Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Journal to Blog #3: Childhood Love

John*. Where do I even begin? I mean, he was my first "love" in life. We met in the third grade, but I really didn’t pay attention to him until fifth grade when we started sitting next to each other in class and talking through most of the lessons. We instantly "liked" each other. His grandmother lived down the street from me, so he would go to her house to see me. He would come riding down the street on his little red bike and talk to me in my front yard. I would always get embarrassed and try to get him to leave before my parents could see, but I always wanted him to stay as long as possible. We had a field trip once that involved a long and bumpy ride in the back of the bus. It was then that he took my hand in the seat and told me “I like you because you’re so cool. And you’re a really good drawer.” Then he turned to me and asked, “Why do you like me?” I was at a loss for words. To this day I tend to not know why I’m interested in the people I’m interested in. I fumbled “You’re different from everyone else. That’s why I like you.” He seemed unsure with my answer, but he didn’t ask again. Not for six more years.

In the sixth grade however, the next year, he still liked me and I still liked him. He was assigned to sit next to me in science class and always had the boy in front of me ask me to go out with him. I always, ALWAYS declined. Dating in sixth grade?! That was scary stuff! I always turned him down and he always kept trying and I always secretly loved him. To this day, I don’t know why I did that to him.

I started “dating” a.k.a. talking to a different boy that year, and to say the least, John was not pleased. He teased incessantly about it everyday in science class, and it was getting a little crazy. One day in science class we were having a party and the lemonade was flowing. He continued to pester me about my little boyfriend, and I finally couldn’t take it anymore. As soon as he got close to me, I shook my glass of lemonade at him and it soaked the entire front of his shirt. Only about half the class saw. The teacher, thankfully, did not. What John did next surprised me as much as anything he’s ever done since: he went up to the teacher with his dripping shirt, said he spilled, and can he go and change in the bathroom? I remember watching him approaching the teacher, praying for my life and then having my jaw drop when he took the blame. Why would he do that? Apparently he still cared about me.

But from then on, things weren’t really the same between us. I remember him walking back into class in a new shirt and saying “so you really do like him, huh?” before smiling and slumping down in his seat. All after cleaning up the spill on the table, of course.

From then on, I continued to "love" him. We didn’t have a class together until my freshman year of high school, and by then it seemed he was interested in every girl but me. I would never have a “boyfriend” again and I’d still be in love with John. But according to his friends I’d really crushed him in sixth grade. You have no idea how much I wish I could go and take it all back. I stared at him in freshman year Spanish class; he looked right through me. But I held onto the past and our fifth-grade talks of getting married at 18; I held onto them to make myself feel a little bit better.

Finally, junior year. I have no idea how it happened. He was assigned to sit behind me in American History, and I panicked every single day. Does my back look fat in this shirt? That sort of thing. And he actually talked to me; I told him I didn’t have a date for homecoming and he admitted that if he would have known, he wouldn’t have asked the girl he was going with. He started passing me notes in class: so old school! And finally one had his phone number in it. I texted him that night and he texted me for about three weeks: in class, after school, while I was working. I felt like maybe this was what was meant to be, that maybe we were finally getting it right. Then one Saturday while I was working he texted to ask if I wanted to hang out when I got off. I had butterflies in my stomach and I couldn’t think straight for the rest of my shift, but I said yes.

I showered incredibly fast when I got home, but I still stood in the hot water trying to imagine what kissing him would be like. I knew in my gut that I was getting my first kiss, at seventeen, that night. I had no idea how to do it, and I knew he’d kissed girls before. I brushed my teeth three times, and threw clothes all around in my closet. I was an excitable mess.

*Name has been changed.


Hannah Mae said...

I LOVE this Jessi! Def post the rest it was so good!

I Love You More Then... said...

This is so sweet & sincere! You're such an amazing writer.

RAY J said...


where's the rest of the story?

Jessi Haish said...

To write it or not to write it. This is actually all I have haha and I don't like the ending. However...I can work on it this week :P


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