The Boy I Could Never Love

Soccer

My friend voiced an interest in soccer and asked if he could join a practice. I was surprised as it seemed random. He never lived a very active lifestyle and supported a few extra pounds. I honestly believed it a joke, but laughing at the request made him bite back, leaving me to sit there and stare at him. In all the years I'd known him, never once did he raise his voice at me or speak in a harsh tone in a bout of anger. I'd seen him upset, but never directed at me. The idea that we were that far gone brought tears to my eyes. After a stumbled apology and confirming his seriousness, I agreed to take him, and we set it up for later that week.

When we arrived, I told him no one would think less of him if he sat off to the side and watched as a way to get a feel for the activity. I further explained how soccer remains a very vigorous sport even for those who play it. Yet, he insisted he came to participate and pushed through every drill.

I found myself impressed with his willingness to give it a real try as I kept an eye on him. My friend supported a habit of not displaying things that made him feel weak, and while that attracted me to him in the first place, my anxiety made me fret. His performance lacked skill but lasted the full two hours as he refused to give up until practice ended. For never having played, my friend earned MVP that day.

Playing with him, I started to realize that all memory of our time together existed in my dreamlike state, seeing any recollection of why I felt the way I did, lost to the stress I came under. Knowledge of our friendship and how he held a special place in my heart remained all I could recall, but watching him as he ran the field made me aware of the boy I used to pick for my team.

After practice, in which we needed to walk a mile to the field, we walked to my house, another mile away and up a hill, to wait for my mom who we planned to take him home. Feeling the sport put more strain on him than he anticipated saw me approach with a critical eye. Yet, he seemed okay, just tired.

Pulling away when I did made me forget who my friend was, but with his actions that day, he reminded me, and I brought up how it felt nice to spend time with him along the way. My candid performance gained little insight into how he felt.

For the first time in a long time, I acted like the girl back in junior high, carefree and giggling, trying to convince her friend to join in the fun. He said I hadn't changed to which my reply came as, of course I have, I got tits. Laughing an apology for the way his face dropped, I replied, well, it's true, and we continued walking.

I tried to choose the shortest route with the least steep incline, offering to stop or slow down as he needed. I wanted to give him a break, but he demanded to plow through it. Pretty sure I pissed him off with my worrying. When we got to my house, my mother was still twenty minutes out

Now, let me mention that when setting this up, I failed to explain how we should be alone for a while as it never occurred to me how uncomfortable that might make him. My mother and I had become close enough that I considered her my best friend, and she liked most of the people I hung out with. Her trust in my judgment saw friends over all the time when she wasn't home, and if they stuck around until mealtime, they got fed.

This enticed them to visit often as she offered advice and allowed them to sleep over when they needed an escape from home. Many started calling her mom, and a few walked right in like they were her kids. Thoughts of him being there with me alone felt like any other day inviting a friend over. It wasn't until we stood inside did I realized he had never been there, and likely this marked the first occasion at a classmate's home, friend or otherwise.

He declined to sit for the longest time, and where the bathroom was located up the stairs with the bedrooms, that idea freaked him out. Trying to make him comfortable by talking and being friendly didn't seem to be working. Still, as we were truly alone for the first time since knowing each other, I took advantage of no one watching our every move to drop my guard even further.

Having impressed me with nostalgia, I set the hurt from the dance aside, and, making an effort to be in the moment attempted another try. Changing tactics, I got closer, likely putting him on the defensive. I kept in gentle, trying to judge if my advances came as something desired. Allowing for the possibility that the cancellation came from an act of fear, I didn't want to spook the poor guy.

Searching his face and body language with my body positioned as near to his without touching as I dared, his features remained unchanged with each step I took. I remember how he grew to like my bold self, but I lost that somewhere along the way, resulting in me hovering where the right move would find us touching.

My boldness downplayed, my friend called me out for being so close. Yet, instead of answering why, I played coy, asking if he did not want me to be. Not really, came his response. I pushed whether it made him uncomfortable, and if he wanted me to back off. Both met with negative results. I took that as another rejection and complied.

When he finally did sit down, I ventured to sit facing him with our knees brushing against each other while we talked. Inclined to believe he acted on nerves without a formal rejection, I pushed, asking if he still liked me, but he refused to give an answer. Parallels to my treatment of him brought my anxiety to the surface, and my mom arrived to take him home before I could bring myself to go any further.

Thinking how I came so close to finally kissing him before he told me to back off only to refuse an answer about his feelings towards me kept me going in circles. Lost to the encounter, I didn't pay attention to where we were going. The next thing I knew, we were there, and I didn't know where there was. I got out to see him off, but he acted like my changing seats from back to front caused a rift in time. He hardly said goodbye before ushering us off and hurrying into the house where his mother stood at the door. My explanation does the scene little justice. Surficeive to say, it felt awkward. Even Mom said how she found him strange, building distrust in my feelings once again.

The following day, I asked if he would like to join me for practice again. He turned me down. Assuring him that being alone could be avoided if he wished, my friend briefly considered it. I went as far as to tell him my mom's schedule, hoping he'd agree to a different day if that bothered him. When he asked why he should go if he didn't plan to participate, I replied he didn't have to participate if he didn't want, just be there because I'm there. It never happened.

How many of you would give up at this point?
Tell me in the comments and vote.