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Boy | Mar 13 2003

She said I reminded her of a boy she knew in sixth grade. The boy had pretty eyes and sat on the opposite side of the room, facing her. One day their eyes met and they didn’t look away. She described her thought process:

I shouldn’t look, but I don’t want to look away. Maybe he’ll look away and it will be over. I want him to be the one to look away because then I won’t have to, because I don’t want to. Maybe he doesn’t want to either. Maybe he’s waiting for me to. If he is, I won’t, because I don’t want it to be over. He has to be the one to look away, not me, because I won’t, how could I?

Sadly she’d forgotten how it ended, although she did remember what happened next… nothing. They never spoke about it.

This surprised me, but not her. “It was only sixth grade,” she said.