Reed, ages 5-12

You are what you love
and not what loves you back.
-Jenny Lewis

I have never, my current boyfriend included, loved anyone as purely and completely as I loved Reed. Seven years of my life are punctuated with vivid memories involving only him. Somewhere around age ten, I stopped even thinking about what would happen if he ever, miraculously, recognized my undying love and responded to it. I was content to pine from afar.
I fell in love sometime during first grade, or kindergarten. I don't remember the day it happened, but I know that every day after, my focus was not on arts and crafts and arithmetic, but on spotting him on the playground. I was a timid kid, plagued by insecurities even at young age. I was small, awkward looking (my chin was really, really pointed), and had memorized the entire order of the Presidents by the time I was in first grade. Yeah, I wasn't popular. Throw in a lot of Skeggings and you pretty much have the idea (Skeggings, for those of you who had a deprived youth, are flouncy skirts CONNECTED to leggings, which created the ultimate early nineties ensemble for a six year old). Anyway, my teacher in first grade taught reading and the teacher next door taught math, and we switched classes once a day. He was in the opposite class from me, so when we switched I would run to the head of the line and practically knock people out to sit in his desk. I played with his colored pencils, examined all his possessions intently, and persistently looked for a clue of how to make him like me. I think my obsession with Reed was a direct cause of me being terrible at math. If I had spent a third of the time paying attention that I spent on fondling his eraser collection, I would probably be able to count without my fingers now.
Because I was acutely aware of my awkwardness, I didn't even consider the fact that a boy, any boy, could like me back. Consequently, I was fiercely private concerning my crush. I remember one time in fifth grade my friend, while we were hanging out at the pool, tried to get me to tell her who I “like liked”. I dunked underwater and screamed “REED” at the top of my lungs, confident that all she would see was bubbles. My secret was safe.
Cut to sixth grade graduation. Our yearbook was basically photocopied paper stapled together, but we didn't care. We all rushed around our end of the year pool party, collecting signatures. I worked up the courage the entire time to even approach Reed with my gel pen to ask him to write a message. I, clad in an L.L. Bean one piece with nary a trace of puberty evident in my awkward pre-teen form, finally went up to him right as our parents were coming to pick us up. I waited, with bated breath, hoping for a “See You Next Year” or at least a “U R COOL.” He passed the book back to me, and went over to play basketball with his friends. I looked down. There, in iridescent blue ink, was the most soul crushing rejection I have ever experienced. It said, simply, next to his picture:“Reed”. That was it! It wasn't even in cursive! I think I cried my self to sleep that night.
Despite the fact that after seven years of school together all he could think to write to me was his name, I still held on to my crush. In junior high, we all met five other school's worth of kids. Nascent hormones raged, and all my friend swooned over the popular jocks. I still only had eyes for Reed, who was obsessed with Blink 182. But we weren't in the same wing, so I only saw him at random intervals. I never even waved. Then it happened:the band and chorus trip to Six Flags.
I got to fucking sit next to him for TWO HOURS. It was pure happenstance, but I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. Sure, he only sat there because his friends were sitting in front of me, and sure, he basically ignored me, but I was six inches away from him for an extended period of time. My elation faded soon after when I found out that he was moving to North Carolina. I was heartbroken.
Sadly, I only got out of my awkward phase at the end of freshman year, so Reed's memory of me is probably as the goody-two shoes chick with stringy hair. I still kind of feel like I have something to prove. LOOK, REED, I GOT KIND OF CUTE.
When I started writing this, I thought about where he is and what he's like. Turns out he's a fucking adorable hipster boy in a band. Jesus Christ.
So, although this is painfully uncomfortable for me, I added him on Facebook. He didn't reply right away. It took him two days to add me back. And in those two days, I was yanked back into that sixth grade heartbreak. So now this is the real test. I'm going to post think blog on my status, so it's entirely possible that he will read this and think I am a fucking psycho.But I had to prove it to myself, that I'm not that little girl anymore.


Uh, Reed, please don't de-friend me or file a restraining order. I would die.