Backspace

• Kat Foran, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2011

I can’t retract the words I said, and make it so that I never said them. Life has no backspace key. So I try to make you understand what I actually meant. It’s different from what I said. Those words were mistakes, said in a hurry. Unthinkingly stupid, now beyond my control.
But you only hear those words.
These words, now, don’t matter. You think you know how I feel, what I’m thinking. Even if I screamed out, you would still walk away.
I guess that’s okay. After all, wouldn’t I do the same thing?
Is it wrong that I feel sad over my own mistakes? Would you tell me that? Would you ever turn around to tell me that?
The distance stretches between us. Somehow, no distance can ever be greater between two people than one caused by misunderstanding. Because the heart is still there, I really do still care – even if you will never acknowledge it and know. I’ve tried other words to explain, but they fall into that insurmountable distance and fade. Useless. Unheard. Does it matter that I said them? Does it matter that I really did try?
I’m not perfect. My words… they are not perfect.
But they are all I have – now that I don’t have you.
I don’t know if I should turn away. Or should I watch, as this distance between my voice and your back grows?
I am cold and flushed, holding back tears through my clenched teeth. This isn’t fair! And still, even still, you won’t acknowledge it. A mistake is a mistake. Not the truth. A mistake is not always the truth!
Haven’t you ever done that? Said something, done anything that you regret? Something that someone will not allow you to take back? I have, now. I never expected you to be perfect. Not once.
I just expected you to care.
Weren’t we the same, once? Aren’t we the same now? Imperfection and humanity are the same. Can’t love conquer all? Does it matter what I said? Why doesn’t it matter what I meant?
Your retreating back is beginning to fade. The two of us… I doubt we will ever stand together again. The same person, in that moment. We are not that person anymore.
I’m sorry.
This was all my fault. I know that, and I promise you that I will regret this always. I don’t make promises lightly because I hate breaking them; but, you know that. So now, rather than screaming, crying, begging, tearing my throat with razor words of regret and pleas, I will turn and walk away.
I will.
And as I do, I will whisper just once. Because there is no backspace in life, no delete button, no perfectly edited second draft, I will make these words count.
And so, to you whose back is fading in the distance beyond hearing, the you that I can no longer see:
“Goodbye, me.”