When I Think of Him
When I'm back home and he's not here, I craft a slow picture of him piece by piece in my mind.
First, it's his hair. It's always first. His spiky, straw-brown hair bleached from being in the pool too long.
Then, it's his eyes. Always creased into bright crescents from smiling so much.
Then his smile...that smile that turns my stomach into a blender and has me breathing like a marathon runner. That smile that makes me wish I'd spent more time on my tan over the summer so the red bursting 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; when he presents me with an envelope with "Miss K" printed in messy, swirly cursive on the front. I collect these little gems of memories as they happen. In all their exaggerated, cliched, and formalized gentility, they have a soft warmth, like with the inexplicable happiness from the tender meeting of two nervous hands.
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When I Think of Him, which
was posted on Feb 2, 2012 by
GreenTea95.
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"I dug this up from one of my old computer files and thought it was pretty cute. ..."
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