Pieces of Max and Rosy

I won’t be able to put everything I want to say into words, but this is a start.

Max was actually my first crush in year 7, but as a geeky eleven-year old, I thought such a heartthrob was way out of my league! He had many different girlfriends then, and looking back on himself, Max admitted sheepishly that he’d been so vain, he’d carried a comb to school to do his hair! We started becoming really close friends in Year 10 when we were sat together at the back of Ms Nicholson’s maths class (perhaps she hoped my studious attitude would rub off on him). Maths certainly became an exciting subject. There was a lot of flirting between us, but as I already had a boyfriend, I just saw Max as a great friend. Later on, he told me that he’d assumed then that he was out of my league!

I remember our first kiss on a wall outside Dash’s house. The 3 of us had been for a drink at the Irish and then ran up Isaac’s road shouting or singing loudly. While Dash went inside Max told me he had something to ask me (he asked first – what a gentleman!).

I remember how for eight months we were on-off, off-on, almost taking it in turns to hurt each other, but always making up. I remember when he went to Mallorca. It was only 2 weeks, but I missed him so much. I was heartbroken when he returned from Mallorca to tell me he’d pulled 2 other girls! I got my revenge within a month, and then we promised to stick together.

I remember regularly staying in bed late, and Max’s attempts to ignore Victoria or Seamus banging on the door telling him to get up! Thank-you Seamus for the times you drove us to school because we were going to be late. On weekends I would lie in bed listening to him on the telephone organising a football match. Or in his kitchen he would stretch the phone cord so he could look in the fridge and organise football at the same time (who says guys can’t multitask?).
I remember countless evenings watching Match-of-the-Day at Isaac’s. Despite my limited interest in the beautiful game (I still don’t reeeeaally understand the off-side rule), I was always comfortable being there with Max, O, Dash, Lou and Ize. And I was always slightly uncomfortable on the way home when Max would saddle me on the back of his bicycle. (It was great having a boyfriend with his own set of wheels.) I guess I had it easy though, since he was doing all the pedalling. I remember all the dinners with Max’s parents and Rachel if she was home. Max’s excessive use of the F-word and his parents’ dislike of it often made mealtimes colourful!

Some nights we went out and I’d come home first. Later he’d climb into bed too, often smelling of beer. I grew to like the smell because it was his. Many nights we’d just get a video and watch it in bed. Usually it was a film about war or gangsters (his choices), but he reckoned ‘Legally Blonde’ and ‘What Women Want’ were actually pretty funny. Some nights I’d leave his house and a moment later he’d call my mobile and we’d talk until he knew I was safely home.

I remember the day we spent on Kho Phan Ngan on our own. He hired a moped and took me to see the oldest and most enormous tree on the island. In Gili Terawangan Max was my nurse when I spent 24 hours between the bed and the bathroom, with vomiting and diarrhoea. He really did take care of me.

One Valentine’s morning the doorbell rang (it was before 9am so it was hardly likely to be Max). There, propped up on the doorstep was a bunch of red roses. I ran to the street but he was nowhere to be seen. He told me after, he’d had his bike waiting round the corner, but I still marvel at how fast he must have run from the front door. When the flowers dried my sentimental mother put all the petals in a bowl. They’re still there.

The day he left for Newcastle we clung to each other in tears and wouldn’t get out of bed (though that was nothing new). Eventually we had to, as he had a train to catch. The first year at uni was especially hard for both of us. Once he came down to Sussex, and we ended the night both in tears, so Louis had to walk me home while Dash took care of Max. I also visited him in Newcastle, in his tiny room on the 8th floor, where he would listen to Dreaming of You by The Coral. (A few months later I heard that song in a shopping centre and started crying.) While in Newcastle, I remember the whole of Max’s building got evacuated and the firemen arrived because a group of us had accidentally set the smoke alarm off (I wonder how…).

I remember the way our arguments usually ended with me in tears and him hugging me. I felt so bad at not being able to control the waterworks, because he couldn’t bear to see me upset without consoling me. I wish he could hug me now.

I remember feeling frustrated with myself at how much time I’d spent doing nothing at Max’s house. But doing nothing with Max was just too appealing.

I remember the funny names he called me.

I remember looking at his face while he was sleeping, trying to picture his features at the age of fifty and work out if he’d be one of those good-looking older men. I remember naming our kids together. I remember how he’d quote his dad by saying it was a pity we hadn’t met when we were a bit older and didn’t feel too young and inexperienced to make a life-long commitment.

I remember our last kiss, out side my house a few months ago, just before he left for Cadiz the first time. It was ironic because we’d spent the entire evening talking about our new love-interests! Afterwards I cried in drunken confusion because I still loved him.

Our relationship changed so much over the years. We never had an anniversary. There was no start date. It just was. It felt like there was no end date either. No matter what happened between Max and me, I didn’t doubt that we’d be there for each other. There were pieces of each other we knew so well. It was an unconditional love, like the kind you have with your family, that’s always there, even when you’re far away, or you’re arguing, or you’re rebelling from it.

It may not have been a perfect love (I doubt there is such a thing), and Max was not an angel (unless he was a fallen one), and I wasn’t an angel to him. But it was ours. It’s so hard accepting the fact that no matter what happens now, we won’t be getting back together. It’s so hard accepting the fact that everything we shared together is now only mine to remember.

I love you Max, I always will.