I looked over his shoulder trying to peak at what he was doing. Noticing my prying eyes, he fidgeted a little to block my view. “Don’t look,” he told me, “I’m not done yet.” We had been sitting on some bleachers that over looked the high school baseball diamond. Remo had picked something up from underneath us a few minutes earlier and was fixated on it. I protested that he should show me, but he refused insisting I wait a bit longer. Time wasn’t on our side and I knew that it would be the last day we would ever be together.
“Remo—“
“Gen, close your eyes,” he said turning around excitedly.
“No Remo, I hate surprises. You know that.”
“Fine, give me your hand.” I could see his hands were clasped tight like a clam shell as I carefully moved my right hand towards him. “No, the other hand.” Confused at the request, I moved my right hand back and placed my left hand on his knee. He lifted my hand while concealing the object from my view; I felt a cold object being slipped on to my ring finger. It was light and I could feel something soft brush against the hairs on my fingers. He then uncovered his hands.
“A dandelion…” I said as tenderly as I could. I really wasn’t sure how to react. My own voice echoed the phrase in my mind; replaying the many different ways I should have said it.
“Not just any dandelion. It’s a dandelion ring! It had a long stem, so I—” I tuned out Remo’s enthusiastic explanation of how he made the weed into a now sentimental item.
I liked it, the ring. And I liked him too a lot.
I wasn’t sure if he understood how I felt about him. It was rather, complicated. When I first met him two years ago, I thought nothing of it. I was in 7th grade, and he was just a guy that wanted to help me out after I had dropped my slice of pizza on the cafeteria floor. I laughed about it at the time, but only because it was one of those bad days where nothing went right; I lost my homework, a strap from my backpack broke, and I came to school that day with crazy hair that, which even though tied back, didn’t want to listen to me. All I could do was laugh to keep my own spirits up. He had this strange puzzled look on his face when he came up to me. He helped me, I thanked him, and I didn’t care to think twice about the situation or him ever again.
The next day, I got a sense someone was watching me; it was him. His stalking got to the point where he came up to me, again, and started a conversation about how windy it was even though our school was one big three-story building. Not only that, he called be my name. I thought to myself, who was this guy and how does he know my name? I never told him. Besides, no one ever noticed me unless I wanted them too, and I never wanted them too. This was due to the fact I didn’t care much for close relationships with other people.
Soon after my obscure life was thrown in to the spotlight, and there I was under the eyes of everyone in the school. Remo was popular; I didn’t care. He was attractive; I didn’t care. He was a grade higher than me; I still didn’t care. To me he was just a really nice guy, but to everyone he was a Remo McHale, the school’s nicest or most troublesome guy, depending on who you talk to.
A teacher would say he was your typical class clown. Always making inappropriate comments about what’s being taught or disrupting the class with a prank to stall for time till the bell rang. He was only a bully around his friends because that’s what some guys do when around a bunch of meat heads.
I found that the more I was around him the more I wanted to go back into the shadows. It was suffocating, being around so many of the same people all the time; the teeny bopper girls, poser guys, and every cookie-cutter-copy-cat out there. I couldn’t take it anymore, I had to leave. My chance came when a few girls started to make my life difficult. They would spread rumors, threaten me with lies, or try to embarrass me in front of everyone, especially Remo. I played them for idiots and went with the victim act. I was later able to convince my parents that I should be home schooled because of it all. When I told Remo I was leaving school, he was upset. He even tried to convince me to stay; saying something like it wasn’t fair to him, but I told him it wasn’t his decision. I wanted to leave.
Two years past since I had started home schooling, and every day Remo came to see me. When Remo started high school he confessed that he had feelings for me that he never knew he could feel. I told him I wanted to feel them too but I knew I couldn’t. I still thought of him as just some guy. He would hold my hand or hug me as if I was his, and I would try to reflect that same feelings back. Even a simple kiss was hard for me to grasp. I wasn’t ready or it wasn’t the right moment for me. I didn’t want to waste my first kiss on someone I didn’t have true feelings for.
It took half a year for me open up to Remo after he told me he liked me, and by then he told me he was going to Ohio for military school. I would guess his mischievous personality got him in too much trouble. The sad part of all this was I was moving too, to Texas. My mother found a job there as a teacher. I would have told Remo, but I was still falling for him and telling him now would make it harder to let go. We still had not kissed and I regret rejecting him every time he tried. It’s too late now though, he was leaving and my first kiss would be wasted on a broken heart.
As he was talking on about the weed on my finger, I couldn’t help but want to memorize every detail of his face. He had a snow-white smile that never seemed to melt and the wrinkles of his lips were moistened from the chapstick we always shared. I even wanted to remember the mole above the left side of his upper lip, a beauty mark that always caught my eye every time I wanted to be closer to him. I found his large button nose cute, because it complimented his smooth cheeks that had a slight rose flush. A common sight since he admitted that his heart always raced just glancing at me for a second. I could see in his vivid green eyes, the longing to share more than just a chapstick, a hand, or an embrace. The way his eyes were as wet as his lips, I felt as though I could see the solace in his soul that matched mine.
“Are you lost in my eyes again?” he uttered, his big eyes surprisingly closer in view. I remained silent, not knowing what to say. He must have noticed I was blankly staring at him. “Hello? You there?”
“Hi. Sorry I zoned out,” I said, slightly embarrassed.
“Is there something on your mind?
“No, nothing is on my mind,” I told him while flashing a smile. He probably didn’t believe me, I thought to myself.
“Well, do you at least want to know what I see in your eyes?” he said brushing the tips of our noses against each other. I agreed with a nod that bushed our cheeks close together. “I can see the sunset in your eyes, brown and gray, and blue besides,” he sang melodically into my ear. He stopped short and started to laugh; he must have forgotten the rest of the song again. It was sweet and unexpected, so I laughed with him.
