Obviously, this piece of writing was prompted by a comment received yesterday (the third one) on my previous post. This comment got me thinking — not just because I had no idea anyone in the M.Ed. program read this thing (aside from my CFRC Tuesday Indie Wake-up Call co-host Lindsay, occasionally... oh, the memories!), but because it's been a long time since I've even thought about crushes.
They seem so quaint and high-school-ish, don't they? There's Sally over there (or Billy, as the case may be), so dreamy and perfect... you hold them on a pedestal of sorts, and can barely talk to them because of it. You don't quite see them as human; wherever they go, wherever you see them, they have this angelic glow about them.
Let's stop talking in vague generalities, though. For the first four years of my high school career, there was this girl, "Melissa," who absolutely drove me crazy. I remember in Grade 10, when we were watching a movie in class, she sat in the desk behind me and put her foot up on the book-basket underneath my chair, and thinking that that was so ridiculously awesome: Does this mean she likes me back?
(I was a pretty pathetic high-schooler, alright? Jesus Christ, give me a break here.)
When Grade 12 rolled around, I had a spare first-period in first semester. And so did Melissa. We spent the first three days shooting the bull, hanging out, having a great time; I was on Cloud Nine. Yup, things were finally going the J-man's way.
But then, in the first week of school, our teachers went on strike for nearly seven weeks. Because Melissa was really academically gung-ho, and her parents owned some property in the next town over, which was in another school board (which wasn't on strike), she transferred to that other school, and stayed there for the rest of Grade 12 and OAC.
And there I was, crestfallen, all alone in my first-period spare for the rest of the semester.
I've seen Melissa now and again since high school; we've had dinner a few times. She lives in Toronto, but is really busy with her career and her long-term boyfriend. I've been over the crush for quite a few years now; I eventually realized that she and I are very different people, with exceedingly different tastes and lifestyles.
Still, though, for those three-plus years in high school, I couldn't think straight when she was around. It was torturous and glorious at the same time.
I have no idea what the moral of this story is, or if there's a moral at all. Maybe it's just a bunch of stuff that happened, and I'll leave it at that.
Oh! I know what I wanted to say about crushes.
The thing about Melissa is that, as far as I can tell, she had no idea I liked her in high school. (If she did, then she didn't act on it... then again, she always seemed to have a boyfriend, always from another school.) So, what good did this crush serve? Absolutely none, unless you consider my brain turning to Jell-O every time she was within a 15-foot radius of me a "good" thing.
So, what good is it that someone, after the fact, after you've left town, tells you that they liked you? Sure, it's a nice boost to the ego — and I thank you for that, I really do, mystery-reader — but, what am I supposed to do with this information now (especially since it's anonymous)?
Actually... I guess it could help me realize that, for some people out there, I'm actually somewhat crushworthy.
...wait a second. Really? Me?