Two Seats Over

This one’s for the girl two seats over, the girl a few breaths away.

The first time I saw you will be a moment forever etched in my memory. You graced through the doors of Freshman English like an angel descending from Heaven, your wings clipped for your brief earthly mission, your halo tucked away in the recesses of your locker. When you strutted into the room every head couldn’t help but turn toward you and gaze in admiration for such a fine work of art.

Yet, behind that innocent face, one could see the potential that hid beneath, a potential that if nourished would blossom into a brand new creature, a woman, a far cry from the girl that stood before me.

Some days that creature would show herself to the world if not only for a brief second. A shy flash of a smile, a casual brush of the hair from your eye, an embarrassed blush when your middle school antics reared their head in your new high school setting, those types of things.

I distinctly remember how you carried your books, the way you cradled them as if they were a baby, with one hand holding them close to your chest while the other hung seemingly carelessly in the air, bent at an angle that captured the full depth of your femininity. What I would have given to be one of those books in your hand.

My chest swelled and palms broke out in a cold sweat as you took your seat, two seats over from me. I tried not to stare but I couldn’t help it. I found my neck aching from doing constant double and triple takes. Your image was a drug, more addictive than concrete narcotics and I was hooked.

How I wanted to be a part of your life, if only as an acquaintance occasional confidante, that alone would have satisfied me. But, as always, my anxieties muted me, like demons crawling into my mouth as I opened it to speak, silencing my voice before a single peep could escape. So I sat in silence, every day, as a mute observer.

Freshman year came and passed, as did sophomore and junior. And when senior year had arrived, I found myself in the same position; a silent watcher of the girl two seats over.

I long for the day that you notice me. More so, I long for the day that I summon the courage to face you myself. The root of my fear may not lie in the demons that I call Anxiety, but in the simple fact that you can gaze upon a flower for an eternity, but only when you pick it does it begin to die.