Memories

Thirteenth Memory

In a moment of insanity in geometry class, I decided to reach over to his desk while we were taking notes and wrote "Hi" in the corner of his paper. He noticed, of course, and wrote back on my notebook, "How are you?"

Decent. Tired. Hungry. You? 

"Okay" was the reply. He started to erase my paper, but his eraser doesn't work very well, so I did it for him, and he wrote "Thanks" but when I erased what I wrote on his paper, he asked me why.

Because there's not a lot of room, I told him.

"Okay."

How's life?

"Stressful. Painful. Boring. What about you?"

About the same, and then I added, in a second moment of insanity, It sounds like you need a hug.

I was surprised to see him smile a bit.

"Thanks, but I'll be fine. I'm just sad."

Is it because you're leaving? 

"Yes."

I'm sorry.

"It's okay. But thanks anyways."

Anytime, friend.

Then, near the end of class while he was picking up the deck of cards that kept falling of his desk, I built up the courage to jot down "I'll miss you." I was freaking out on the inside, though, because I'd started writing and erased it a few times already, and he saw me writing it the last time, too, but he had to leave to pick up his instrument from the band room early so he wouldn't miss the bus, and he didn't read it before walking out the door. So now he's probably going to see it at home, when he's using his notebook for completing the review packet, and I'm really nervous about what he's going to think, even though I've already hinted at it a few times before. He's probably going to think I'm strange, more than he already does, and wonder why I'm being so clingy. I hope I'm not coming off as clingy––I can't stand super-clingy people, and I don't want to give the wrong impression. I just . . . care about him, in a way he probably won't ever care about me.