That One Guy

He's only across the room, but he may as well be across the Atlantic ocean for the good it does me. I sit in my chair, shifting and scooting around as if attempting to resist his gravitational pull, like the moon, I constantly orbit him: unable to escape and unable to stop watching. I'm struggling, and I'm afraid it's obvious. The cool exterior that my friends seem to find so entertaining melts in his presence, leaving a fidgety, giddy fourteen year old girl who has not surfaced in seven something years. My body is my enemy- it betrays my weakness so willingly, as if on command, raising my voice to an annoying decibel, my hand is not my hand as it automatically flips my hair and my laugh is too loud, and too appreciative at his smallest attempts at sarcasm. I don't want to know his full name. If I know it, I will most likely look him up on Facebook, allow the mouse to tantalizingly hover over the Request Friend button, while my urging heart beat tap dances to the words- do it, do it, do it! Ultimately my brain will win over, flushing out the sound of my heart with the roaring of a waterfall that says "What if he doesn't accept?! How will you survive?!" Thoughts of the hypothetical situation, spring my heart into the familiar tap dance, and I feel the pressure of the dam that protects my self-esteem, tension built by the waters of my realism.

I imagine the impossibility of the situation as I stare at him from the back of the lecture class, watching him give a fantastic presentation about whatever. It's true; I don't care what he's saying, but watching him is so satisfying, so necessary: the movement of his mouth synchronizing with that devilish smirk, accentuating the sharp cheek bones, which forces me to fawn over the dark wavy hair that sets so wonderfully on this angular face. The girl sitting next to me passes me a note, but I don't want to be distracted; like an avid moviegoer experiencing for the first time their favorite book on screen, I wanted to memorize his every movement, his every line, as if he was a fictional character brought to life especially for me. Unfortunately, this certain friend proved to be more distracting with my attempts to ignore her. As she leaned over and whispered some nonsense to me, I quietly resolved to delete her on Facebook, and turned to find this obnoxious individual was making that stupid face. You know that stupid face that people make when they think they know something about you? I finally looked at the note, and a terrifying realization dawned on me as I read the five words she scribbled to me.You like him don't you?

No. This cannot be possible. My movie was interrupted, and it seemed as though I would not be able to go back to it with the same insatiable viewing without the shame that would accompany my neighbor's giggles at my strange behavior. Not only would I not be able to delete her as a friend (I don't even know why I accepted her, since it probably was only to increase the number of friends on my profile), this dumb girl knew my most dangerous secret, the secret I guarded like a mother guards her child from fire, hoarded like a dragon hoards gold, savored like an alcoholic savors the last of his beer. I would not relent this easily. Casually, I say something to the effect of "I don't know what you're talking about, but this is just a really interesting presentation." She smiles broadly, sensing my hidden thoughts, and replies, "So, what's it about then?". Okay, so she is not as dumb as I thought. Panicked, I scan the area for props. He's wearing that blue V necked shirt that exposes the broadness of his shoulders and outlines the muscles of his pecks- wait no! I'm frantic to find any visual clues as to what the heck he's been talking about, but there isn't even a science board or something. I feel the girl's smile broadening and I can almost feel the condescending cackle that she hugs back in her throat. She enjoyed my anxiety, tasting it on her goblin tongue, as her eyes stripped me naked of my securities. Walls that I had built up so carefully were being torn down by her random insight (she's not that smart, after all). I stared at her blankly, knowing she lined up my fears in her mind wondering which to take advantage of when my vulnerabilities spiked- he sat down in front of me. With this opportunity, she decided to tilt over the dominoes of my phobias and they went one by one. As I smelled his cologne, confronted the unbelievable fluffiness of the back of his head, my body was triggered into the systematic response; however, the realization that my secret was loose in his presence caused it to go into a different, painful mode. I stared wide eyed at her, with my hands twitching uncontrollably and my foot wagging vigorously, as she slowly leaned over to tap him on the shoulder. As he turned around, I received the full blast of his gorgeousness and my body must have gone into shock because I could not breathe or move for a few moments. Fortunately, his eyes were on the hand that requested his attention, then the girl. Did I say fortunately? I meant devastatingly, atrociously, disgustingly - now, I had to watch her try to flirt with him.

I tried to control the urge to murder this girl, who was so completely unworthy of his glorious majesty, who seemed to resonate with divinity as he tolerated her with a smile and kind gestures. I wanted to tell him he did not have to put up with this inferior creature, but my voice became caved in by the avalanche of my self-confidence, as the thought occurred to me that he isn't entertaining her, but being entertained. I became a silent statue of a spectator, witnessing innocence and beauty being tainted by evil and not possessing the power to crush it. I summoned the courage to conquer evil and decided on the appealing choice of talking to him myself, finally, and reversing the spell of the stupid witch. My hand extended before my mind prepared a statement, and we simultaneously became aware of my touch on his shoulder, which was also the same time I realized I had nothing to say. He's staring at me questioningly, and all I can think of is that I never realized he had grey eyes. I feel the puddle of my warm heart leaking over my other organs as my brain authoritatively orders, You need to say something now! My peripheral vision indicated the girl/idiot looked as if she could pop from the laughter she was restraining at any minute, and then I understood that I was at the brink of committing social suicide. My hand had been resting on his shoulder the entire time my mind was searching for something to say, and my eyes stared blankly into his for at least fifteen seconds. His eyebrows were furrowed in confusion, and I desperately searched for refuge in the words, "Can I borrow a pencil?"

It was then that I experienced the abundance of his kindness, and his wonderful ability to disregard awkward behavior. He smiled at me, handing me a pencil and said, "Sure!" Now that I had the flavor of his delicious friendship swimming in my mind, I could not stop. My mind charged like the front lines of a war, and I found myself asking him about the class, something so unheard of that my body did not have time to become a mess of nerves. I felt the defeat of the girl sitting beside me, her arrogance evaporating before the instantaneous connection of two souls that were being woven together to create the tapestry of eternal love: a tapestry that was heavy enough to slap her in the face. Our conversation felt like dancing, the topics seemed to change like music but we moved through them fluidly, like one entity. I was Cinderella finally at the ball with my prince, and just like her I allowed time to slip to the back of my thoughts, preferring thoughts which were excitedly taking constant snapshots of these moments like the paparazzi catching James Franco strolling about University of Houston. I relished the gift I was given: the ability to stare intensely at him, knowing his mouth moved in response to mine, and his chuckles were compliments to my corny jokes. Like a jigsaw puzzle which was once left in a dark closet, forgotten or perhaps too difficult to complete, we shed light on each other's pieces, discovering that many fit together perfectly and searching for the ones we had not found yet. This exploration was an adventure for me: thrilling in every sense, especially the sense that was rubbing it in the face of the girl sitting next to me, who was seething, being cooked by her own anger like a lobster being boiled in hot water. Her jealousy was just as delicious, as well. A comparison to the ugly stepsisters would be in order, but at least the stepsisters dressed decently. Our conversation had not ended with the end of class, but finally my prince's eyes glanced upon the time which flashed on my cell phone, realizing he actually had to get to work. He rose slowly, and I felt the strain of the invisible bonds that had tethered us to one another. I looked into his eyes, swam in the grey pools that remember everything, and waited apprehensively for him to disengage me from this moment and return me to my irrelevant, mortal life.

Although he spoke his words normally, they sang in my ears as I registered them. "So, I'll see you next class." As he and I walked out the door and we parted ways, I felt the memory of him walking with me, knowing it would never leave and figured out the mystery of the entire event; I learned his last name. I had to prepare for marriage.