as if it was the only word I knew.

“Luke.”

“Luke.”

“Luke.”

“…”

“K...”

“Kat…”

“Luke!”

“Luke.”

“Luke…”

“Katherine.”

He never called me Katherine unless he was trying to say "I love you".