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The Crush by Tracy James Jones
Sunday, December 20, 2015
Rated "PG13" by the Author.
A short story for the young and old. This story is featured with the International Education Program for language and literature teach support material.
“The Crush”
He touched me... Not in any way lascivious or anything. Just a simple soft brush across and down my shoulder in acknowledgement that he had seen me. No words were spoken. Just the touch. I loved him for that. I always had…
I remember the first time I lay eyes on him. Third grade. It’s funny when you grow up in a small town that you end up knowing certain people your whole life. Can’t say I really knew him, but I knew of him. I fell into him on the playground and that was all it took. I didn’t know then what that feeling was or meant, but I knew on sight that there was something special about him. My innocent admiration of him was immediate. I suppose he didn’t know what that feeling was at the time either, but he saw me, too. He simply smiled. Years later that moment would come back to somewhat haunt me. Back then, I didn’t know that I had just stumbled into my very first crush. Silly me. If my eyes were truly the windows to my soul, I should have had the sense to temper the blinds.
By sixth grade a lot had changed. Especially within me. But I wasn’t the only one. Raging hormones between all the sexes were forcing their way to the surface way beyond leaps and bounds. By then we all knew what that look meant and it was hardly fully innocent. I had blossomed out before my own eyes, and when I saw him, well, that thing from the past was like a burning flame racing throughout my entire being. Call it heat, or passion, or just aching preteen desire to be close to someone who had stolen my childhood heart. It had nothing to do with sex, not really, but something more unnamable. Three years later and just looking at him pulled me back through time. I longed for him. Maybe somewhat physically, but mostly, I just wanted to be near him. Still, he never said a word. But he did smile at me sometimes. Just a friendly gesture, really. He always did that in the passing years. With everything else going on in our young lives, I felt that was more than enough to hold on to. The fact that we had never held a conversation was a minor missing end to the overall means.
And then there was high school. Just the mention of that place can be summed up as pure hell. The world of love, sex, lies, and heartbreak had at one point or another affected nearly all. To me, in this final introduction to adulthood, it hardly made sense to chance your deepest emotions to anyone. But that is exactly what I did. I loved and lost as anyone else. Almost too much. I suffered my despair in the shadows. He was so popular I figured he didn’t have time to notice. Just before we took our final walk into freedom, I heard in a whispered conversation that he had said he knew me. I didn’t know he even remembered my name.
Class Reunion – twenty years later. Standing in a crowded room with a bunch of people and faces I could barely recognize. But still, old emotions came rushing back upon me as if my past was flashing before my eyes. And then, across the room, I saw him. Time had been very good to him. When he smiled, I saw that he noticed me too, so I turned and headed in the opposite way. I was cornered by another childhood friend when he moved to touch me. Just a simple soft brush across and down my shoulder in acknowledgement that he had seen me. No words were spoken. Just the touch. I loved him for that. I always had. I guess I always will…
This open-ended story suggests personal experience and also much experience as a writer. One of the best I've read here.
The story struck home. Recently, we found a picture that Darla gave me in her eighth grade prom gown. Darla was the daughter of a beauty parlor operator, a single parent with two daughters. I first saw her when I came to school in seventh grade and immediately had a crush on her like most of the guys in our class. She was like Shirley Temple and Doris Day rolled into one beauty. I recall she gave me that picture when I helped her with an algebra assignment. She ended high school on the arm of the quarterback and was homecoming queen. She married well, but I always thought she secretly liked me. We still communicate by email.
At my 20th reunion, I met a wallflower from high school who was a recent divorcee. After 18 years of marriage, she had broken free from a bad marriage and was on her own, healthy, and looking good. We danced to Beatles music and her crush on me resulted in marriage within six months. The crush did not materialize, and three years later she left me and Texas to return, "home."
Two days ago my partner of 23 years told me that she remembers seeing soldiers pass by her Saigon home and was smitten by their tall handsomeness, their blue eyes and blonde hair. She admitted that first day that she came to my house to apply for a part-time caregiver job that she was in love with me--still is.
A deeply moving story! Maybe words would have spoiled the crush; then again, maybe a move further past acknowledgment. Life is open-ended as your very real story. It was a pleasure to read it.
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