Before I share the middle school, high school, and
college luckless stories, I want to take this chronologically and explore my
escapades with two girls from elementary school.
The stud I was in pre-school changed when grade school
rolled around. I had grown into this (semi) weird kid. I was quiet, shy, nerdy,
wore glasses, and had a skater bowl haircut, though in defense, my older
brother had one too. So here I was, this awkward little kid (age wise). The
only thing that I had going for me was that I was tall. In fact, in second
grade, I was as tall as the teacher. Granted, she was short enough to almost be
considered a dwarf.
Elementary school girls had cooties and had their own
separate society going—complete with their own colorful clothing, hairstyles,
recess games, and lingo. Thus, I wasn’t
interested in them at all—at least when in the presence of my male classmates.
Like a politician appealing to voters, my stance towards girls had to be one of
disdain and disassociation in order to be accepted into male society.
Nonetheless, in private, I still had my four eyes on one classmate in
particular.
Her name was—well, I probably shouldn’t say the real name
for legal reasons, so let’s just nickname her—Gabby. I don’t even know what I
thought was attractive back then. I can certainly tell you at that age, it
wasn’t the stereotypical things. Maybe because she was tall like me. Maybe it
was her magnificent green eyes or tender smile. Maybe her hair and/or
friendliness was why I saw her second to none. Could have been just because she
could outrun everyone in gym class. All I know is I had a major crush on her
and I didn’t know what to do with it.
I mean my membership to my boyhood band of brothers
prohibited me from professing affection to any girl. I’d be shunned from fellowship isolated like that kid in my
class with head lice. This reality conveniently coincided with my shy fear in
talking to any girl my age.
So like the little weirdo that I was, I just watched from
afar and kept my distance, all the while wondering what could be going on in
her head whenever we passed in the hallway or made eye contact in class.
The years went on. Then one day, the planets aligned and
my fourth grade class went on a
field trip to see some professional play, with her sitting next to me the
entire time! I was as elated at the opportunity as when I received the Super
Nintendo for Christmas. I was also as terrified as when my grandpa chased me
around with a baseball bat. Here I was, finally, in a forced interaction
situation. No guy could denounce me for mingling with our gender foes because
the teacher picked our seats. I may have been sitting in a dark auditorium, but
I knew it was my chance to shine.
So, I started talking to her, believe it or not, and I
cracked her up! Granted, my memory cannot conjure specifically what was
said—other than saying to her, “Hey, wouldn’t it be funny if those lights fell
down on the actors?”—but I distinctly remember her laughter. I was a kid comedian and I had captured my
audience.
Maybe that play we all saw was a romantic, or had some
banal message about pursuing your dreams or living without regrets, but after
that day, I was motivated. I wanted to take action, and I knew I had to quickly
since the school year was going to end soon. Thus, I developed a stellar and
unstoppable plan: to pen my first love letter! A combination of crude poetry
and plain prose, I basically poured my little heart out on paper and confessed
to Gabby that I’ve liked her for a long time.
Next came the delivery—the last day of school. Now, I
don’t know why I chose that day. Maybe
I wanted to end the school year with a big? Maybe I was so stressed from
studying for final exams? (oh wait) Maybe I just wanted to deliver the note and
escape before any kid could catch wind of my deeds? Maybe I just wanted to give
her the whole summer to dwell on my affection. Whatever the reason, I folded
the love letter, stuffed it in my pocket, and sweated bullets the whole day.
When the bell rang, I ran out the door and left a dust
silhouette at my desk. My classmates probably thought I was just that eager for
summer, but I was just getting into position. My elementary school was in the
shape of an “H,” and I moved to the center, east end of the building to wait
for her. It was the hallway I knew she always went down when leaving school, so
I camped there and looked like a juvenile drug dealer—with my back to the wall,
hands in the pocket, and looking at everyone make their mass, summer exodus.
There I waited. And waited. I waited an agonizing two
minutes before I knew something was askew. Then, in my fuzzy, peripheral vision
outside my glasses, I caught a glimpse of a tall girl with beautiful locks of
hair. I instantly turned my head and looked across the hallway bridge. It was
Gabby, walking gracefully down the WESTERN hallway with a gaggle of her
friends. Grinding my teeth, I reached into my pocket and prepared to bolt after
her, but ten strides in, terror mode turned on and I slowed down and drank from
the fountain instead.
In my head, she was supposed to be walking alone and down
the eastern hallway where I could have made eye contact with her and then given
the letter. In reality, she was on the wrong side of the building where I would
have had to run at like we were playing tag. Combine this with the crowdedness
of the hallways and circle Gabby’s friends formed around her and I knew Romeo
wasn’t going to get a chance to say goodbye to Juliet. And so she walked away
and left for the summer without my letter, and I was left to regret what
happened the rest of the summer. At least my Japanese friends at Nintendo
helped take the pain away.
Lesson learned:
As Despair.com puts it: “Dreams are like rainbows. Only idiots chase them.”
Who was your elementary school crush and what did you do about it?
