That first time

He’d sit right in front of me as our rose-colored chairs were lined up facing the blackboard that was filled with drawings and letters written in various colors. The inscriptions didn’t make sense to me at that moment. I’d hit his head repeatedly, in a blind and impulsive effort to catch his attention. I’d stare and silently marvel at how his glossy hair bounced; in sync with his every movement.

He’d turn around and scream at me. He had a small face, one I wanted to cover entirely with my tiny, innocent hands. His eyes were enchanting; a light brown color emerging from such round objects placed below his humble forehead. His skin was tan, yet smooth and seemingly soft. I’d chase him outside by the playground where I’d show off at the monkey bars; my upper body strength was quite impressive for such a small frame.

“HEY!” he’d exclaim, each time I bullied him so. He’d turn around with his crunched up nose and either run away, avoid me, or stop himself from hitting me back. “Stop it!” He also had a lisp that seemed strange to me. It seemed charming to me. Everything about him was.

I wanted to sit next to him. I wanted to share crayons with him, or maybe even brush his hand a little when we’d pick materials from the straw baskets scattered across the room. I wanted him to notice my drawings on the board when I was assigned for the artwork of the day. I wanted him to listen to me as I recited poems, acted out Goldilocks and sang in front of everyone. I wanted him to congratulate me when I wore all those medals at graduation. Being inconspicuous was something that just didn’t come naturally to me.

I was a little girl then, barely 5 years old. Twelve years later, I could only remember so little. Having a childhood crush seemed so surreal to me, yet it’s a memory I just had to chuckle at and embrace with either humiliation or just plain amusement. It could be both.

His name was Kevin.