The Boy in the Hot Pink Hoodie

When I Saw Him

I don't remember clearly the first time I saw him, unlike most love stories. Most people have a definite first memory of seeing the person they love, but he had always been there in the periphery. When he was younger, he was soft and nerdy. Slightly chubby, he was childishly cute and kinder than anyone. At the beginning of grade eight, he was still soft-ish, with glasses and very short hair. His first announcement that year was that he was going off on a trip with his family. They would be going to Los Angeles first, and then to Kenya. He was gone for most of the year, leaving late September and returning late May. He came back. . .different. His once shaved hair was now long enough that it fluffed over his ears, and it was now obvious that his hair was curly and almost black. The top was distinctly longer than the sides, but not by much. He was a few inches taller now, meaning he wasn't as obnoxiously short. His smile was wider, happier and that happiness was infectious.

I guess the first time I really saw him, though, was January of grade nine. We had just got back from Christmas vacation. I was wearing a pleated yellow skirt, one of my favourites. I wore it with a white short sleeved shirt tucked into it. I went about my day pretty normally. When I entered the caf for lunch, something was different. I looked around. He was sitting with the jocks today, and over the back of his chair...a varsity jacket.

He made varsity football in grade nine. What truly shocked me though, was that he wasn't wearing it. He was instead wearing a hot pink hoodie with his soccer number on it. It was also his varsity number.

He was surrounded by varsity boys, and looked like he was a little uncomfortable, but they were joking and shoving each other. He was smiling now. It truly transformed him. I smiled quietly myself.

A few weeks later, I watched him play football. He was truly magnificent at it. As a running-back, he was speedy and a pretty fantastic thrower. It was hard to watch him tackle when he did, but even though he was smaller than most of the other teams players, he was fast enough that he could hit them hard, and usually either startle them or knock them over.

I probably realized that I, to steal from the sixth-grade vernacular, like-liked him in late March. We were at a party, and of course the host brought out a glass bottle. It was Spin The Bottle time, and I hadn't yet had my first kiss. I sat in the circle at first, but about ten seconds in, I backed out. I didn't want him to see me kiss someone else. I wanted to kiss him, but the chance that I would have to kiss someone else was too much for me.

Grade ten was even more different. He had muscled up and cut his hair over the summer. The loss of his hair was a little sad, but I still liked him. Some girls fall out of love after the loss of the hair, but not me. I fall in love with personality, not looks, and his smile and kindness were still the same. I didn't talk to him often, but when I did, I was always struck by his kindness, but girls were beginning to catch his eye. Girls that weren't me. I didn't mind. I wasn't exceptionally good looking. I was short haired, and not particularly curvy. I wasn't overly flat-chested, but I was boyish, and often tried to hide my chest. I was sure that he saw me more as "one of the boys" than part of his dating pool. I was surprisingly okay with that though. As long as he was happy and I could keep watching him smile, I would deal with the shot to the heart every day watching him with his girlfriend.

A week later, it finally happened. He got a girlfriend who wasn't me. He was happy.

And so was I.