There & Back Again For You
6th grade…
You let out a snort of laughter when you saw him stammer and sweat as he fretted while he asked out a girl he liked since 4th grade—to the first 6th grade dance.
"No." Was her solid response, but he was crushed. You wanted to laugh at his irony from the beginning when he was trying to seem calm and collected—even if it was obvious he was anything but—but you couldn't find the laughter in your body to use. Perhaps it was the fact that it was your best friend getting rejected by the girl he was stressing over for months; or it was because maybe a little relief flooded in your veins. Relief for what…? That he wouldn't ditch you for a girlfriend. Correct?
7th grade…
The idea of going to California with your best friend for a week was the best idea your mother had suggested. You could just picture yourself inhaling the salty scent of the ocean with the one person that understood you best. It made you anxious even if it was a whole year's wait. It was definitely something to look forward to.
Spinning around in your cousin Sky Hamilton's fancy room, you imagined him in your other cousin's room, Kemp Hurley, right across from you—sneaking into yours late at night just to talk—while your oblivious cousins snoozed the night away.
Or even just picturing you two on the plane ride talking and laughing while everyone stared at you two with that weird peculiar look you both get when you two are around public's eyes. You don't understand those strange looks people shoot at you two.
You begin to wonder just a little bit more into depth.
8th grade…
The California idea had yet to happen as you sailed the local pond on a small Sunfish sailboat. You gave him lessons for how to sail a sailboat every day of the week for two weeks during the beginning of summer. It was fun.
Just sitting with your best friend and your other friend Cam Fisher, as you all talked about your pathetic previous crushes.
You and him—him and you. That's how things worked, and that's the way you wanted to keep it for as long as you breathed tainted air. You didn't see people live life around you—everything just seemed to revolve around you two getting into trouble, and learning new lessons.
"Oh shit! We're about to crash into that rock!" He had screamed when you first got out onto the pond for the first day of sailing lessons.
"You retard! You were supposed to turn left; not right! I told you that specifically!" You frantically pulled at the sail to collect air to move away.
Crunch!
"Shoot—what was that?" Cam had asked obliviously.
"That would be us paying five hundred dollars for a new sailboat, Cameron."
9th grade…
9th grade was supposed to be, your year. On August 17th, 2009, you realized that you were truly in love with your best friend. It started off as a small innocent crush but it built and built the more you recognized and pointed out the feelings.
You figured it would just…poof away, but no, it intensified. And even if at first it bothered you—you grew to adore the fuzzy type of feeling.
You knew you wouldn't tell him these realizations even if you told him everything because well, it just wasn't the appropriate time to.
10th grade…
"I'm going to ask Alicia Rivera if she wants to dance—should I? I mean what if she says no? Crap! That would be so bad!" You rolled your eyes in faux annoyance.
"Puh-lease, grow a brain. All the girls are after you, now a days—you're like some gay type of girl magnet. Why is that?" You scoffed, trying to conceal the threatening smile that was just waiting to burst as usual per say.
And even if it was against your own feelings and a complete opposition from rationality, you did what felt fair enough.
"Ask her."
11th grade…
The idea of telling him your hidden feelings was absolutely nerve-racking. Which was completely and utterly strange to feel around him; he was so easy to vent to and talk to.
"Do know what college you're going to apply to yet?" He asked as he shuffled through all these papers that were advertising for future colleges.
You gave no hesitation, "Stanford."
"I've always wanted to go to Yale, honestly." He thoughtfully murmured through unmoving lips.
"I know." I always knew stuff about him.
Then a look of horror washed upon his pretty-boy face, "We'd be away from each other."
You winced at not confronting him about this; you already had given it some thorough thinking and decided that it was best for both of you to finally meet new best friends and preferably for you; new boys to crush on.
Then he said the sweetest cliché crap ever to you:
"If there is ever a tomorrow when we're not together, there is something you must always remember: You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we're apart... I'll always be with you." His eyes were cloudy in your vision because surprisingly enough, your very well thought out plans were melting away. He was sickly pleasuring and slowly burning away your future.
"Winnie the Pooh?" You try to seem nonchalant and not astonished at his deep affection but you can't hide the admiration you felt intensified at that very moment.
12th grade…
"We're finally graduating," he cheerfully gushed. His brown warm eyes were glowing brightly. You frowned slightly because prom was in a week.
"I know."
He chewed his lip—the movement always told you he was thinking deeply. "I'm going to ask Kristen Gregory if she wants to go to prom with me." You were in silent hysterics. But like-wise, he didn't notice.
"Really?" You simpered quietly.
He nodded sincerely, "She plays soccer so well. And she's so hot."
The girl bothered you already. Her long dirty blond hair—natural highlights—and perfect athlete's body, her incredible skills for soccer or any sport she tried out for—and her straight A+'s weren't much of a backup. She was as close to perfection as God would allow.
Swallowing your own feelings, you nodded and smiled tightly. It was time you stop being so selfish and let him reach for what he wanted.
"Ask her. She'll say yes,"
His eyes danced the way you loved them to and you returned it with a lot of effort.
:::-:::
"She said yes!!" He screamed as he danced into your house without knocking—he always did that—and soon enough your own parents didn't care. You all got used to it; to him.
"That's…great."
He grinned at you with a joyful look as he wiggled his butt and ran to your fridge to raid your kitchen's leftover food.
"Yeah I know," he chewed on a chocolate chip cookie. "But the problem is; what if I don't get the tux that matches hers? Oh god…"
You tuned him out because, well, there wasn't much left anyway. He finally has found someone he wants to be with and there was nothing you could go. Being nostalgic, you frowned at your reflection in window; self loathing yourself for not finding any moment being appropriate for admitting deep dark secrets.
:::-:::
Prom was in a few hours and you were about to burst into tears for being so stupid and stubborn. But no, he's your best friend and being happy for your best friend is a must. Ignore your own feelings; you'll be fine, you told yourself.
You're dressed in a midnight blue V-neck dress. It was a thick silk and absolutely plain. You matched white 3 inch strapped heels; not really giving a shit.
And when you saw them dancing in the center of the dance floor, you finally realized it was too late and too far away from your reach.
It finally was the time to wake up from your imaginary fake, and pathetic dream world of fantasy.
--The time to move on and get over Derrick Harrington.
College…
Typing of your current essay for English, you absent mindedly tugged on your loose curly string of hair; you stared emptily at your brand new Mac.
You reached all your goals but one—the most crucial and distracting one of all.
Frowning as you let your mind wander; you remembered the way things played out at your prom, senior year.
He ended up with Kristen as boyfriend and girlfriend, and after that news; you ignored his emails, texts, calls, visits and other pathetic communication attempt.
You vowed to get over him and move on; so you're keeping your promises—even if they're just to yourself. No need to bring up that pain once again that crippled your for weeks on, even months and still presently; it crushes you to your very core.
"You have a visitor, Miss." Claire Lyons your secretary-like-person noted as she helped you organize your belongings. She was a friend sort of, but you paid her to help you stay organized.
"Who is it?" You ask quietly as you study your previous, meaningless words. Meaningless and pathetic—actually it was a biography about each grade.
You didn't mention what mattered most though. Not trying to push your luck with the professors. At least you were at Stanford, just liked you aimed for. You melted away from him but there's not a single fiber in your body that doubts he didn't get into Yale; because that's what his dream was since he was a young child. And what he wants—he earns. Simply because, well, he was just that way; simply incredible.
"Um, he says 'just open the damn door, Block.'" Claire recited a little hesitant with the stranger now.
Only he called you 'Block' so reluctantly, you sat up from your chair and moved silently and lithely towards the door where he stood—poised and much handsomer.
"Hello Derrick." You formally utter, feeling nerves and butterflies fly into your body—you haven't felt these once familiar feelings since you were a child.
"Hey, Block." He easily replies, a look of peculiar wonder flashing in his eyes. They were still brown as chocolate, warm and beautiful.
"What brings you here?" You take a deep breath as you stare at your shoes to avoid direct eye contact again. He stuffs his hands in his jean pockets—something he only did when he was nervous—and he quickly took one hand out of the safety of the pocket as he ran it through that unruly blond mesh of softness.
You wanted to run your own hands through it—no.
"I came to visit my …friend." You frown, hiding your blurry vision and encroaching frown. You want to be best friends.
"'Kay."
"And because I miss you." He blurted, a small, shy smile playing on those gorgeous kissable lips. "You're my best friend—even if I'm not yours." His majestic words were too sweet…they always were though, you realize within that solid moment.
Without any hesitance this time, you run into his arms and squeeze him tight to you with a strong wave of tears and happiness.
"I love you—I always have," you murmur, not feeling any shyness this time. Blunt and honest kept life simpler.
He nods, "I know."
You keep him close to you though—never wanting to let him go again and feel that pain of loneliness and rejection.
He pulls away with irresistible strength and stares at his own shoes.
"I love you too, Block. I just didn't see it. But I do—now I do."
Author's Note: It was just a small one-shot that reminded me of my life up until 9th grade in this story.
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-J.H.Q.S.316