Regret

Dear [Redacted]

Hi. Um, hello. You may remember me. You may not. I remember you. I remember you asking me to dance at the Sockhop in Fifth Grade. That was my first ever dance with a boy. My mom was there and she gave me a smile and a thumbs up. You made my week.

I remember when we sat diagonally across one another in Pre-Algebra in Sixth Grade. I remember how we got into the smart section, and I was so happy that we were both good at math. I remember how we would always talk before the classroom was unlocked and I remember that one of my friends told me that she thought you might like me. You couldn't have liked me. You were a popular kid and I was me. By sixth grade, I had learned the distinctions.

I remember liking you, though. You were always so nice, and I really liked that. In a school filled with pretentious kids who threw money around and were jackasses to people who didn't fit a plastic mold. But you were nice. You were nice to me. And I liked you. Most of the girls in the grade did, but I felt like I kind of got you. Like we had some weird connection based more on words than pheremones. Not that you weren't cute. Of course you were. You know you were. But we were kind of friends. Friends, yet not really friends.

Of course the crush continued. I remember, after I had a little dating experience with some jackass who played video games when we were on the phone, thinking about dating you. I think we could have gotten along well for a couple of weeks in Eighth Grade. At the Eighth Grade dance, I decided to ask you to dance. Um, a lot. I know, I know. It was obvious and you totally knew. Everyone knew. In fact, one of my, um, "friends" asked me flat out if I liked you. She said that if I said yes, she would tell you and you would ask me out.

I should have known better. She told you and I never heard anything back. The next Monday, I remember walking in front of you and one of your jerkass friends, and he loudly talked about you and your girlfriend for my benefit. Girlfriend? I was mortified. I vaguely remember you telling him to shut up, but I didn't care. I was hurt and upset and only had myself to blame. Now I can see that it doesn't matter so much. But at the time it was excruciating. Later, the girl came and told me that you would have asked me out, but you had just started to date this other, older girl. Why are kids so unnecessarily mean to one another? By that I mean, why were they so mean to me?

So, I got jaded. A little more cynical. You obviously didn't actually like me. I misinterpreted everything over the past few years, and I decided that you were as big of an asshole as your jerkass friend. But you moved away at the end of the year, and that made me sad. I'd still miss you and our dumb little talks.

In Ninth Grade, I heard that you were coming back for two weeks to visit. And then you called me. You called me and told me everything I ever wanted to hear. You told me that you liked me and wanted to go out with me when you were here. We could all go as two big groups, your friends and mine, but we'd go see some movie together. I think we settled on Primary Colors for some strange reason.

I have to tell you, I was SO excited. I told all my friends. Out of all the girls in the grade you could have called, you called ME. Little nerdy me. You hadn't forgotten our awkward talks by the classroom door. They actually meant something to you like what they meant for me.

I remember, a couple of days before it was set up, one of my friends had a birthday party dinner. Of course, I couldn't help talking about this. I invited the people there to come with me as part of my "group of friends." Later on in the night, I heard some strange gossip from another "friend" that you were apparently going to stand me up! That's the only reason you asked me to go to the movie. And for good measure, you'd asked her too!

I should have known better. I believed her. Suddenly, all the girls there were indignant on my behalf, and told me that I should just not show up. I should stand you up instead. Instead of thinking the best about you like before, I suddenly thought the worst. I didn't go.

So then you called me the day after it should have happened, and practically wailed "why didn't you go?" I was horrified. You, you weren't going to stand me up? You actually wanted to see me? I quickly made up some sort of lie that I suddenly couldn't go and didn't know how to reach you, as I stared at the Caller ID. So you did what any nice boy does, and we made the same date for the next weekend. This time for real.

I don't remember exactly how it happened, but I stood you up again. Maybe I really couldn't go this time, and really couldn't get ahold of you? I hope that's what it was. Maybe I was scared that this was an elaborate ruse just to make me look like an idiot? I wish I could remember. But I stood you up on your last weekend in San Antonio, and I didn't hear from you after that.

But that's not where the story ends. I saw you one more time. This time, Senior Year of High School. Early on in the school year, you came with your mom (a former SMH teacher) to visit. I was suddenly very nervous. I remembered standing you up. I remembered feeling awful about it afterwards, even though my friends thought it was the most hilarious thing in the world. Good for you, they'd tell me. Yeah, good for me.

I saw you in the hall. You looked a little different, but I could still recognize you. You were talking with the "popular kids," of course. Your mom was talking with her former classmates, all grown up. I'd grown up too. A little more pain in my life, but a little more sure of myself. I now hiked my skirt up like the rest of the girls and wore a bit of makeup. Almost ready for college. I was so sure that you wouldn't recognize me.

But you did. You saw me in that hallway and practically shouted my name. You seemed so happy to see me. You even gave me a hug. Well, I guess you're not holding a grudge about Primary Colors, I thought to myself. We chatted a bit about who knows what, but I remember leaving the conversation with a huge smile. You remembered me. Fondly. I later talked with your mom for a bit and found out that you were all living in Chicago. In Chicago! I was applying to The University of Chicago, I told her. She made some comment about me maybe staying with y'all if I came to visit the school. She probably meant it, but that never actually happened. I sometimes wish that it did.

I never saw you again. A few years later we found each other on Facebook, of course, and I discovered that you were going to DePaul. And for some reason, it gave me a twinge of sadness to find out that you were madly in love with who I'm sure is a very lovely girl. Not that I'm upset that you're happy. Of course not. I just wonder sometimes if you and I could have ever been something. I know, Middle School, right? Not exactly the love of anyone's life. But still, it would have given me a burst of much needed confidence, something I'm still waiting for sometimes.

We probably don't have anything in common anymore. Although, I did discover that your current Facebook profile picture is a picture from Dinosaurs, which made me so very happy and also makes me think that we could still find ways to understand each other. I think you still live in Chicago, but we'll never see each other. And that's okay.

I guess, I don't know. I don't know why I'm thinking about this now. I guess that I just wanted to say I'm sorry that I didn't go to that movie with you. I should have. My high school experiences could have used just one event where the popular soccer player wants to spend time with nerdy little me, and ignores the rules of prep school society. I'm sorry I bought into them as much as your dumb friends, because I wanted to feel the way that I felt when you first asked me to dance at the Sockhop in Fifth Grade when none of that mattered.

Thank you for that. I'm sorry I'm such a putz.

-Cristina