Untouchable

To live, is to feel.

"Your name is humming inside my chest. I think this is what it means to love. I think this is what it means to be living." — i am a grand, living, buzzing thing, Emma Bleker

Not everything I did involved Oli. He definitely influenced my 8th-grade year, but I didn't do everything just for him. Soon enough, I started to give candy to him weekly. Not only that, his hugs increased from spurs of the moment to every day. Not that I minded though. I still think about how I kept track of our hugs and their value to me. I think about what could've been if I'd been more bold, what could've blossomed from unspoken words. I think about what I should've done, the mistakes I made, and how I treated him. I was a shy person back then. I still am. But looking back on it, I realized I can't do that anymore. 

Already halfway through November, I got used to the fact that I liked him. It was a tight grip he had on me. I couldn't escape it. In my journal, I described what I admired about him. It wasn't just Oliver's hair I loved the most, but his personality as well. He was so spontaneous and random, he was erratic and problematic, and he was everything I adored in a person. The fact he could say something so unplanned and off-topic and everyone around him would burst into laughter caught me off guard. He was too alluring for me to just be friends with him.

I didn't realize I liked him for so long. I didn't think it would last long, nor did I believe I had a chance with him. Still, even with this knowledge, I noted what I learned about him. I learned he didn't like chocolate or caramel. His favorite color was blue and his new favorite candy at the time became Mike and Ike's. With this information, I assumed he enjoyed soft things, like marshmallows and squishies. Since he didn't like caramel, you could infer that he didn't like it when things got stuck in his teeth. It was easy to read him. By far, was he my favorite book.

When it was time for me to go to 8th-grade overnight camp, I could only think about what he was doing in 6th-grade camp and miss him. Nia, on the other hand, did not have to miss the person she had a crush on. As unexpected as it was, she took a liking to one of our teachers. Brooklynn, too, didn't have anyone to miss. It was unfair. Finally, after a long, excruciating week, the camp was over. There's not much to say about it. We got to stay in cabins, however, a slight incident happened in ours. I won't elucidate on that. I guess you could say that I formed bonds with my classmates.

It was the moment I'd been waiting for. I finally got to see Oli after having to live off clouded memories and hazy embraces for a week. I was with our little group again at the blue lunch tables when he came over. As he ran over, his hair fell up and down. There isn't a way to even explain how angelic he looks when that is happening. 

"CHARlieeee!" He yelled. There it was again. Since I've met him, I noticed he had a thing for calling me by my name. He did that a lot, believe it or not. He wouldn't call Brooklynn or Nia or Kayla, even, like he called for me. I didn't understand it, but I liked it. No matter where I was, or what I was doing, if I heard my name being called like that, I'd know it was him. 

"Oli!" I said back. I liked his name too. I could say it over again a million times in my head and never get sick of it. It was a pretty name for a pretty boy (don't quote me on that).

Once I said his name back, he came up to me and pulled me in. Something about this hug, something about the way he walks over, it's attractive. I can't say the same for his manners, though. Hugging him felt like hugging one of my stuffed animals at home. It was soft and fuzzy, and I never wanted to let go. I hugged him as tight as I could, and do you know what he did? I can't even make up or explain what he did, but he made this noise. It wasn't a funny noise you would make with your friends, but it was the noise you'd make when you enjoyed a hug. From that point, I knew I irrevocably and unconditionally, fell. I can't believe I still remember it all too well.  Now, however, it feels like a fever dream. It was a dream I never wanted to let go of. It doesn't feel real, but once, only once, I lived in it.

As he pulled away, he smiled at me. And I, smiled back. I got sick that week, and staying at home, bedridden, hurt me more than you could imagine. After being in the woods for a week and not being able to see him was understandable, but being on my ass all day, feeling horrible knowing Oli was just a few miles away was too much. I was cooped up in my room for yet another 7 days. It felt as though I was in exile, banished from seeing him.

I lay in my bed staring at the ceiling.  I wanted to memorize your face. The shape of your nose bridge down to the grooves of your chin. I was haunted by the after-thoughts and the good-byes, and every stolen glance. Could you have felt what I felt? Felt relaxation and calmness wash over you after waiting for the moment to arrive? Bare the pain, the aching beats of my heart. Could we have shared that? I wanted to face your hazel eyes, hold your gaze, and speak my truth.

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