Triangles

When I was in elementary school, I learned the strongest shape was a triangle.

It wasn’t the pretty diamond shape that I learned could withstand intense pressure or the comforting equal-sided square.

I would see triangles everywhere; in the expertly placed beams in the ceiling, in the frozen water that were snowflakes–gently iced. I saw triangles in the pyramids that have stood up against wind, sand, heat, and time.

When I was in high school, I still saw triangles. They say good things come in threes. I made two best friends and believed our friendship would last until we were used to seeing grey hairs on our heads.

Then I saw him. He was putting his books into his locker, unaware there was someone behind him silently making up her mind. Funny how I thought I loved him even though I hadn’t seen his face yet. I could tell just by the way he was standing there, tall, with a head of black hair, even the straightness of his back told me he might stand tall beside me.

I whispered in my friend’s ear about this boy I thought I already loved. She nodded and said, “Go for it, I’m rooting for you.”

I should have caught the off-kilter smile.

I went forward like a boat guided by the wind in its (triangular) sail. Confident for a sixteen-year-old. We hung out, we played games, we walked each other to class and I fell deeper. We even shared kisses and hugs, and some nights I wondered what shapes our bodies could make together.

And then one day, this partnership between him and I became a triangle. I didn’t know that she had also been in love with him. It was me, him, and her. And I also didn’t know he liked her too.

I didn’t like this triangle. I hated it. We were equilaterals in the fight for each other; mine and my friend, me and him, him and her.

Worst of all, I was the last to know.

Had it been that while we shared a kiss, he was holding her hand? While she told me words of encouragement, she told him words of desire?

I had spent nights under the full round moon making wishes to the star-shaped light on the black backdrop and later cried my eyes out under the same night sky.

This was the worst triangle. Worse than the Bermuda triangle. It’s a trope people love to hate and hate to love. And I take it personally because I’m usually the odd one out, the isosceles.

I said goodbye to the trio I used to be a part of when one best friend went with him and the other outgrew the predicament–I don’t blame her. We were supposed to be each other's star, our own three-point constellation, but we faded into oblivion with not even stardust collecting on our shoulders. We should have been able to hold each other together.

Up until that point, I believed triangles were the strongest shape. Perhaps science says it’s true but twice I’d seen the triangles implode.
I’ll leave the triangles for the beams in the ceilings and the pyramids where they belong.

Throughout the years, I relearned the shapes that were important to me: a heart shape for the beating thing in my chest and a diamond shape to represent my diamond-strength spine. I learned to love the shapes my lips make when I spoke with purpose.

With only one exception, the triangles I do love are the shapes of the slices of pizza that never fail to make me happy.