It all started in 2nd grade. I fell into 7 year-old love with this boy. We'll call him Sam, because frankly, that is his name. From 2nd grade until fourth grade, I was loyally in love with him, and at that time, boys were still in the mindset that girls carried cooties. So he really had no idea that I existed as an actual person until fourth grade.
There was a rumor going around our class that one of my best friends at the time [who I later found out was a cold-hearted bitch] liked Sam. Which wasn't the case. They were having some sort of 4th grade malice fight, and I was acting as messenger. Lucky me. One day, I was sitting in my room, thinking, hey, why don't I give Sam a letter professing my love to him? At the time, it sounded like a swell idea.
But it was not a swell idea at all.
As I gave him the note, he said, "If this is from Jordan, I don't want it." To which I replied, "No, it's from me."
I went back to my desk, watching him out of the corner of my eye. He read it, then threw it in the garbage.
Did I mention that I signed said note with 'Love, Rachel'? I thought it would spark frisson between us. Not that I knew what frisson meant until I read a Meg Cabot book, but you know what I mean.
So after he tossed it in the garbage, I felt sort of relieved. He didn't come over to address it with me or anything, so that was one less awkward thing to worry about. But then, I saw this other boy in my class, Tristan, who absolutely despised me, pick it up out of the garbage. He read it, and then looked suggestively in my direction.
Which fully gave me a minor stroke.
He then showed it to his friends, who did the same thing he did. Meanwhile, I was sitting in the bathroom attached to our classroom, doing deep breaths, trying to control my sobbing so no one could hear.
My teacher then came in with the infamous letter, and promptly shredded it into tiny, little pieces.
Needless to say, she was a very good teacher. If not for that act alone, for many, many other things.
So I went home, cried a bit, then came back on Monday. No one said anything about it to me directly. Until lunch, Sam was sitting at our class's table, a few seats down from mine. When the kids who bought lunch went up to the lunch line, he leaned across the table and said, "I'm sorry that happened on Friday." And then he went back to eating.
He was a nice guy then, and he's still a nice guy now. We've never talked about that day, and I hope we never will. I still talk to him, too. He's been in a few of my classes in 6th and 7th grades.
**Stella, I'm sure you know who I'm talking about, and if you ever say anything to him or anyone about this, I will personally pay a forensic scientist to kill you, and dispose of your lifeless corpse so that no one will ever find it. Love you. [=**
Well, folks, that's the first installment of this week's theme. See you tomorrow! <3
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