Hysterical letters to my sanity

from childhoods hour

There I was in seventh grade, with my violined hips and protruding belly, my librarian glasses, thickly set gap, purple hair and red face; you could say I wasn't winning any beauty contests.
Regardless of that I found myself intelligent, more mature than my fellow child but this poem is not about a day like that; it's about a day of embarrassment.
I am in the seventh grade and I'm terrified of the wrinkled, sweating ladies, skin sagging so low it seemed to be melting, they hand me dented cans and crushed boxes. Muffins or scones on a good early morning, bags of potatoes and powdered milk.
I am twelve years old and I have a crush on a boy in my class, he comes from white picket fences with millions of freckles.
He is a kind boy and I know this.
Because one morning I am fumbling through the busy food bank, picking up toys scattered around by children, set free while their parents dig for un-crushed boxes of cereal. I am walking slowly through the line, my mother grabbing off brand Kraft dinner and oatmeal; I look up to glance very quickly at what I was assuming to be the ghastly face of the elderly women who usually volunteered here but instead it was him. Instead of his usual bright grin, his face held a look I learned to grow accustomed to, pity.
He looked down at the hamburger buns he was holding, then to me again, this time he smiled, a grin as if to assure me everything was fine. That this alternate plane we had accidentally crossed to would be forgotten once we both leave.
I turned away, I walked over to my mother and told her I'd be waiting in the car with my brothers.
I didn't go to school the next day out of fear,
Fear of I'm not sure what yet,
We never spoke of that day and no one ever mentioned it, his smile was of genuineness,
I didn't like him anymore but every-time we shared polite conversation I still turned red.
I'm not sure how he's doing now but maybe he'll read this, if he did I hope he'd know,
I learned to swallow my shame and believe in good people after that.