The boy next door

Therapy: Day one

"So, tell me, what brought you here?" Dr. Grey leans back in her chair after looking over our paperwork. She smiles, like this is all so simple to explain. If this was in any way simple, we wouldn't be here.

I was fiddling with my rings through the awkward silence the entire time she was looking at our paperwork. He's just looking at the floor with his hands in his pockets. We look at each other then, the first time since we met up here twenty minutes ago. Then we both look at her, like neither of us even know where to start.

She looks from me to him and back to me. "Okay...tell me how everything started, then," She prompts. I look at him again, and he looks at me, nodding, knowing that out of the two of us, I have the better memory.

I remember everything.

I take a deep breath, "Well...I guess it technically started in Kindergarten..."

~*~

Kindergarten

I remember being six, I remember thinking this boy was nice. I also remember my friend/classmate at the time straight up telling him one day that I liked him. We were six.

We're coloring at a table all together. He's sitting next to me, because that's his seat, our teacher making a pattern of boy girl boy girl, etc. And across from me is my best friend at the time.

I hadn't even talked to him at all. But I told her the day I saw him at the bus station on that first day, he smiled at me and let me go into the bus before him. I found him nice. As if I knew the concept of 'cute' and 'crush' back then.

As we're coloring, out of nowhere she says it. No one really moves but I look at him and then kind of glare at her. As well as I could at six years old, I guess.

I look at him and he doesn't really react but I'm 95% sure he heard her loud and clear, if I did, he did.

But again, we were six.

The day after she told him and him not saying anything but kind of smiling even though neither of us understood what that meant or what to do because we are six years old; we're sitting next to each other with crayons between us, as we color turkeys for Thanksgiving decorations for the classroom.

After coloring my turkey brown, I look through the crayon bin, looking for a good orange for some feathers. Not orange red or orange yellow. Yes, I knew all this at six years old, and yes, I remember all of this like it was last week.

"Do you wanna share my orange?" The same boy with nice brown eyes next to me asked. He must have seen me shuffling through the crayons and pout when I couldn't find what I want.

"Yes, please," I smile. He smiles, too, before handing it to me.

Orange. Straight orange.

"Thank you," I smile, being polite like we were all taught.

"You're welcome," He smiles.

We keep smiling at each other.

"Good sharing you two!" Our teacher says to us and the class, as she's walking around like usual.

Then we continue coloring.

~*~

First Grade

Fast forward to first grade, we're in the same class again. Yes, I still think he's nice, yes, he might be a little cute, and yes, we never talked about it. We were seven, don't get too excited.