I give up.
He's happy with his friends. He doesn't need or want me.
I fell in love with him years ago, after his simple acts of kindness touched my heart. But maybe it was only the kindness overwhelming me, for no one ever showed me compassion before.
I give up.
Why shouldn't I? I've only tried hundreds of ways to get him to notice me in a favorable light. Or plain just notice me.
To him I'm just a bully who loves to pick on him. Who tries her best to make his life a living hell. Who is always angry, whether at him or Harold or someone else.
I give up.
Who am I? I wonder sometimes. Do I even know me?
To me, I am… A girl who loves poetry, but can't write it. A girl who loves kindness, but can't show it. A girl who hates fighting, but can't stop it. A girl who hates bullying, but can't restrain it.
A girl who loves Arnold, but can't permit it.
Sometimes I wonder why I even tried. Even if he did know, what could he say to the girl who bullied him all his life? "Oh, I love you too."?
Please. Not in this lifetime.
We're too different. There are times when we can get along, but those times are few and far between. I'm always too busy being a bully to let myself actually not argue with him. And the times when I do try to agitate him are the only times he ever notices me.
Sometimes I wonder if I could attract his attention if I was someone else. Like when I masqueraded as Cecile on that date on Valentine's Day all those years ago. We had so much fun that night, and I actually felt like I was being me for the first time in a long time.
But being me is… I don't know, painful. It hurts so much when people insult me, even when they're insulting the façade part of me.
Why would I put the real me on showcase?
People are cruel, cold, heartless. They would try to break me, crush me, hurt me until I bled.
I don't think I could stand that.
So I have a bully personality, one no sane person would mess with.
Including the one I love, Arnold.
I give up. I've tried everything I could think of, excluding telling him, to make him see. It's not working.
I give up. Whatever girl he loves this year can have him. I'll just watch from the sidelines, like I've always done, and hope that if he gets his heart broken I can help.
I give up. And I think it'll work this time. This is my last night before leaving to college, so I doubt I'll ever see him again before ten years have passed and we're back for high school reunion.
I dump my old notebooks into a packing crate. I got into Colgate University in upstate New York on a liberal arts scholarship, mostly because of my poetry, so I might as well keep my original works.
Now that I think about it, in my poetry I always pictured Arnold as my knight in shining armor, coming to rescue me, the damsel in distress, from her wicked prison, otherwise known as the neglectful Bob and the alcoholic Miriam. I used more frilly and old English terms than that back then. But when I look back on it, it was more of Arnold being the knight always fighting the dragon – me – and never reaching the damsel.
Who knows. Certainly not me.
I give up trying to understand Arnold and my feelings for him. Maybe when I'm sixty they'll be good for a laugh, but I really don't feel like laughing now. That's all right though. Supposedly a lot of things are funnier when you get older.
Maybe I'll finally be able to live my life now that I've given up.