letters to the boy who never cared

butterflies {edited}

Do you remember our first date? I do. We were going to the movies. My heart skipped a few beats and my stomach fluttered as I opened the door for you and saw those eyes sparkling at me. My mom looked at you suspiciously. I couldn't blame her. I couldn't even call you cute, because you oozed sex appeal. I could tell she expected you to act like any other hormonal teenage boy. I'm sure she thought you were the type to break hearts as she glared at you. But I thought, No, I know him. He's so sweet and nice and the way he's staring at me is making me very uncomfortable. So, I gently called my mom off.

As you slipped your elbow in the crook of my arm to lead me away... oh, God, everything you did gave me chills, and that, I couldn't explain. How was I supposed to get through the night having an aneurysm every time our skin touched? I think you felt me tense because you looked over and then you reached for my hand and held it. My heart nearly stopped right then. I was looking at our entwined hands and thinking, oh God my hands will sweat he'll think I'm weird he'll stop liking me he'll ditch me before we even get to the movie. You looked nervous, too, and you held my hand gingerly like china or a bird's wing, like something beautiful. We both looked at that pair of hands as if between them were life's secrets. I was antsy, so I talked to fill the silence of the car. You already knew I didn't like dresses, so I told you Summer made me wear it and how weird it was having to think about the position of your knees. You smiled at me. "You're so cute," you said, and told me you thought my dress was beautiful. My cheeks burned for the rest of the ride.

For some reason, the walk into the movie theater was like walking a red carpet. I saw nearly ten people from school in the lobby, looking at us (well, mostly you), whispering about relationship statuses, about how mad your exes would be. I was mortified; you seemed not to notice at all.

The horror you'd planned to take me to (we shared an interest in that genre) was sold out along with everything else worth seeing. But we couldn't not see a movie, you reasoned, so you chose a cheesy rom-com.

I felt safer once we were in the darkness of the theater. There was a bucket of popcorn and two sodas between us, and in the absence of light you couldn't so easily spot my blemishes.

I'd never watched a romantic comedy with other people before. The crying and hysterical laughing always happened behind closed doors, on my bed swaddled in sweats and a soft tartan blanket. I didn't cry at this movie (too predictable) but it was still awkward going on a date watching other people suck face. The distance between our faces was around a foot, meanwhile, the onscreen lovers' faces mashed together in a kind of messy intimacy I'd never experienced. I took careful mental notes for a situation in which I ended up kissing you. I took in the twists of the actress's head, her fluid body movements, where your hands were supposed to go.

"Never do it like that." I turned sharply to the sound of your whisper. You'd seen me inspecting them! Blood rushed to my cheeks, but you just grinned."She's too fast."

I said, "Oh," the only thing I could say. A low chuckle escaped your lips as you ruffled my hair. Without any of the usual preliminary sneakiness, you draped your arm over my shoulder, like it was nothing. My breath caught in my chest. In that moment, I wasn't even breathing, and we were silent. I was incredibly nervous with the touching and the making out going on in front of us, so I thought, fill silent moments with food, so I reached my hand into the popcorn bucket. I brushed the rough tips of your fingers as I tried scooping up a few kernels. I was still, and so were you. And then, you were holding my buttery hand.

I thought, why did he do that? and then, why didn't I think of that? I thought, what if he hates girls with short nails, or what if I get a pimple on my hand from the grease? I tried to figure out, as the movie progressed, how this experience was for you. On this end, it was wonderful. Our hands stayed buried in there until the house lights turned on and we had to leave.

You drove me back home in comfortable silence. Nervously, I applied chapstick, because the rumor was that you always kissed on the first date, and you hadn't yet. I clasped and unclasped my hands in anticipation as we neared my house. On my front porch, you separated my hands and held both of them. "I'll see you Monday, little Lexi." You kissed me on the cheek.

You left a very confused Alexa on the porch and drove away, just like that.

I wasn't sure whether I was crushed that you hadn't kissed me for real, or elated that I was different.

Love, Alexa Green