I remember the first time I met him.
He was standing his shoulders somewhat hunched in, towards the books he held in his arms. He was looking around, somewhat confused, searching for his class, schedule in hand. He was wearing a plaid green and red shirt that enhanced his mesmerizing eyes. As he realized he had found the dreaded classroom, a small smile appeared on his lips through which, his braces peaked.
Quite frankly, I'm impressed I was able to remember all these details about him.
It's because that's how important he was to me.
He was young. So was I, back then. I remember the teacher telling us to sit alphabetically. Oddly enough, he took the seat to my right. Flashing me a shy smile, he said, "Hey, I'm Patrick." I remember looking up into his kind eyes and answering, "Hi, I'm Spring." I returned his smile.
As the class began, I remember occasionally sharing side glances, through my, then, short curly locks.
Like any typical class, the teacher asked us to start notes on line paper. I searched frantically through my things trying to find a paper. Obviously, so rushed with the chaotic morning of the first day, I hadn't put any in my empty binder. As I looked to my right, he held a stack of paper.
"Hey, Patrick? Umm-" I started. He looked at my empty hands, "You want one?" He asked, his braces appearing. I remember nodding with a shy smile and reaching for a paper. Our hands brushed.
And that's how it started.
