Crush

Some days, I would wake up and, without even thinking, his name would escape my lips like breathing. You see, he wasn't the sort of guy you had to even be around to appreciate. Just the thought of him was enough, seriously. And, let’s assume you did, you know, hang out with him. It’s not like he ever even said very much or made very much eye contact. Still, if he did, you know, look at you, his eyes just made you feel like falling, like they led somewhere.

Yeah, there was something intimidating about him. And it wasn’t even how his face was always covered by hair, scarves and bandanas or how worn his clothes were or that he was… interesting. It wasn’t even the fact that he spent some nights homeless on the streets of New York City or that he went around stealing pens, Christmas socks, and candy from the Michael’s and Ollie’s at that one plaza. It was the way that he could go around without really needing you, or anyone, for that matter; the way he seemed to see something beyond you. Yeah, without even trying, he could make you feel so small and self-centered.

So how could anyone help falling in love with him? It was like every other human being you had ever met had this very specific idea of what it meant to be human, to really live, to be successful. Like they all took the same class in middle school, or something. And they all sucked at it, in some way. They were never honest enough, or smart enough, or clean enough. And, somehow, he had discovered this whole other world, so that he was completely exempt from any rules or criticism. He was more than enough. In every way possible.

He didn’t really open up about himself, but there was so much you could just tell. There were sides to him that he never admitted, but showed in these bashful ways. Like the way he would hold on to your hand, so that- even when your own hand was limp- his was still holding on, like there was something about your hand that was worth holding on to. Or how he always carried something in his backpack to give away, something you didn’t realize you really wanted until he handed it to you: a “Cat in the Hat” plush toy, dinosaur egg oatmeal, an old receipt with his name on it. Yeah, in those moments, you realized, you thought, you hoped, you wondered… well, maybe he saw something special in you, too. Just the thought of him seeing you at all, you know, taking the time to notice you were actually there, even that was exciting.

So how could anyone ever love him completely? He was always hiding. Sometimes he might tell you about how he couldn’t stand his mom’s bipolar screaming, or how he punched a wall when she was really drunk one day. And you maybe wanted to be there for him because you could maybe understand. Because your dad got really drunk sometimes and, sure, you had never punched a wall because of it, but it had hurt as bad, just the same. And maybe this was your chance to feel kind of useful around him, kind of feel needed. But it was like he couldn’t let you have that moment. He would instead amuse himself by coming up with disjointed meaningless phrases and smile like there was some joke you weren’t getting. And… man, you would feel really dumb right then.

So say you had just spent a few hours at a coffee shop with him- because it was freezing cold out and you didn’t know where else to go- and he happened to look at his phone like he had just realized the time. Well you would probably beat yourself up about it, and tell yourself that you had to be the single dullest human being in the world, like the sort of person to eat a well balanced meal every morning. And all he could do to keep from saying those very words to your face was sit there quietly, drawing.

Because you knew what he thought about ordinary people. You knew how it disgusted him to see what a boring mess most everyone made of their lives. And maybe sometimes you daydreamed about financial stability, being a homeowner, having a large backyard. Well that was a part of you that you were always desperately hiding behind your free, progressive, selfless, idealistic self.

So, say you both started to leave that coffee shop. And the old man in the corner booth was still napping. He looked like he did that every weekend, every day, even, that dirty old man. And you just remembered that the coffee shop sold pie. When was the last time you had had a slice of strawberry rhubarb pie? And you immediately regretted not getting a slice because then he would know that you were the sort of person to get a slice of strawberry rhubarb pie, just on a whim, shamelessly. And while you were staring at that pie on the counter, he had already made his way to that space between the two doorways leading to the bitter cold outside. So you rushed to join him in that space and waited for him to open the second door, but he didn’t. He turned around and kissed you. And you tried to enjoy the kiss, to mentally capture every detail, but all you could do was process the fact that the kiss was his idea. That it was something he wanted to do. And then you realized that something maybe… happened… in those quiet hours at the coffee shop. That at some point, somehow, he managed to like you back.