I met you in the sixth grade. I do not remember the first words we spoke, or if you asked my name or vice versa. I do, however, recall us being paired together for every science project. I don't have to close my eyes to remember the pre-summer heat beating down on my skin (which was pale in comparison to your natural tan) as we laid rulers along the pavement outside the school to measure how far our "car" could go. I remember smiling. I remember laughing. I couldn't tell you if it was a joke you made or something the teacher said, but I remember being happy.
Seventh grade came and went. We did not speak. I missed you a little, but not too much. I was only 13 and had never loved you.
I walked into my second bell on the first day of eighth grade and saw you sitting in the second seat in the second row (**** me for remembering little things like that). You smiled and said hi and I smiled and said hi and that was it. We never talked much in that class, in all honesty; your best friend sat behind you, as did mine behind me, and we really only asked each other for help on homework questions. But I didn't mind. I didn't have anything to miss. I had never really loved you.
Fast forward to February (still a timid little eighth grader). My best friend that sat behind me so many months ago had a boyfriend and I was lonely. I do not know what prompted me to do this, or where the courage came from, but one day, I decided I wanted to talk to you again. I texted five different people to get your number (desperation? Never), and before I knew it I had sent a message saying that I "hoped you remembered me and that I hadn't talked to you in a while and how had you been?" An immediate response sent shockwaves through my body :" hey :) I've been good." And for the first time since the fall of that year, I began to feel happy again.
It was now April and we were at the local amusement park with friends. My best friend, feeling clever, decided to start a "hand holding chain" in an attempt to get me to hold yours. It worked. I had never held a boy's hand before. Yours was bigger than mine, and warm, and I had to physically stop myself from smiling. But I was also terrified, because in that moment, I realized how much I liked you, and how much I never wanted you to let go of my hand.
May 15, 2010: I remember the conversation perfectly.
You: so who do you like?
Me: I'll tell if you tell
You: I asked you first
Me: I asked you second
You: doesn't count.
(here comes a supernova of bravery)
Me: alright. I hope this doesn't make things awkward, but...I guess I kinda like you (:
(an intense wave of fear and relief crash over me)
You: :)
And that was the day I began to feel loved.
May 19, 2010: We are at the park by our school (with friends, of course). My friends are telling me to kiss you. I can't do that. I'm much too terrified. You look at me from across the playground and smile. I think I love you but I'm not sure because I'm only fourteen. My best-friend-who-has-a-boyfriend walks me to the top of the hill we had gone sledding on over the winter - and pushes me down it. Not hard enough to fall, but enough to send me half-jogging-nearly-tripping all the way down to the bottom. And you, being the superhero that you were, chased after me. I began to make my ascent back up the hill, but you grabbed my hand. You said that we should take a walk through the woods instead. My palms become incredibly sweaty and my heart stops but I say okay and we begin to walk. You know all of the paths because you run cross country and you go through these woods all the time every fall. I know none of these paths and I am very scared. You tell me you have a surprise for me and you lead me to a path that ends at a shelter. I walk underneath it and see initials etched into the wood. I'm reading the ones above me when, suddenly, your arms are around my waist. I jump. "What's wrong?" you ask. I don't know. I don't know why that scared me. I say "nothing," but I'm shaking - visibly. You look worried and step away. I want to cry. I turn around to apologize and perhaps try to explain, but your face is so close to mine and I'm thinking you might kiss me and even though I really want to kiss you, I walk away. You follow. We say nothing. Then it starts to rain. We're by a creek now. There's a wooden board right next to our feet (I **** you not). You pick it up and lay it so I can use it as a bridge as we cross over to the other side. You're still holding my hand. I'm still shaking. We're in a clearing now. I think we're close to that hill. I begin to walk but, once again, you grab my hand. I do not turn around this time. I am frozen in fear. I can feel your breath on my neck as you whisper in my ear, "I don't know how to do this very well, but..." and your hand cups the side of my face and I begin to turn around and suddenly I'm panicking and shaking and I run - literally run - away from you. And I have never hated myself more. I should have been happy, but I wasn't.
A few weeks later, we are standing on a bridge. You're behind me. You put your arms around me. I am wearing your beaded necklace from Hawaii ("it's not a necklace," you'd say, "because necklaces are for girls). I do not flinch. I am happy. Something about you put me at ease after I became more aware of your presence and your scent and the way your hand fit in mine. And I was happy.
Four years later, I don't have to close my eyes to remember the text I sent you after I fell in love with you. I told you that I had heard a rumor that you liked someone else and I didn't want to date you anymore (I had never believed the rumor). I was afraid of finally being close to someone, and probably other things, and I sent you away. I'm typing this incredibly long recollection and I'm realizing there are so many more little stories I could tell about us, and how even though I was only fourteen I do believe I loved you, because you were the first person I was able to give my love to. I hope your girlfriend now appreciates you, because I know I do even though you're gone. I never got to kiss you, but I still loved you more than I love hot cocoa after catching snowflakes on my tongue, and that should say more than all of these words ever will.