In 2nd grade, the love of my short eight-year life was the girl who sat next to me in class. Although I don’t remember her name now, I remember daydreaming about what our life would be like as a couple. Walking into our deluxe Playskool kitchen, the Ellio’s pizza and Sunny D already set on the table, I’d kiss her as innocently as Mr. Brady kissed his G-rated wife. She’d tell me about her day at the monkey bars, and I’d complain about my job at the arts and crafts table. Small talk, really, until finally that last bell rang and we’d both be on separate buses home. It seemed perfect, just the way it was on my favorite TV sitcoms.
At 8 o’clock every morning, I would rush off that bus and into my classroom, bursting with an excitement and vigor that most elementary students lacked during the early morning routine. Usually I’d be the first to be in my seat, a feat that earned me the nickname of teacher’s pet over the year. But I didn’t mind. My other classmates had it all wrong. It wasn’t my teacher’s attention I was vying for; she wasn’t the reason I was so excited to come to school—it was because of the pretty brown-headed girl I got to spend every day next to. So I would wait in at my desk, eager to see her again, but still too young and too shy to know how to say hello. And when she would finally come in and sit down next to me, a peaceful warmth and a temporary silence would fall over the room, and the only thing I knew to do was to smile. She was my early morning sunrise, and this was the start of my day.
Our first subject on most days was spelling, and during every lesson I would stare towards the blackboard to my front and occasionally steal a glance towards the beauty on my side, just thinking of ways to ask her to be my make-believe wife.
…Maybe I could ask before gym class…
“S,” the class sang along in perfect unison. My mind was ablaze with endless scenarios. …or during lunch…
“P,” I could hear her sweet voice next to me, and it only fueled my imagination even further. …or maybe during recess?
“A,” …next to the jungle gym…
“R,” …or the swings?
“K,” …maybe she’d say yes with this ringpop, right?
“Spark.” …right?
It would be questions like these that would occasionally pop into my young brain, along with intruding images of magic school buses and battling oversized super villains with the other love of my life, the pink ranger. My mind was always in constant overdrive, but it was always my voice that was the one to stall. Day after day would pass, as would lesson after lesson. First spelling, then math, then reading. Lunchtime and recess. Art on Mondays. Gym every Wednesday. Fun Fridays. And every day, the opportunity to just ask her that simple question was always given up.
Eventually, the one thing every elementary kid looked forward to each year became the one thing I most dreaded—summer vacation. June of 1995 marked the end of 2nd grade and the beginning of breezy afternoon bike rides and late night cartoon marathons. It signaled the start of trips to the Island and red-and-blue colored snow cones. It meant lazy rivers and wading pools, seashells and Seaside, water balloons and video games, sleepovers and unplugged alarm clocks. But it also meant that the one girl who had always been by my side was now irredeemably and irrevocably gone, and I was left with only this dull, empty realization in the back of my mind—I never got to ask her to be my pretend significant other. Even in my own imagination, I was a wimp…
But at the very least, it was summer. No 8-year-old could stay unhappy for too long during this season, especially since my pink ranger was still being shown every afternoon.
It was this first, bittersweet encounter with regret that I learned my very first lesson.
Lesson #1: Don’t let love pass you by.
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