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I see him as I walk down the street to the corner store and my light green sandals tap against the cold cement making a monotonous sound. Tap, tap, tap, tap. He is coming in my direction and I in his. He's wearing that shirt that makes me smile every time I see it. It is the polo shirt with that funny shade of blue all over it. I think he told me last year that he accidentally spilled clorox all over that shirt. Right now, I want to see him but I don't want to see him. I want to tell him the truth, how I feel about us, but I don't want to tell him. Right before we meet in the middle of the street, I make a sloppy turn around the corner and run down an alley, away from him. Why didn't I tell him?
I had heard of love before, but not love like this. Love was supposed to be something that made people happy. With love, the world would be perfect. In fairy tales, love was finding your prince charming and living happily every after. It seemed to me that everyone thought love was something good, I mean except in preschool when the boys thought the girls had cooties. Then again, I never really knew what the cooties were; all I knew was that we were supposed to be afraid of boys, or was it the other way around? Anyway, I was a young woman now. The cooties were history.
However, the love I felt for him was different from all of this. It wasn't friend love but I didn't want to be his girlfriend or anything like that. The love I felt for him . . . was . . . I really do not know what it was like. Every time I saw him, it felt like a merciless knife had stabbed me in the heart. Maybe he was attractive; yes, he was attractive, but that wasn't what made me love him so much. Even though I felt nervous when I was around him, afraid that I was going to say something ridiculous, once I began talking to him, I felt comfortable. I felt like we had a deeper relationship than just friends did. I could talk to him almost about anything: whether subs were better at Subway or elsewhere, complain about my sibling, or argue that I was taller than he was, and he would always be listening. Then, there was his smile. His smile to me was like a bright sun that appeared on a dark, cloudy day. His smile made my heart melt and made me smile too. When I was at home and had nothing to do, I'd call him, and when he answered, he'd listen to me and everything I had to say before he even spoke.
I hadn't really known him for long, one and a half years to be exact. The day he met me, I remember he told me that he felt like he had known me for a long time. I simply blushed at the comment, dismissed it, and went on to talk about my dislike for Dr. Pepper soda.
I hide behind a trashcan in the alley that smells like leftover lasagna and try to ignore the repugnant smell as I watch him get to the middle of the street. He looks around at the traffic and across the street, confused. Then, he glances over to the alley, and I duck behind the garbage can. He was hoping to meet me there, in the middle of the street. And I ran away.
After realizing he won't be able to find me, he frowns and continues to walk down the street. I feel so shallow. Maybe I would have been able to talk to him like any other day and ignore that growing feeling inside of me. Then again, I knew I wouldn't be able to forget my growing emotions for him, they would continue to haunt me. I am in love, but I never knew it could be so painful and embarrassing.
A Volkswagen vehicle passes by the alley and the woman in the car stares at me, kneeling behind a garbage can, with a puzzled look on her face. I stand up, clean my hands on my jeans, and then wave at the woman. The woman shakes her head and then continues to drive. My cheeks turn a bright red as I leave the alley and continue to walk to the corner store. I briefly turn around and watch the blue polo grow smaller and smaller as he walks the opposite direction.
A passing thought crosses my mind and I think that maybe, just maybe, I could have told him how I really feel about him. Maybe love didn't have to be so painful. If I told him, maybe he would have smiled at me, I would have smiled, and we would figure something out. Nonetheless, I quickly forget about that passing thought and soon, I hear my light green sandals tapping against the cold cement again, making that monotonous sound. Tap, tap, tap, tap.
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