I dug this up from one of my old computer files and thought it was pretty cute. It's a little story about my first crush...after many years I can finally look back and laugh about everything. I have to admit, we were two pretty adorable sixth graders :D
When I'm back home and he's not here, I craft a slow picture of him piece by piece in my mind.
First thing is his hair; it's always first, spiked up by chlorine and bleached sun-kissed straw-brown from being in the pool too long.
Then, it's his eyes, always creased into bright crescents when he laughs. They're sweet, infuriating, soothing, and teasing all at the same time.
Then his smile...that smile that makes my heart pound louder than my stuttering. That smile that makes me wish I'd spent more time on my tan over the summer so that the embarrassing red over my face wouldn't be so obvious...
Finally--and unfortunately--is his height. The one thing that shatters the perfect image; the tallest girl and the shortest boy--way too cheesy to be cute.
But, that's not true--the last thing I really remember is our short little moments at school together. The times where he walks me to class like my escort to a ball; when he ushers me through the door with a broad sweep of his hand; and when he presents me an envelope with "Miss K" printed in messy, swirly cursive.
Every part of him--all features and gestures--is tied to a memory of sometime I've spent with him. In all his exaggerated gentility and charm, my memories of him always fill me with an inexplicable happiness, like the soft warmth from the tender meeting of two nervous hands.