Every Man I Liked Was You

The wind whistled past. The rustling of dry leaves made harmonic, meditative sounds. Giggles and laughter echoed from nearby buildings and from rebellious couples still picnicking in the park, even though curfew had passed. It felt like everyone's favorite place to be.

From afar, a loud shrilling voice pierced the air. It sounded distant yet oddly clear. It was either a cry of agony-or a very bad opera singer attempting to hit an octave.

Aside from that eerie shrill, it appeared to be a beautiful night.

The sound could be traced to a bench in the park, which looked like it had completed it glorious years. The area around the bench was quieter. On it sat a girl, her head bowed and hands tucked inside her hoodie.

"Then, who made that noise?"

Suddenly, a squirrel darted past, and the shrill voice rang out again. Once the squirrel had scurried off, the girl stood up. Her long, curly black hair shimmered under the moonlight. Her tennis shoes moved in alliance with her slow, hesitant steps.

As her footprints faded into the dirt path, a voice echoed in her head: "I can do whatever I want. I can be whatever I choose." It faded just as softly as it had come.

She made her way to a nearby bar. The tropically designed door creaked open as she turned the knob. She staggered to the bar counter and sat near the bartender.

Everything seemed to be crumbling before her eyes, like an erupting volcano. Even her words of affirmation-once her lifeline-had stopped working. Her mother's voice echoed in her mind, repeating the mantras of strength and independence. But none of it seemed to matter anymore. Not with this dull, heavy feeling lodged deep in her chest. No matter how many times she told herself she was okay, the feeling remained.

Edna Parker. Who had always wanted to be like her mother-or was it her aunt? Either way, she had spent her whole life striving toward the image of a "normal, successful person" that her mother had painted for her. And now that she had it... why did it feel like everything was in the wrong place?

Her love life had been no better. In every relationship, she was the one who walked away. She didn't value love or emotional connections. To her, they were weaknesses.

She fulfilled her craving for connection by listening to Ann's podcast-it made her feel like she was at least in that world, if not participating in it. Even her mother-her biggest role model-once told her, "Love and relationships are just business deals where two people benefit from each other."

That idea became so deeply rooted in her that she never made real friends.

Once, she even paid her boyfriend a huge sum of money to break up with her, knowing he had deeper feelings for her-feelings she probably couldn't, or wouldn't, return.

"And if love mattered so much," she often thought, "then why did my parents-who were so in love-end up divorced?" A question she could never answer.

Like every little girl, Edna had once longed to love someone forever, like her parents once had, or like the stories she grew up on. But it all came crashing down the day they got divorced.

Her world shattered. Her mother cried constantly. And Edna began to believe that love made you weak.

From then on, she followed only what seemed "real" and "possible."

But now, even that carefully constructed reality was falling apart-and it didn't seem like it would rebuild itself.

A soft tune played in the bar, the kind that could either drown thoughts or bring them to the surface.

Hugo's voice rang in her head-the boy she had paid to leave her.

"You're selfish and unlovable because you've always refused to receive love. Stop being so hard on yourself," he had said before walking away. She never saw him again.

"I was so stuck-up," she murmured, smiling bitterly while swirling the drink in her glass.

It had been three months since she quit her job, hoping to deal with the numb, indifferent feeling inside. But nothing good had come of it. Her proud mother was already tired of what she called her "aimless siesta." In fact, Edna suspected her mother was beginning to lose hope in her entirely.

Her voice was small and tired now. "Maybe it's karma... if it is, I deserve it-for using people," she said, her eyes glistening as she stared at her only audience: a man who looked like he was in his twenties. He was so handsome that she thought he could've been cast as a Greek god-or maybe that was just the alcohol talking.

She bumped her forehead lightly with her palm, hoping to shake the thoughts loose.

"I'm not hard on myself," she said defiantly, countering Hugo's voice.

"Or... was it Hugo who cursed me?" she muttered quietly, slowly giving in to the alcohol.

"What's next for Edna now?" the man asked curiously.

Edna looked at his inquisitive eyes, picked up her steps, and walked out, refusing to answer.

"Let me walk you home," he offered, catching up with her.

As they walked, she muttered to herself about the writing job application she had submitted.

"Is it love I'm searching for... or is it happiness? Why can't I figure it out?"

Or maybe she had figured it out. She was sure it wasn't love-because love wasn't meant for her.

She rambled to the man beside her.

"So... you're confused," he said, smiling.

"What if you end up finding love?" he asked.

"Why should I?" she paused. "I'm most likely to end up chugging a glass of wine with my pets."

She laughed faintly.

"Do you know that my favorite love coach once said, 'If it's not meant for you, it's not meant for you. That is what you want will come, and what you don't want will stay away.'"

She quoted with confidence as she opened the door to her apartment.

The man nodded, just to please her-even though he knew she was quoting the poor coach all wrong.