Things Not Said

It was 2007, and I was in my sophomore year of high school. Her look drew me in- the wavy dark hair she wore down to her shoulders, how it looked a little damp, like it needed to be touched. Her eyeliner cast a spell that pulled my eyes to hers, then brought her features to life. Even though A was quiet, she was definitely cool. As a fifteen-year-old boy, I bought into the idea of coolness. A was cool in her quietness, while my own quiet was shy and awkward. Back then I was fearful and insecure, and I don't know why. Standing at the edge of my childhood I was afraid to take the next step. I remember speaking softly and dressing as simply as possible, nothing fancier than blue jeans and tee shirts. It was all an effort to blend in so nobody would expect anything from me before I believed I had anything to give.

  One of the other students mentioned that A saw me fall into the water at swim practice. I was surprised that A would even mention that, in fact I didn't even know she saw it happen. I didn't think anyone cared. I was on the I swim team because I liked the water, but I wasn't fast enough to help our team win any meets. The class must have gotten quiet as we talked, because someone from across the room jokingly suggested that A might be stalking me. Without thinking, I blurted out "Yeah, I wish." Everyone laughed, and I felt like a dork. A wasn't there that day, so for a second I thought I was off the hook, but then I realized that someone would inevitably tell her what I said. 

  Miss K had the class divide into small groups to reenact scenes from Lord of the Flies. The concept of the novel fascinated me at the time- a group of normal English kids becoming savages on a desert island, reverting back to a wildness their adults denied them in society. My love for the story helped me forget the little anxieties that usually held me back, and I poured my entire range of emotion and facial expression into our five-minute skit. I discovered a depth to myself that felt natural, even though I could only tap into it by pretending to be someone else. As we finished our act, the reaction of the class instantly told me I crushed it. Everyone looked entertained, including A. Even Miss K whispered to someone behind me that I can be really cute sometimes. Still, I had doubt. Just because I was entertaining, it didn't mean anyone thought I was cool, and I was too scared to find out. 

  In the school's computer lab I took out my lip balm, which was a big cherry- flavored product shaped like a can of Mountain Dew. I had it because I loved red Mountain Dew at the time, and I either didn't notice or didn't care that it was made for girls. After used some on my lips, A turned to face me and asked if she could use it too. I let her use it, but that was the end of our interaction. Being so young and paralyzed by new emotions, I didn't seize the social opening. Even to this day, every time I remember that lip balm I shake my head in frustration. "She used your lip balm! She practically put her lips on yours!" 

  On Valentine's Day Miss K assigned us all to write a secret poem for a classmate as a Valentine's gift. Miss K, however, decided who we wrote to. It wasn't until I opened the poem addressed to me that I realized the assignments were not random. To my complete surprise at the time, I opened the envelope and discovered a poem about me written by A. "He swims so fast you'd think he is a fish," it began, followed by a comment about how I came out of my shell during the class skit, and the final line said "I wish we could be better friends." I can't remember what I did after I put the poem down. That moment hangs on in my memory as if I could still respond to it.