Member-only story
Sunny
You’re that girl who got away…
You don’t know me. In fact, I think your eyes would just drift over me if you happened to be in the same store or restaurant. I could be your cashier or your waiter or even your personal assistant — I don’t think it would matter, your gaze would still fail to land on me and settle. To be noticed by you would be like winning the lottery: improbable yet miraculous.
But I wasn’t someone waiting on you. I was the guy who sat next to you in Professor Bateman’s remedial English course. I had placed in the class because my ACT score was abysmal — that happens when you’re hungover — but I wondered about you. You looked smart, chewing on the end of your pencil every second of the lecture. I couldn’t imagine why you were stuck with the rest of us who were relearning proper subject-verb agreement.
Once, I thought you smiled at me, but my answering grin wavered when I saw your eyes fixate on the guy sitting in front of me. The rest of the class, I slumped back in my seat and wished I had tuned out to some vengeful rap with some strategically placed earbuds under my hood.
I thought I’d muster up the courage to speak to you — what was one “good morning,” really? — but halfway through the semester you became a no-show. Maybe you dropped the class. Maybe you left the state. All I had left was your name. Sunny. I couldn’t even use that in a search on Facebook.
You’re that girl who got away — when really I was never anything to you at all. But isn’t that the way it goes?
I can’t even say all my days will be rainy without you. That’s too cliché even for me, Sunny.
