• Crushed

    I sat, leaning against the wall in the 700’s hallway. Tiny, sparkling streams of water flowed freely down my face. They were uncontrollable. They trickled down from my nose onto the pink scantron leaving water blotches and stains. Next to me a good friend hugged me and kept saying, “It’s alright you’ll be okay.” Somehow, all the anger and fear and sadness in me wanted to say, “No, I don’t think it ever will be.”

    He was a boy. No, that’s not descriptive enough. He was the boy that I loved. He was “the” boy who, in my mind was perfect. No, he was just right. He was nice and funny. He was cool to hang around and fun to play video games with. I thought that if I were ever to cry he would be there to help. Instead he caused those tears. I loved Troy so much that I never expected him to turn on me like he did. This boy, whom I had met in kindergarten and crushed on since the 4th grade was wonderful to me. One day I thought that ultimately he would become my husband because we were so alike. I miss those days but I understand now that I should have never fantasized. I loved Troy, but he didn’t love me.

    He was a blond freckled kid with crooked teeth I rarely noticed. My favorite part to look at was his soft blue eyes that made my heart pick up pace and my eyes form hearts of joy. It also made the butterfly’s wings that brushed against my stomach flutter more with delight. In a way I think I was over obsessed with him. Which is part of the reason I think he wrote the note.

    I really wish that instead of telling someone else, Troy should have come and talked to me. Which is something I think I would have cried about a bit and then get on with my life. I know now that what I heard was an opposite of what he meant. But when I heard that Troy didn’t like me, it hurt. My heart felt as if it could be bleeding. And the tears spilled across my face. I couldn’t talk. No, it just hurt to.

    The last day of exams, I actually got the note. It read “Dear Deanna,
    I don’t like you! I like a girl named Ballie who lives in Utah. NOT YOU…” the rest of the note continued like the first two sentences and soon after I read it I ripped it up. Inside my brain it felt as if he wanted me to suffer. He wanted me to feel pain and suffer for what he said. So I wrote back a note using my furry. And that day, when I gave him the note, I watched the last of the softness in his eyes die out. Soon after school, the phone rang and I answered. He yelled at me. As he did I cried and on the last “screw you” I hung up.

    I don’t hate Troy, though over the summer break I tried to tell myself I did. I just won’t ever cry about him again. I also feel sorry for the guy because of the fact he lost a good friend, the friend who gave him stuff and loved to talk to him. The friend who cared about him a lot more than I should of. The friend, I knew I was