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.
This is pain, and this is how it starts.
