It was simple at first. I thought she was cute but refused to approach. So, I keep looking and searching for the class I’m assigned to be in, not realizing that she is standing at the entrance.

Fuck.

She’s different up close. Her eyes are a light grey and she bunches up her nose. She’s not cute she’s fucking beautiful and that’s when I knew.

Holy fucking shit, I’m gay.

But I kept those thoughts at bay. When she walked past a seated me I looked the other way.

Until this one day. When the world turned a flip and the air breathed fire in every word it spit. This one day. She walks in and she’s strutting. Slow-Mo bumpin, dress flowin. Head to toe gorgeous on some new shit hustlin.

She looks at me and smirks, still walking in all divine and shit. I look around to find who she meant. She slows down, takes her seat then turns and looks at me.

We talk, or she talks to me, I nod and try not to scream because she’s TALKING TO ME. Then everyone else arrives, takes their seats and smiles. The day start and I can already picture us walking down the goddamn aisle.

She’s good at what she does, has her notes prepared and ready. She writes diligently and her focus deserves commending. Biting her lip in concentration, she scribbles on the paper then looks up to gather more information. Oh My GOD I’M GAY.

I might as well have said the words out loud. She turns to me facing. Damn, did I?

She wants to know what’s up, to be honest I have no idea. The thought of speaking to her brings such fear into my poor little heart. I’m afraid if I talk now my heart will stop, she’ll provide aide, but out of shock it wouldn’t restart. Stubborn ass muscle.

I just stare. Maybe not the best idea, but I’m sticking with it. Assured in my decision I progress and turn back, think again try to relax, say the words, drop the stress. I reply. I think it sounds nice. It sounded sure, right?

She smiles, I laugh, nervous and terrified. Fuck.

Then she looks down the hall. I follow her line of sight and my mind must be playing tricks on me, she looked at me, right? She looked at me. But not the way she’s looking at him. The way her eyes linger and travel and the same time irks my nerves.

She leans over and whispers how she loves his eyes, arms, and smile when he laughs. I could cry, but I don’t. I won’t and I can’t. She not gay, and there goes my chance. I guess.

She’s still beautiful though, more than a single word can describe. She’s kind. Never once seen anger in her eyes. She’s free. Never fallen from chains on her feet, or the stimulants in her head, or the shit in her bed. She’s beautiful and straight, and that shit drives me insane, but it’s okay I guess. I’ll be okay.

She laid her head on my shoulder. I was eighteen, she was twenty something. It was out of character, but in a good way. The kind of way everyone hopes for in cheesy romantic movies. We were in HC, a little internet café around the corner from where she worked. She looked great like she always did back then.

As soon as she realized what she had done she said she was messing with me. I believed her, it was still the best moment in my life. A young me, just recognizing her sexuality, having feelings for a woman who just might return them. It was astounding. She was astounding. From that moment forward, she was all I wanted, but everything that I couldn’t have.

After she brushed it off, I was practically flying. Every time she looked at me I’d freeze up and try to stutter my way out of it. It was awful, but it was the best two years of my life.

A few weeks later while we were working on a project she ran her hand through my hair. She wanted to ‘feel’ it. I could ‘feel’ her nails gently scrapping my scalp. The goosebumps I got in that moment stayed with me for days. She’s the kind of person you can’t not think about, especially with her fingers in her head.

I remember the first I saw her. She was standing at the door, and I was looking for that exact door. I couldn’t fathom being in a room with her constantly so I didn’t think that could be where I was assigned. She was a goddamn goddess. Glorious in every awkward step she took and adorable every time she gushed over Dr. Who or Harry Potter.

I loved her. I’ve never said it out loud, and even now I’m not and I won’t, but she gave me something. She gave me confidence. Before her I was too scared to think of having a crush on another woman. I wanted to be with her, and even now I think that I could maybe have a chance. I could make something of myself, go back to her and tell her how I felt and pray to god she felt the same way. She was everything to me, and that might be because she was the first real crush, but one would think I’d be over it now. I’m twenty now, almost twenty-one and she is still constantly on my mind.

I have a minor-ish dairy allergy. My mother has always been very accommodating about it. When we were at restaurants and my order would come with cheese on it she would quickly explain the situation to them and have them make a new plate for me. While we waited, she didn't eat either. That's not the memory though.

I was allowed to eat dairy very rarely and only after drinking a lot of benadryl.

My family went on a vacation one summer, and to start everything off we went to dairy queen. I fully expected to just eat something my mom brought for me, most likely soy ice cream, which was no wear near tasty when I was five.

As we entered the store I remember preparing myself for anything but ice cream or a milk chake. But then I saw my mom reach in her purse. I was excited, more than excited actually, exctatic. She pulled her hand out wrapped around a bottle of children's benadryl. I could have died right there. All of my dreams came true.

I drunk my medicine quickly. I had become accustomed to the disgusting taste. Then she looked at me at pointed to the menu and said, "You can get whatever you want."

She didn't make me share. With four kids someone always has to share and being the second youngest it was usually me with my younger sister, but not this time.

I chose a banana split, I think. Actually I'm pretty sure because in that moment I realized that I hated bananas. I ate the ice cream though and I felt like the luckiest kid in the world.

“You promise not to judge?” I asked, afraid of the voice that would respond.

“No” She responds. I look at her confused. Usually, if someone asks that question they are met with a more positive response.

“But I-“

“Why do you care what I think?” She continues calmly.

“I’m not sure,” I respond.

“Where you always this aware of everyone else’s opinions?”

“I guess, are you aware of everyone else’s opinions?” I repeat back to her.

“Not in the slightest.”

“How?”

“You’ll get there. Just keep going.” She encourages. There is a pause.

“So you will judge?” I ask making sure.

“I have opinions, just like you do. Though they are similar, they are still mine. I am entitled to my opinions.”

“So is that a yes?” I look at her. I am sure my facial expressions can easily be read as agitated, and that is probably because she is agitating.

“Was I always this stupid?” She asks.

“Yea, that’s my other question.” I pause. “When do I get brains and money and move out and get a boyfriend and-.”

“Okay, that’s enough.” She stops me, her hands extended in front of her. “First off, I’m not telling you that.”

“Why?”

There’s another pause.

“You don’t know huh?” I chuckle. “You tried to sound all mature and deep at first, but not so much now. How old are you?”

“Twenty, almost twenty-one,” She responds a frown on her face. “Laugh at me all you want, you’re only laughing at yourself.”

“Nope, I’m laughing at you.” My head tilts back and my stomach begins to ache.

“I knew I shouldn’t have gone all the way back to high school.” She says to herself.

“Wait, wait, wait.” I stop laughing, “How did you know I was in high school?”

“You said, boyfriend.” She answered.

“And?”

“We’re gay sweetheart. Really, really gay.” My eyes bulge with surprise.

“Oooh, that explains everything.”