The sounds of our shoes contrasting against the macadam pavement lightly echoed as we made our way to the bus stop. I turned my head to him, attempting to make small talk.
“It’s pret-”
“What are we?” He interjected.
Apparently he had other plans for where he’d like to take our conversation.
Well
Crap.


“That’s an awfully deep question for only 6:15 in the morning,” I joked, playfully nudging him.

He didn’t laugh.

“I’ve been labeling us as just feelings, but I feel as if we are more than that at this point.”

“Well, I..”

I pondered. I was half panicking, while also half elated. I took a deep breath, and sorted through the memories of him and I.


When I think of highschool, I think of a place where the future begins. The period when your free trial of childhood ends, and the pricey subscription to adulthood begins. A time when you sort through the things you had put off for later. It’s when the well of empathy runs dry, leaving nothing but due dates and endless expectations in its place. These are the four years you must take with utter care. Distractions have no place here.


When I think of him, I think of a boy who had the largest, brightest smile. He wasn’t overly tall, but taller than me. He had the messiest, brown curly hair. He had blue eyes–not quite piercing, but prominent. Not quite blue like the Atlantic, nor cold like ice. It was just the right amount of blue. More notably, he was wonderfully sporadic and goofy. He was always up to something and always getting into something he shouldn’t have been. At first glance, people tend to subject him to assumptious opinions. Just talk to him once, though, and you’d see just how sweet he is. He was the perfect distraction.


Memories come and go; they form then evaporate, just like clouds. A specific moment comes to mind and reels in from the distance. It comes into clear view, as I’m forced to watch it unfold.


It was the third week of my freshman year in highschool. It had just turned 2:25, and countless kids were flowing out from the building. I managed to push my way through the sea of teenagers and out into the bus pickup area. I scanned the area, searching for my bus–yet instead my gaze latched onto a familiar backpack. It was one of my friends that I shared my science and english class with. Forgetting my original objective, I rushed over to them. I pulled on their pink backpack, grabbing their attention. “Oh, hey,” they waved. I smiled and gave them a quick hug. Neither of us wanting to miss our buses, we parted ways.

“Right, back on track,” I thought to myself. I carefully navigated through the crowd, eventually finding where my bus was located. I stepped onto the bus, realizing that my usual seat in the front row was taken. I walked further down the aisle, looking for a free spot.

And that’s when our eyes met.

"Don’t you want to come sit with your new friend?” He grinned, tilting his head to the side.

“Fine,” I groaned, plopping down beside him.

I kept my gaze on my hands, refusing to show the fact that I was indeed a little excited that he invited me to sit with him. “I’m not sitting here because I want to, it’s just out of necessity,” I reassured myself. Besides, emotions are best left buried within one’s mind. Before long, the bus doors closed and the sound of a purring engine followed suit.


Rays of sunshine gleaned through the half-open bus windows, shining on the mundane gray leather seats. The light scent of gasoline lingered in the air. The playful breeze continuously tickled my face as the bus gently rocked and swayed me–quite like a mother rocking her baby to sleep. Sounds of teenagers chatting and giggling amongst themselves were all around.

I glanced over at him. I don’t know why, but one day he just started giving me attention. And ever since, he’s been inviting me to sit with him. I wanted to say something–anything really– but nothing came to mind. This was my first year going to school in person, so I’d never really talked to boys before. I had no idea what to say that would interest one.

Suddenly, he turned to face me. With a grin that reached from ear to ear accompanied by glistening eyes he said, “Shorty.”

That’s when my hard, external facade shattered. With nothing to offer in reply but a timid smile and a face redder than a tomato, I sat there helplessly. He directed his gaze to the passing scenery outside the window. I can’t lie, there’s this sort of charm about him. It’s the sort of charm that lulls me into complacency, and holds me steady. An embarrassing thought plants itself in my mind; I wonder what he’d do if I were to rest my head on his shoulder. I didn’t know if he’d be angry, but for some reason, I wanted to.

After a minute of debating, I let my intrusive thoughts win. I gently rested my head on his shoulder. I heard him gasp a little–but then he rested his head on top of mine. I shut my eyes.


The memory fades away, but another one slowly comes to light to replace it.


For only being 6:23 in the morning, it felt more like an endless night. The air was brisk and thin. It cradled me harshly–like a hug where the option to decline is void. Shivering, I wrapped my arms around myself. I sighed, observing a misty cloud escaping my lips.


I glanced to my left. As usual, he was beside me. I know he was physically present, but not so much mentally. In morning’s like these, you either think too much or you don’t think at all. Similar to most things in life, there isn’t an in between. Besides, some silence is nice. Just like how I thought he was nice. Just like in the way of how it was nice to be in his presence. I redirect my gaze straightforwardly, as I allow the silence to surround us. And everything was okay.


The bustling hustle of a struggling motor neared; and sure enough, it was the bus heading our way. Once onboard, we sat together–just like we always did.


He focused his attention on the passing scenery.

I focused my attention on him.


I pondered for a moment, watching him. It would’ve felt illegal to break our silence. One wrong word, and he might fade away into the depths of the morning. Desiring his attention yet too stubborn to fold first, I considered my two options.

Until I thought of a third.

I carefully slid his hand into mine, and gripped softly. He returned my gesture, which made my heart warm with joy. We stayed like this for a while, and nothing else mattered but him. Feeling satisfied, I attempted to take my hand back to where it belonged.

But the boy with curly hair, a goofy smile, and just-right blue eyes refused to release my hand.

With a slight desperation in his tone, he said five fateful words,

“I’m not losing anyone else.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I assured.

I gently guided his arm and wrapped it around me. With his left arm around me and his right hand in mine, I might as well have had the whole world. “Perhaps–just like two puzzle pieces–the only place my fingers belong are intertwined with his,” I quietly thought to myself. I swiftly pushed the thought away, not wanting to catch myself in the intricacies. I rested my head on his shoulder, enjoying the moment. I know that once the bus ride ends, he’ll go his way, and I’ll go mine. And I won’t see him until the afternoon ride home, where we’ll be together again.


The scene fades away, as another memory forms.


My parents had left me home alone for an abnormally long time. I was fourteen. It wasn’t unusual to leave me unattended for a couple of hours, but for some inexplicable reason, today was different. Almost 7 o’clock in the evening, and they had yet to return. I sighed, reclining back in my seat. I looked around the room. Deep blue walls, burgundy carpet, round clock, and my dog. Pouting, I glanced over to the garage door. I enjoy being alone just as much as the next person does, but it's nice to have company sometimes. After a while, the repetitive tick from the clock becomes irritating. I have my dog of course, but she only bothers me when she wants food. Neither of those things make a great remedy for loneliness.


Not having anything else to do, I whipped out my phone.

Soon after, the sound of the clock was drowned out by the pitter patter of letters being typed, accompanied by frequent notification pings. Some messages later, he asks,

“Are you busy?”

He knows I’m not. “Nope, not at all,” I text back.

“You want a hug?”

He already knows I do.

I felt myself sharply inhale. I blankly stared at the message, allowing my mind to wander. I’ve kept the way I felt about him a secret for so long. In my mind, telling my parents about this boy who had nestled a special place in my heart was completely out of the question. I explicitly recall my mother always telling me to “not let anybody in this goddamn house while we're gone, you hear?” I had always obeyed the rules blatantly laid out for me by my caregivers. Them finding out I let a boy over–let alone let one come within six feet of me physically and emotionally–I might as well be canceling my subscription to life.

Rules kept me safe.

Rules gave me solace.

Rules left me dependent.


I’m only a teenage girl. And I suppose, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find comfort in the way he makes me feel. Setting aside my upbringing and pride, I finally replied to him. A couple exchanged messages and a “Okay, coming” later, it was happening. He was coming over. I set my phone down on the table, letting my reality sink in. A flush of anxiety rushed over me.

What am I doing?

What would dad think?

Scratch that! What would mom think?

Before I had time to rethink my entire existence, I was swiftly pulled out of my internal reality check when my phone screen lit up,


“I’m in your backyard.”


I raced over to the patio door. Swiftly parting the screen door, I stepped onto the hard patio. I slipped on my aging, slightly dirtied white crocs. I feel my pulse quicken as I make my way off the patio, and onto the grass.


There stood my boy with his curly hair, just-right blue eyes, and a goofy smile.


I was used to seeing him in the mornings and afternoons when we had our bus rides together. The thought of seeing him outside of school–let alone in my backyard–never crossed my mind. Not necessarily because I wouldn’t want him here, but because I never thought it possible. It’s ironic, the fact that he lives across the street, but my parents are the ones who keep him and I at arm's length.

Perhaps it was something about the way the moon reflected upon the trees, or the way the crickets sang in harmony, or maybe I had just lost my mind but… he looked nice. He wore a t-shirt paired with an unbuttoned dark blue flannel, along with sweatpants. It was the same outfit he usually wore, but for some reason, it looked different.

I walked over to him, and quickly found myself in his warm embrace. We parted, and he smiled, “I’ve never seen you in your pajamas before.” I looked down at myself, a crash of embarrassment coming over me. I wore my baggy pajamas with my hair messily thrown into a braided ponytail. I giggled nervously. I just now realized I didn’t think about my appearance before seeing him. Not being able to meet his gaze, I glanced over his shoulder instead. I noticed a dark silhouette closer to the perimeter of the yard.

“That’s my friend,” he said, “I brought him with me.”

Not giving me a chance to respond, he scooped me up in his arms as if I weighed nothing. I gasped a little–half in surprise from his dramatic display, half still in shock from him being here at all. We exchanged little gestures of affection, and I couldn’t help but smile. It felt a little awkward having a third party there while I had his undivided attention, but neither of us cared. Being in his arms felt right. It felt good. It was all I ever wanted and more.


He gently put me down,

“Alright, you got your hug. It’s probably time for you to go back in now.”

I hugged him again, giving one last squeeze, “I don’t want you to go.”

He squeezed back, “I don’t want to go either.”

I nodded in agreement, and then he and I said our goodbyes. I turned around on my heel, and went back inside.


I sauntered into my bedroom, allowing myself to fall onto the bed. I let out a happy sigh, replaying our interaction over in my head. Remembering that all good things come to an end, I pouted. I know that I’ll see him again tomorrow, but being away from him still feels like I’m leaving a part of myself. It’s another cruel symptom that was so kindly bestowed upon me from the guy who lives in the sky. I silently cursed god for a moment. It always feels like I’m being teased. How could he put someone so special so close, yet set my circumstances so that he’ll always be too far away?

“I´m in love, I think," I carefully pondered.

Is this what they call love? Or perhaps, it's just a strong like. Just how people strongly like to eat their favorite food…or sleep…or to do anything that enthralls them. Or…perhaps the way I feel about him is how an addict feels about drugs. The addict knows that drugs are bad, but the euphoria received from it is inexplicable.

I let my thoughts take a mind of their own, focusing on the expanding warmth in my chest. Whenever I’m around him, I feel like I’m floating. The world around us always dissipates, leaving nothing in clear view except him. In my mind, he is the top priority. If one day God tested fate and hit the reset button–just to watch everything replay as how it was before…

Every experience.

Every hug.

Every bus ride spent together.


I just know I’d happily do it again.


I don’t know what to call this emotion. But it’s there.

I stared blankly at my ceiling. Shortly after, my eyes slowly shut as I drifted off to sleep.



The last memory disappears and I’m abruptly shooted back into reality. I stuttered, trying to find the right words.

“It’s just.. Well… I..”

I stopped.

“It’s alright, take your time,” he said.

I took a deep breath and held onto it, counting to three.
One…

Two…

Three…

I exhaled, finally gaining the confidence I had been looking for. He locked his eyes on me, searching for an answer. It was about time that I gave him one.

“Well…you’re my boyfriend, dummy.” I looked away, trying to hide the blush on my cheeks. His eyes grew wide for a moment–but then he grinned that sly grin which landed me here in the first place. It was infectious. I felt a slight smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “I can’t wait to tell my friends,” he laughed. This time, we were both laughing. And everything was amazing. Before long, we had reached the bus stop–and got on, just as we had many times before–and hopefully, for many more times to come.
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