I had a crush on a girl...let's call her "Sadie McBabe."
Sadie and I were awkward friends, but instead of having conversations I just got really good at turning away quickly when she caught me staring at her. She got really good at bearing it. The older boys took advantage of this obviously embarrassing time in my life by asking me personal questions about my feelings for her in a relentless mockery of young hearts.
Things I try to black out:
"Sadie is faster than me at swimming and that's great."
"I think she likes Twix bars and I also like them."
"She's so pretty, she should be on the cover of Time magazine."
"I think I'm going to buy her flowers and Twix bars."
This was a constant form of entertainment for the bastards. This freak crush ended near the dimming embers of late August during a sleepover/party/dance. Those fucks forced us to dance together, and it was terrifying, and it was soul-wrenching, and the combination of Eddie Money and Meatloaf did little to soften the realization that, yes...this will haunt you for a long time. I was also too young to simply go home and beat the sadness out of my tiny erections (a trick I learned nine months too late, apparently).
Needless to say, the crush never went anywhere; unless, of course, you include the grassy yard behind the dance area moments afterward when I heard Sadie and her pack of little bitches laughing at me.
Years later, I was reintroduced to Sadie through a mutual friend at a swim meet. I was unaware he and her were friends. His conversation starter?
"Hey! Sadie just told me about how much you crushed on her back in the day! Still in love with her?"
Yes, you fat asshole. I still love her. Thankfully, I waited until the adorable good looks of my childhood had been acid washed in acne and shame before developing the confidence required to hold a conversation. Actually, I said:
"Hey. No."
/swim fastest 500m of competitive career
//dissolve friendship with "fat asshole"
///spend evening fully realizing the power of masturbation over mental anguish
