We sat on the wall, in the same position we were in thirteen years ago. Five years old seems too young. But it wasn’t. We both knew we were meant to be together. Sure, throwing that pecan pie at her during the fifth grade picnic wasn’t the best way to show her how I felt. What can you expect from a fifth grader? Subtlety was never a strength of mine, after all.
But the fact that she didn’t cold shoulder me forever must have meant something. Maybe she remembered that afternoon, too. thirteen years ago. We were sitting on the park wall and she was crying because she’d dropped her teddy bear. I picked it up and kissed her cheek to make her feel better.
She knocked me off the wall.
But then, she laughed. And that was all I wanted. Even back then. I’d rather fall off a wall than see her cry.
And I’ve never truly told her how I felt. I just get so tongue tied when I’m around her. Even thought we’ve known each other almost all our lives.
When I see her at school, with her golden hair catching the sunlight just right, I lose my breath.
When she grins at me mischievously while smart mouthing the teacher, I can’t look away.
She hypnotizes me. Utterly and completely under her control, I watch her.
And the car rides home. I drop her off, and we do our homework together, her Mom sometimes bringing us up a plate of fresh cookies. There were so many times I just wanted to kiss her. Taste her rosy lips. Show her how I felt.
But I never did.
And now it was thirteen years from then. She was with another man. Someone who had the guts to tell her he loved her. But he could never ever love her as much as I did. How could he? He didn’t know what made her laugh. He didn’t know her secrets. He probably didn’t even know that she loves peanut butter on her Oreos. He couldn’t possibly know her like I did.
But he still had the guts to love her openly.
And now, she was his.