73 Memories

The Twelfth Memory

Before I start to tell my side of this memory, I feel like you should know something.
The first time you kissed me, there was this... spark? It sounds super cliche', but in a way, I guess you and I were. But the second time you kissed me, it was there too. The only difference is the moment I started kissing you back, the spark felt more like a fire?

Did you feel that too?

I was too much of a coward to ask you that question, but there were other things that I needed you to answer. And so, when avoiding the topic became too much to bare as we sat next to each other during one of the plainest and boring science lectures, I slid a note over to you. I would have waited until after school to ask you with my voice, but for one, I wanted answers then. And two, well, I couldn't trust that my voice would betray me when the time would come.

Why would you do that?

The words probably sounded harsh in your head, but they weren't meant to be. I'm just a blunt person, which I'm sure you know by now. I'd even bet that you knew it then, too.

Why would I do what?

Why would you kiss me?

I watched you out of the corner of my eye, and I could practically see the gears turning in your head. And then you started to write.

Of course, time was against me. As soon as you started to pass the note my way, the bell rang. Instead of giving it to me and walking out the door, you gave me an apologetic, yet slightly relieved, glance before shoving the paper in your backpack and nearly running out the door.

Not that you would have known, but I sat staring at your seat for five minutes until the girl who sits where I do come into the classroom. She tapped my shoulder and gave me an impatient smile.

I gave her an insincere apology before gathering my stuff and walking out of the door, barely making it to my next class without being late.

That whole hour, I sat there writing a note in the back of my English notebook I knew I would never give you. In fact, I threw it away as soon as I finished writing it. But I remember exactly what it said:

I don't know what you seem to be playing at, but I'll have you know it's confusing me. I don't know why you insist on making my life more of a Hell than it was before I moved. That's not true, but you're getting close. I wish that one of us was brave enough to just say what we meant. But we aren't, are we? You, the boy who claimed to be less than half bad boy, are afraid of rejection, aren't you?

Look, I'm going to let you in on a little something. I'm not supposed to have friends. My father told me that I was not allowed to talk to anybody. I was supposed to keep my head down and only speak when spoken to. But you ruined that for me, didn't you?

It's alright, though. Some part of me seems to insist that you're worth it. I just don't quite know what part of me that is.

I can't tell you why, but as I threw that note in the trash and headed back to my seat, I felt like I had just added ten pounds of weights onto my already burdened shoulders.

I felt like I had just thrown away my only chance of letting you know who I actually was. Because without that note, how were you supposed to ask questions about the last paragraph?