I’ll take the shovel because I think I’ll build up a hill. I’ll dig a hole to get the dirt for the hill, but lose myself in the hole. No ladder, no ropes, no friends waiting by my side with open hands. Darkness is closing in. I can’t find a foothold. And there are rats starting to nibble at my toes.
The storm comes at night, whipping around me, tearing at my flesh and blistering my lips. It rains, soaking my clothes, and I shiver and slump, clasping my arms around my knees. I sit and grind my teeth and sob, unable to climb out of the hole. No tarp to cover me. And no one to talk me through it.
Eventually, the daytime arrives, sending a warm blush of a sunrise to the horizon. The clouds fade away, I stand again, and my clothes dry. My wounds heal. And I can open my eyes and start to pull myself out of the hole.
If you give me a shovel, I’ll get cocky and try and build a mountain. It’s much better to just leave me without knowledge of a shovel, or a hill, for that matter.
The FREAKIEST and CREEPIEST thing that’s ever happened to me happened this morning, as I was walking out of Chinese. Forget my ex-boyfriend talking to me about his fantasies–THIS is crazy!
Well, to start it off, there are two guys in my Chinese class. Let’s call them Bob and Marc. Marc is a trumpet player who I may/may not have a crush on (you/meiyou). He’s really nice and reminds me a lot of my best guy friend. He flirts with everyone, so I assumed it was okay for me to flirt with him back. Bob is in my book club, and I assumed he was perfectly normal–well, that was before this morning.
The bell rings and I wait with Marc and some of my other friends so we can walk to class together. As I’m on my way out the door, Bob approaches me and says, “So why do you like Marc?”
“We’re friends,” I say to Bob, looking him in the eye.
“I see the moves you put on him.”
First thought: “WHY THE HECK WERE YOU WATCHING ME WITH HIM?!”
Second thought: “What moves?”
I say the latter.
“Oh, I see you guys talking to each other all the time in Chinese,” he says like it’s not stalkerish.
“Because we’re friends,” I say.
Somehow, the conversation changes to a startling new topic.
“When you guys get married, you’d better invite me,” Bob says. I’m turning red at this point because Marc is only a few paces away.
“If and when we get married,” I say. I think I start giggling a little. Not so good when you’re trying to defend yourself.
“There is no if,” Bob says, stepping back a little, “only a when.”
I don’t know what scares me the most at this point: how Bob has been watching my behavior around guys in my Chinese class for so long, or how seriously he says everything. He devoutly believes that Marc and I will somehow get married. Oh, but it doesn’t stop there.
“How will that possibly happen?” I ask.
“Think about it,” Bob says as if he’s just come up with some revolutionary new philosophy: Bobosophy, where every little flirt is a marriage proposal, and a cough drop is a dowry. “You both have band experience.”
“Yeah,” I say, “me and five hundred other guys.”
“You’ll be in China in four years,” he says, looking wistful. “You’ll take him on a boat somewhere.”
Thought: “Pervert. How long have you thought about my love life?”
“What’s that look?” he asks, bringing me back down to Earth. I’m looking at the sky.
“Just looking up in disbelief,” I say, which is mostly true.
“So can I be the godfather?”
“What?” I ask, shooting him a seriously creeped-out look.
“Oh, I guess it’s too soon.”
Realize, please, how this conversation could have been somewhat hilarious… if he were only joking. But by the way he says everything, he isn’t. He is dead serious. I doubt I’ll ever be able to look at Bob the same way ever again.
We are set apart by two years, three tomorrow. If only I had been born earlier, orhttp://introvertism.wordpress.com/wp-admin/post-new.php he later, we would at least be friends. But all I get is a rambling babyspeech. He treats me like a little kid because that’s what I am to him. Just some kid who he’ll forget when he gets out of high school and never write back to and what was her name again? Minerva something.
And I can’t do what they can, his friends. I can’t walk up to him and tell him happy birthday because how did I remember that? I most certainly don’t know how old he is and that he’s like me, young for his grade. And that he got straight B’s on his report card this past quarter. He can’t know because we are two years apart, three tomorrow.
I feel it when he steps out of his circle, a big red lipstick kiss planted on his cheek. A flame inside of me, a rush of blood to my head. Something different than last time, when it happened with Ringer Shirt. I know there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it because he is older than me, two years until Saturday, when it will be three. And he is free to do whatever he wants, go wherever he pleases. It was just a color guard tradition, anyway. Everyone does it.
And I do this all the time. I dig a hole, thinking I’m making a hill, but all I wind up being is stuck inside the ditch I’ve dug. I have to dig myself out, clawing at the moss and the mud and beating myself up because How Could I Let This Happen?
I thought, with George, that I completely understood that we could never ever possibly become romantically involved. Nothing would ever happen between us. That was just the way it was. And I accepted it. Or so I thought.
Tonight, I could cry because I realize all he’ll ever see me as is a little kid. He’ll never think twice about me once he’s out in the real world. He’ll never even remember I existed. That is pain, realizing you can’t do anything to make an impact on someone else’s life. Nothing you do will work.
If I still feel this way by the end of the year, I know what I’ll do.
Originally, I had planned to walk him outside the band room and tell him very calmly that I love him and that I want him to have a happy life and that I’ll never see him again. The afternoon light would play on his look of confusion. If all went well, I would hug him or shake his hand and wish him a good life. If all failed, I would walk back into the band room and try to forget him.
But now I have something else in mind.
A note in his locker. Simple, anonymous, perfect. He would never know it was from me.
“I’ve been crushing on you since September,” it would say. No signature. I’d write it in my left hand, or maybe type it up. No, not typed; it would be too insensitive. A folded note, no hearts or anything. An easy way to let him out. And I’d ask him to do something. He’d bring up Spock in class. Or talk about cell phones. Something that would let me know he got my note. But he wouldn’t ever know it was from me.
I would walk up to his locker when everyone was gone from the band room. Or maybe I’d pretend I was talking with someone. And I’d slip it through the slats. Just like that. And I’d walk out, waiting to go home, wondering if I had the right locker.
And if he ever did bring up Spock, I’d try not to smile or get red. That would give it all away. But I do want him to know. Anonymously, that is.
“I’ve been crushing on you since September,” it would say. No hearts or anything.
“Write a memory when you have been tagged. Upload this picture onto your own album and see what people have to say about you!”
What do I remember about him?
The time he asked me what my name was. The first time.
And the second time, when he used me as an armrest and said Minerva, right? and I said Yes. And he patted me on my back. Three times. And walked away.
And the time I was walking past him and I brushed his arm by accident and I said sorry and he just looked at me for a long time until I turned red and looked down and walked away.
And the time he asked me how I was doing. The time I replied I’m fine, George, how are you?
And the time he asked me what time it was. It’s five thirty two, George.
And the days before he walked up to me, the days we just used to have awkward eye contact. Speaking without words.
And the day of the Homecoming Carnival, when I had to ask him if I could go. He was walking next to Dang, and I held out my hand to poke him on the back, but I got scared and just said his name. And he turned around and said that if anyone gave me any trouble, I could tell them he said I could go.
And at the assembly, when I saw him put his gray jacket on a chair and I put mine on the same chair. He picked it up and looked at it for a while. He didn’t know it was mine. When he wasn’t looking, I picked it back up and put it on and walked back to the band room so he wouldn’t know.
But can I ever tell him this? No. Not at all. If I did, I’d be as good as dead. He’d never look at me the same way ever again. Even if he did have feelings for me, he’d use me and abuse me is what my mom says. Regardless of how nice he is to me, he’s just after one thing. So I can’t tell him or he’ll see I have these feelings.
I am putting up a poster with Katie before school when I see him.
He’s not going to say hi, I tell myself. You’re freaking him out online.
So I try and ignore him. Not easy for me, but I’m willing to do what I can to keep a friendship. I hold up the poster for Katie and read what it has to say about the book club.
“Hey, Racheeeelll.”
I look up, speechless. I guess he doesn’t think I’m a complete weirdo, after all. Even though I tagged him in my post and I asked him how to rotate my picture. Oh, and I asked him if he was going to the book club meeting. But he doesn’t think I’m a complete weirdo.
I open my mouth to speak and almost say, “Hi, PJ.”
Doesn’t he understand I’m not trying to bother him; I’m just trying to be nice? When I tag him on my post. When I ask him how to rotate my picture. But I’m not trying to be flirtatious. At least he can’t know that.
Doesn’t he understand it kills me when I see him walking with her? I know they’re just friends. I hope so. But they talk a lot. And I want to be her for a moment, just to know what it feels like. To know what it’s like to talk with him like a normal person. No more house of mirrors, running in the dark.
Doesn’t he understand I love it when he says hi to me in the hallway? I want him to every time. But sometimes he doesn’t see me. Usually. But I always see him. And I want to say hi but I’m afraid. Afraid of getting too close to someone I can never even touch.
Doesn’t he understand that, after practice, when I wait by the fence, I’m waiting for him to come up and talk to me? I see him sitting with his friends, laughing. I look over his way and try to look cool and dorky. The way I am. But he doesn’t look over. Once I picked up my stuff and sat down almost next to him, yet he still took no notice.
Doesn’t he understand that I die when he makes us be quiet on the bus, when he looks around to make sure no one’s talking? I can’t look up, though, or he’ll look back. And then I’m crayon again, looking straight down and keeping the smile from my face. Or when he says something funny and I start to laugh and no one else does. Does he think that’s just coincidence?
Doesn’t he understand that a part of me glows when I see him smile. Or flick his hair. Or laugh. Can’t he see that he makes me feel this way?
But he can’t. I have to be stone cold. Can’t let myself get too into this when he’s around, or he’ll look back at me and I’ll become crayon. Can’t laugh too much or he’ll raise an eyebrow. Can’t smile or he’ll think I’m weird. And I can’t say hi to him in the hallway or he’ll suspect something.
I see him every day. I am his Facebook friend. We even say hello occasionally. But I can’t ask him if he’s okay from his absences last week, or comment on his pictures. I asked him if he was going to a club meeting but that was it.
I saw him today when I was walking to third period. I recognized that jacket of his. And I was maybe four feet away from him, and he almost looked my way but he didn’t, and I didn’t want to take chances in a crowd, so I tried to look uninterested. I saw him flip his hair. I saw him talk with his friends. I was four feet away but didn’t want to jeopardize anything so I kept my mouth shut and looked away.
There is a Block between seniors and freshmen, a great, brick wall. It makes me frustrated and awkward and when I see him with his friends I wonder if I can dare to wave. We meet eyes but return to our Separate Worlds. That is that until fifth period.
But today, on Facebook, I see that he’s online. I feel a rush in my gut as I ask him if he’s planning to be at a club meeting tomorrow. It takes him a minute to respond. He says maybe. Probably, but it will take him a while. I say it’s fine if he can’t. And then I get nervous and my hands start shaking so I tell him I’ll see him tomorrow. He says the same with a smiley face and I wish I could have said something more. But my fingers stop. I keep the window open but make no effort to jump through. I wrack my brain for something but nothing emerges that wouldn’t sound flirtatious. I can’t risk that.
You spoke to him once today, Minerva. That’s more than enough.
Since my last boyfriend, the one who obsessed, I have learned to limit myself. I had once only hoped for eye contact. Now we are friends and speak sometimes. That is enough, should be enough, to last me.
Still it bothers me when he doesn’t take notice of me in a crowd or in the hallways. I would say hi to him but I don’t want to be alone in that so I usually just stare and look away when he notices me. For someone who wants something, I’m sure not reciprocating. But I still hold onto it. Those looks, those glances. Those smirks, those faces, that glare. Something I can never touch but will admire.
Alright, to start it off, this is about PJ, because he’s the one who makes me feel the most confused.
“I’m so scared that the way that I feel,
Is written all over my face.
When you walk into the room,
I wanna find a hiding place.”
I’m afraid for him to find out that I have feelings for him. If he does, he’ll probably shun me or something because I’m three years younger than him. I’m afraid of embarrassing myself in front of my section if they ever do find out about it, because they just detest him. They don’t like how he bosses them around, even though he technically can. When he walks into fifth period and I see him, I want to disappear so I wont have a chance of exposing myself.
“We used to laugh, we used to hug,the way that old friends do.
But now, a smile and a touch of your hand,
Just makes me come unglued.”
I used to give him almost no attention. He was George. He was indirectly my boss, but that was it. I followed his instructions without a second thought. And I didn’t turn red or start laughing around him. And Yuki most certainly didn’t tease me about him. But, now, whenever we even talks to me or pokes me, I turn what Clarissa calls “crayon,” and instantly struggle to regain normalness.
“Such a contridiction, do I lie or tell the truth.
Is it fact or fiction,
Oh the way I feel for you.”
I don’t know if what I’m feeling is right or not. Usually, I can tell right away. But, in this case, I guess I’m succumbing to a bit of peer pressure. I don’t want to let anyone I don’t trust know. If they did know, they’d tell him. He probably already does know. But is it a serious thing I’m feeling or is it just lust? I know I’m young to recognize the difference, but I’m not sure at this stage.
“So complicated, I’m so frustrated.
I wanna hold you close, I wanna push you away,
I wanna make you go, I wanna make you stay.”
I’m frustrated because I don’t know how to handle it. When I see him, I want to be close to him, but then I realize I’d just start spazzing and blushing, so I refuse. When Yuki asked me if I’d like to do cymbals for George at the assembly instead of her, I got really happy. And then I realized he’d know in an instant. So I said no. And when he gets bothersome, I want to push him away. But then he’s nice to me and I want him to stay. So my logic and emotions interfere with each other.
“Should I say it? Should I tell you how I feel?
Oh, I want you to know.
But then again, I don’t. It’s so complicated.”
Should I let him know? As in, should I flirt? I keep myself from it because I know it would just lead to something that’s complicated. If he were younger, as in, my age, I would go for it. But, because he’s so much older than me, I prevent myself from doing what would lead to what I want. I want him to know I have feelings for him. But I shouldn’t. It would just get complicated. It’s best to keep it all in my head.
“Oh… just when I think I’m under control.
I think I finally got a grip.
Another friend tells me that,
My name is always on your lips.”
Okay, anecdote time: Yuki and I were walking out of school one day when we walked past George. I saw him and I was trying to pretend to ignore him. I thought I finally had it under control. But then Yuki whispered to me, “He was totally just checking you out.” And I denied it because I didn’t want to believe it. Well, I did. The truth was, I didn’t want to believe that I wanted it.
“They say I’m more than just a friend,
they say I must be blind.
Well, I admit that I’ve seen you watch me
from the corner of your eye.”
Well, it’s actually the other way around. I get convinced that everything he does to me means something. I Hairwoman it. They tell me that it’s just a touch, etc. But I always deny it because I want to think that it means more. And I do see him watch me, sometimes. Sometimes, he turns away. But, most of the time, he just keeps staring and I have to turn away because I’m starting to blush.
“Oh, It’s so confusing.I wish you’d just confess.
But think of what I’d be losing,
if your answer wasn’t yes.”
I just wish I could have a straight answer. I want to know, with finality, if it means anything, everything he’s been doing. But then I think of what would happen if he said he didn’t mean anything. I’d have to deal with him all year, lose his friendship, and, on top of that, he’s still my superior. And that would be awkward. But I’m also afraid of what would happen if he said he did mean something. We’d still be separated because it isn’t wise to date someone that much older than you at this age.
