He Doesn't Like Me (and Other Things I'm Trying Not to Think About)

I promise I'm not bragging when I tell you the following: I've never had an unrequited crush in which I legitimately caught feelings for someone. Until now, that is, as far as I know, because I don't know he doesn't like me. In fact, I have every reason to believe he DOES except that he a) hasn't texted me; b) acted weird last time we talked; and c) is way older than me, way older than me, way older than me, except that I don't actually know how old he is. What I do know is what we've said to each other and the brief hints he's given to my friends. But how substantial can an assumption-- well, hope, really, if we're being honest here. Because I shouldn't get butterflies when he texts me, I shouldn't hope he will, because the thing is I don't even really know him.
But I want to. He talks differently to me; softer, and he leans in, and the clearness of his eyes, with their gentle buzz and their secrecy and the interest they hold when he talks to me, one on one...

But I'm trying not to think about it, because let's be honest it's a night and  day kind of thing. I've been writing slam poetry lately and naturally I wrote one about him; I'm thinking of writing a song about it tonight... Because I am everything I would have thought he would never want. I wore a Cinderella costume to school today, for Queen's sake; and it wasn't even an adult costume like come on. I mix patterns, I laugh loudly, and I write strange songs and serenade somewhat strangers because my friend had a bad day and it would make her happy.

I'm older now; I know better than to try to orchestrate some kind of romance; the cutesy ploys that casually happen in books are creepy when carefully executed in real life. It's something you can only learn from experience. It's weird to think I'm basically an adult; people come to me for advice because I'm older and wiser; I'm that senior people look up to in band because I started where they are now and look how far I've gotten. So I know better than to make decisions based on whether or not I'm going to see him because I don't need him and I don't even know him, and my happiness is not worth a sacrifice for others; I wear what I want and do what I want because I have a reason and if that reason's good enough than it's good enough.

But he texts me and boom-- actual legitimate butterflies, that make me wonder if I ever actually had that before. And this is of course the worst possible time with the worst possible person, because he terrifies me and the idea of him is exciting and new. But that's all I have; an idea of him, of who I think he is and who I expect him to be. But I don't know him and I don't pretend to, and I don't know how long these butterflies will last.

There was one guy I dated who worked at a place I frequented; when I made faces at him, he'd ignore them. Maybe he thought they were childish, or foolish, or just a silly little high school girl giving him a fun time who he can dump as soon as the honeymoon phase ends. And this boy and I are barely acquaintances, and yet here I am daydreaming about him, writing about him... Because he makes faces at me first when we catch each other looking at each other.

What scares me about this is that for the first time I am completely myself and I don't want to be thinking about this. Because I feel completely myself and he seems interested. And I know better now than to compromise who I am for someone-- especially a boy.

But a mutual person in our lives-- she's seen me be torn up by his predecessor, and she and I aren't friends, and she claims no judgement but how stupid would I be to step up, go after another mutual person, and end up broken in the same way. Because she was so incredibly sweet, and I don't want her to... No, she won't judge. And even if she does...

I don't know; I guess it's always complicated... but come on, come on, come. On. We're barely acquaintances, but he makes me feel...

Hmm.

xo
R
forever and always

Prospects

It's no secret that I go to Starbucks regularly, that I know the people who work there and have a regular order, and people know where they can find me. I'm there enough there are people I've just met through there.

I'm single now, so let's talk prospects. Let's go through a single visit to Starbucks.

1.

I drive a bug, which I think is really indicative of my character. People who drive bugs are little old ladies, secure young men, and teenage girls with free smiles. Driving a bug, a bug that is bright blue, a bug in a color that isn't common, means people know me when I'm driving. (Side note: in addition to the situation I'm about to describe, this also means that people know when I do stupid things driving, and thus it keeps me accountable.) Which is unfortunate when I do stupid things, like try to go at a stop sign out of turn. Which is what happened that day, but the other driver waved me on and instantly I knew who it was; we'll call him Cullen (a kind of inside joke). Cullen, who I went to a school dance with, Cullen who I hear the girls gossiping about; it was just one of many situations in which I got the guy that everyone wanted, promptly lost him, and never knew why I had him. I mouthed a thank you, shot him my best attempt at a dazzling smile. He gave me an "okay" with his fingers, looking straight ahead with a lopsided smile, and I laughed a little.

I really did have my chance, but it was the usual high school situation; you're cute, borrow his coat, ask him to the dance, force him to define you as friends or more, take a turn about the floor (complete with slow song), then watch it crash and burn very promptly. Or rather, sizzle out in silence until one of us braved up enough to call it what it was: absolutely nothing.

I resigned myself to that when it happened. But saying he's not ridiculously cute would be a lie, so there it is, out there and clear. God save me if he finds this at all.

2.

I stepped out of my car-- I like to pretend when I'm getting out of the car that I'm someone like Taylor Swift; that the wind is blowing through my hair and someone's watching my glamorous life. Not so much because I'm dreaming, but more because the daydream is fun. It's not that I don't like life in the suburbs, because I do; just today as I drove to the chiropractor I was struck with just how ordinary my life is, how normal I am; wearing cheap leggings, a Victoria's Secret tee shirt I bought on deal for 5 bucks and (because I'm just that "basic") wear religiously. I smile at children jumping into their parents' minivans, at the little boy in his karate uniform, at the women and their dogs, merrily padding along beside their owners. But that was today, and today was different.

The second Prospect- we'll call him Topper (because I would die if he found this and read it and yes that's an over exaggeration, but, you know, it's funny). I get out of my car and my hair is catching the wind, I look over in that dramatic way, which should not be a mark of how fabulous I am but rather my unwitting luck that day. Luck I would have loved, if I weren't, again, newly single and still hung up on it. 

So Topper's leaving Starbucks, he steps out of the store and for a second he's headed to his left. But he catches my eye, and he moves to the crosswalk I'm about to cross. He waits on his side, and I wait on mine, knowing we'll cross in the middle and hoping I can get through it without giving him the wrong impression. Because we've talked before, for hours, and I'm sure somewhere in those minutes there was some semblance of flirting, no doubt accidental on my part, with questionable intentions on his.

As we cross he says something to me, something joking and so casual I can't remember it so few days later. He elbowed me, and the driver of the car waiting for us to clear the cross walk smirked a bit. It wasn't surprising for him to joke with me, but, I mean, he changed his path. Some kind of friendship, eh?

3.

In my day I have flirted with so many more people who work at Starbucks than I really care to admit, not because I have a type or because I am like gravitated towards them, but because I'm apparently (and unwittingly) a natural flirt; I can't try to flirt but it turns out I'm really good at it.

So he works behind the counter, as most of the Starbucks workers I've flirted with do. We'll call him Gideon. I don't think he's particularly that cute, but that may be a lie I'm telling myself because I'm not allowed to flirt with him because a really nice girl I hope to stay friends with (it's a tentative acquaintanceship) called dibs on him.

And he's a flirt; he's a frat boy and it comes with the territory. Sure, it's one of the dorkier frats on his own account, but still. He's a flirt, and I'm not actually all that interested, and my friend called dibs.

So you have the first prospect, Cullen, who I can't see because a) been there, done that, failed; and 2) I am his superior in band and I don't want to go there. And then there's Topper, who I'm a) not interested in; 2) so much younger than; and 3) who I don't particularly like. Boys who befriend you in Starbucks not also the most harmless. And then there's Gideon, who I a) am not attracted to; and b) am not allowed to be with.

Throw in King George (obviously not his real name), the only boy I want and the one I really, really cannot have, and throw in myself, the one person I need to love unconditionally,  and I'm in a bit of a messy place right now.

And for the first time in a long time, I don't want to date. Maybe it's because the only person I want to date right now is even further than the miles between us. He's absolutely gone. And that part of me is too, I guess, so. You know, there's that. But that part of me is just the part that loved him, and yeah, it's still "leaving the building" so to say, but at least it was just that part.

I want the dates and the romance without the heartbreak, without the pain, without the ending. I want the first date butterflies, the stolen first kiss and the sweet words. But I don't need that; I don't need any of that. I am strong enough on my own. I am good enough on my own.

Maybe this is what being a woman is supposed to be like. Maybe this is adulthood.

xoxo

R

An Open Note To Our Rivals

Tonight is senior night for the marching band, for our cheerleaders, for our color guard, and for our pommers. Tonight is our last regularly scheduled home game, and it is also our game against our rivals.

Historically, our rival hood hasn't always been a healthy one. In a regular environment, a rival hood is good. Gets the school spirit up, gets people excited for the games, gives us something to talk about. But ours isn't good; you spray painted our buildings, egged our students, chant insulting things at our games during recognition ceremonies. Sure, we're not innocent in it either, but here's the thing: this isn't okay. This is childish and rude and so ridiculous; we're high schoolers, not immature idiots.

Tonight I will walk across the field with my parents by my side, after four years of dedication and hard work, after four years of spending 17 hours days at school making it easier for everyone in marching band. After two years of standing in front of the band, leading and conducting and fixing problems. Two years of going home from practices either unbelievably happy or reduced to tears from the frustration and the mean words; either way, absolutely exhausted. Two years of spending practices and games running and conducting until I couldn't raise my arms. Two years of holding hands, wiping tears, giving advice, and solving conflicts.

Tonight I will walk across the field; tonight is the night I've been looking forward to, working towards for four years. Today is the day I've been dreaming of, what I've thought will be one of the highlights of my senior year, and I'm worried that the student section of our rivals won't respect our senior night. And I can honestly say that I will be devastated if they don't. Maybe it would be different if I didn't work so hard, sacrifice so much, for four years. Maybe it would be different if I wasn't so dedicated to marching band. I will be devastated because I, and everyone else walking tonight, deserve respect. We deserve respect not even because of our achievements but because we're human beings.

Please... please please please be respectful tonight. Be respectful of every senior who has spent four years dedicated to our school, the way you respect your seniors.

Please.

R