1I wonder if you ever feel the way my eyes trace your body every chance they get. Wordlessly memorizing ever facet, every dimple, every curve.
I wonder if you ever noticed the way my eyes would slowly catch yours, and in that fleeting moment, see your soul.
I wonder if you ever knew just how much I cared—care for you.
I wonder if you know my true motives for—
I won—
"David!" I jump with a start. Mrs. Catcher has been speaking to me for quite some time now. I smile and nod and she continues to speak knowing I'm not grasping a word. I sigh heavily, and ponder the reason I must attend to this place on a daily basis. Then I see you smile,
"Weekend okay?" I smile back and nod eagerly. You chuckle lowly and the sound is almost melodic to my ears. You make small talk here and there as if you're reading my mind. When I'm with you, time seems to pass away. You hum a tune I'm not familiar with, I can guess it's something loud and angry (you like that type of music). You tap you pencil ever so lightly, rhythmically, only to keep the tempo of your hum. It drops. I bend down instinctively to pick it up. You murmur a light thanks as I reach over the desk and lay it in your palm. I jump as an unseen bolt of electricity passes through my body at the moment you skin touches mine. I feel my body temperature rise. You luckily, don't notice a thing, and carry on with your tune. Mrs. Catcher walks over to me, with her head bend low. She leaves a paper on my desk. I see a big red 55 in her smart scrawl. You flinch as you lean over to read my paper.
"It's not that bad." I lie. You click your tongue at me and shake your head.
"I could help you." My heart stops. It was only too perfect, you are only too perfect.
"I wouldn't want to—" I start, you cut me off.
"Don't worry about it, it's no problem really." I felt my face flush. Could you really be this perfect? Of course you are, you have to be.
You scribble down your address on a torn piece of lined paper. Probably from your math notebook—no—science. You tell me when and where to meet you, giving careful directions, you know I have a bad internal compass. If only you knew it was all in vain. If only you knew how I have driven past your house everyday since receiving my license this summer. Nonetheless, I pretend to memorize your words. Though in reality, I'm memorizing your eyes, how they seem to light up when you an idea pops into your head. Or how the hazel seems more grey, only to compliment your shirt. "Seven?" You say.
"Seven." I say. The hours after school drag by slowly. I pray for the time when I can see your smile once more. My mother asks questions when I get home, how?, where?, when?, who?. How was school? Where are you going? When will you be back? Who will you be with? I answer generically, and it seems to satisfy her for the moment. I walk to my room and pull out our school yearbook. I trace you photo with my fingertips, wishing I could do the same for you. I look to my dresser and see it is already 6:30. How my patience seems to lengthen when I really need it most. I grab my keys and leave the house without even so much as a goodbye to mommy dearest.
I arrive at your house at 6:40 sharp, and hope you won't be angry with my premature appearance. Your not. You smile at me from your doorstep and welcome me in, I genially oblige. You give me a quick tour, living room, dining room, kitchen. You ask me if I'm thirsty I say 'no' and you shrug warmly. You lead me up to you bedroom and I feel my pulse accelerate, you take no notice. Once we're in your room, you apologize for the mess; I laugh and tell you that it's okay.
"I guess we should get to work." You say.
"I guess." I reply. You walk over to your desk and frown.
"Damn," I shudder at your curse, "I forgot my book downstairs, be right back." In a split second I am alone in your room. I, alone, in your room. I look around, imbibing my surroundings, absorbing you. I see a book laid open on your desk. I know I shouldn't look, but curiosity got the best of me. From what I can see, it's full of poems written by people our age. The page it's open to catches my eye immediately, only because the title is my name. It reads:
David
I wonder if you ever feel the way my eyes trace your body every chance they get. Wordlessly memorizing ever facet, every dimple, every curve.
I wonder if you ever noticed the way my eyes would slowly catch yours, and in that fleeting moment, see your soul.
I wonder if you ever knew just how much I cared—care for you.
I wonder if you know my true motives for—
I won—
I feel your presence behind me. I stop mid-sentence and turn. I'm not sure who is more red me or you. You drop your textbook and it lands on your carpet with a soft thud.
"I'm sorry…it was open." I attempt to make excuses, but you shake your head.
"I shouldn't have left it out." I notice a slight edge to your voice. I hope I haven't crossed some unseen line. We stand there in silence, each of us too afraid to speak. I gulp.
"It was a really nice poem, who wrote it?" I ask. I see your body tense, and your face flush. You inhale sharply.
"Did you like it?" You stammer. I nod.
"It was…well…sweet and powerful and lyrical all at the same time." I laugh to myself, realizing how stupid I must sound. You smile.
"Thank you." I'm confused, but you continue, "It was about you, you know." I freeze. I don't blink or breathe, I just stare. I turn back towards the book and finish the last line, you don't speak while I read, but I feel you watching.
I wonder if you know that, in secret, I love you.
By: Kevin Glass
"Kevin." I whisper your name.
"David." You whisper mine.