I Capital L Love You

the bacon to your eggs

January 7th
Dear Oliver,

     Okay, I went back to reread what I wrote, and I realized that I got it all wrong. Sure, the summer before ninth grade was when I discovered my Love for you, but the story begins before that. Ages before I realized my Love for you, and way before... uh... disaster struck. Before I open that can of worms, I guess I need to figure out where my feelings came from.

I mean, one doesn't fall in love with just anyone; there has to be something else in the equation, or people would walk around and fall in love with every stranger they see in the streets.

     So what was that magic ingredient? How do I even figure that out?

     My dad always says that you have to figure out the root of any problem before you can truly fix it. I wouldn't consider what I feel towards you a problem, per se, but I'll refer to it as a problem for the sake of the expression. (Although, it could be seen as a problem if I just take off these rose-tinted glasses I seem to put on whenever you're near. But that's an actual problem for another day).

The root of this – aka the beginning of the story of us – was in first grade, when you moved to town. Specifically, during the afternoon recess on the very first day of school.

     "Soapy!" you yelled as you harshly tugged on my braid.

     "My name is Sophie," I remember huffing while I clenched my tiny fists and stomped on your foot.

     "Sorry, Soapy," you grinned at me before sticking your tongue out.

     And thus forward, my name was 'Soapy' in your eyes. I hated it (well, more like pretended to hate it) for a month before I completely stopped pitching a fit and screaming whenever you were around. Now, after all these years, the highlight of my day is hearing you call me 'Soapy.' Pathetic, I know.

     In my defense, how could I not love it (or Love you)? We were – and still are – each other's ride or die. I'm the ketchup to your chicken tenders. The peanut butter to your jelly. The bacon to your eggs. The milk to your beloved Oreos.

     Okay, I'm hungry now. Hopefully, you get my point. Deep down, I know that I have been in Love with you since we were seven. It was a mere infatuation at first, which caught the attention of our peers, families, and teachers.

Everyone said, "Oh, look at Sophie and Oliver playing together. They're adorable" and "It's so cute how close they are. Let's hope they don't ever drift apart."

We did drift apart a little in later years, but it made sense. In middle school, the school was divided and our relationship changed a bit. It was the guys versus the girls: two separate friend groups that didn't really interact. All of the preteen angst and hormones made our weekly sleepovers and constant hanging out awkward, to say the least.

During those three years, our relationship was put to the test for the first time, which certainly wasn't the last.

I remember all the little arguments we had about you choosing your friends over me, and me choosing my friends over you. I was mostly hurt because I thought I wasn't important to you. Stupid, I know. Not that it's a good excuse, but I was twelve and quite immature. The jealous monster that's always around when you are came out for the first time in middle school. And every time you went to play basketball with your friends instead of ride bikes with me, it was enraged.

I have always suspected that Kent and your annoying guy friends had something to do with you not hanging out with me, but there's no way to know for sure. It was middle school – there are a million possible reasons to explain it.

Luckily, our friendship persevered. We still hung out on weekends and during every school break and remained semi-immune to those awful middle school divisions.

I lived for those weekends. Not just because we didn't have school, but because it was my turn to hang out with you. Soapy and Oliver could play in the woods, at the playground, or do whatever without any peer pressure. It was just us. I could even convince you to go shopping with me – something you wouldn't even consider doing if your friends were around.

Saying I loved that is an understatement.

And I think that's where I started realizing that the 'friendship' I felt for you was more. I didn't know it was Love, but there was just something extra special about you, Oliver. You would do almost everything with me, and I would do the same with you. I felt a bond with you that was stronger than any of my other friendships. As an emotionally confused twelve-year-old, I chalked it up to you being my bestest friend.

You were my bestest friend that would sometimes give me a weird, fluttery feeling in my stomach. My bestest friend that would always make me smile and laugh at his terrible, corny jokes. My bestest friend that would make any day a million times brighter.

But with time, my awareness of those mysterious feelings evolved into the awareness of a crush, then flourished into an all-encompassing Love.

     So, the summer before freshman year – I realized my Love for you then, but it had already been in existence for years. Maybe since you called me 'Soapy' in first grade. Or maybe the Love was planted inside me from the moment I was born, waiting for a certain Oliver Lawson to come around and unlock it.

     Like I said earlier, there's no way for me to know, but the point is that I have been in Love with you for ages.

But what about you? That was a mystery for many years. I'm still uncovering a lot of that and have a lot of memories and moments to comb through. Especially the calamitous events of our freshman year of high school. *sigh.* That's going to be so much fun to relive...

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