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To the Boy Who Serenaded Me Once Upon a Time
It felt like something to keep a secret — for me and me alone.
“I have something to show you,” he said.
I didn’t think much of it at the time. It was another study hall, and the teacher had no problem allowing the boy and me to go into the auditorium alone. Years later, I still wonder why a teacher at a strict school allowed two teenagers to be unsupervised together.
Maybe that tells a lot about the boy. And me. And the idea of him and me.
In the months leading up to this moment, this boy and I had bonded over fantasy novels and video games. I didn’t care that he was two years younger than me. He was the awkward type, yes, but he had a great laugh that I’d found to be infectious more than once.
It was easy to fall in like with someone like him. If there was anyone from high school who would have been my friend to this day, it was probably him. And on the bad days sometimes I wonder: Do you ever think about me?
Silly. Insane. Impossible.
It’s been well over a decade, and here I am, still closing my eyes and recalling moments so fleeting that they were like silver fish slipping in and out of view under a river’s surface.
