We need it talk. It’s been years, but we need to talk. …or I need to talk. Doesn’t matter.
I almost forgot we were Facebook friends. I didn’t remember that cyber space had reconnected us in this way. After grade school, I always wondered where in life everyone was, but that was only a cursory musing I reserved for a select few – the few with whom I shared adventures. Honestly, despite my ebbing and flowing crush on you back then, I never remembered to wonder about you. How old were we anyway when you walked into my third grade class …or was it fourth grade? Fifth grade? The details are hazy. Nevertheless, you had the nerve to surface on my News Feed and like a conjuring, I snapped into grasping at fading grade school memories of you.
First of all, age looks inexplicably fantastic on you. Good-ness! You’ve clearly found a pattern to this manhood thing and created a lane that works rather comfortably for yourself. You’re taller, darker-featured… and the look behind your eyes seems inquisitive, in the adult, grown and sexy kind of way. As I unabashedly click through damn near all your photos, I see you’re nurturing a lovely pelt of facial hair. I hope the people in your life tell you that it’s completely striking on you. It is; I hope you keep the look.
I’m not going to assume you remember me because I sat behind you in history class or some such nonsense. That never happened. In fact, I don’t think we ever shared any activities of note together throughout the time we went to school. Not a stolen kiss on the playground… not a strange obsession with postcards… I was the kid who kept thoughts in a journal, the real world being inherently awkward to interact with. I was the kid with too much elbows and knees and height for all the boys and too much of an early bloomer to be comfortable in her own skin. So I tended to shrink from public view. So it’s likely you wouldn’t remember me. It’s cool. I liked foursquare at recess though. Maybe you remember that? I do.
But even back then, I thought you were cute. I was lanky and bones and bug eyed and weird, but I know I incubated a crush on you. I can’t remember how long or even how fervently, but I recall hoping you’d like me. I think. I just hope I was nice to you back then – that I never laughed too hard at you, as I tended to do. I do remember laughing at you once though: when your mother walked to you to class in the morning and demanded from you a goodbye kiss. You were horrified. And I was there, laughing like a fool. I still laugh like a fool. It’s become a bit of a signature, this laugh. Maybe you’d appreciate it more now than perhaps you did back then.
Well, I hope you are happy in life. Your photos on Facebook seem to suggest you are. You are all husband and father now. Geez, we’ve become that old! Nevertheless, I still think you’re cute (perhaps more handsome, than cute now, no?) and I hope people let you know that from time to time.