My Girl

I am writing a story based on a true experience. I really don’t like storytelling these kinds of occurrences that I am about to tell you, but the burden inside me seems to be adding dumbbells every time I remember and just keep it to myself. Hence, I think it would be best to unload some pounds of the dumbbells I’ve been carrying for the years past. Here goes.

The story all started when I was a sixteen-year old student in an all-boys private high school located in the city. It was about that time when students my age were all preparing for their college entrance tests, or the SATs in some countries. As a young teenager, I wasn’t really planning on preparing well for these tests. I was just planning on answering it with ease and just to fully trust my gut on every multiple-choice question provided on the test. However, my mom, being the typical disciplinarian in the family, enrolled me to a review center near my school. It was like a tutoring center for incoming college students, to prepare them for the so-called SATs.

Months before the tests, the start of the review classes kicked-off. The tutoring happened after school hours, around five in the afternoon until seven in the evening. It was the first day of what I remembered as the day I thought, I got stung by a bee.

My last class in the all-boys school just finished, and I went straight to the building where my review center was located, which was just a couple of blocks away from my school. It was an old medium sized building, with a really mundane architecture. Just a plain gray color with a few windows on each floor. Honestly, I wouldn’t have notice it if I just happened to pass by. I entered the building, climbed up to the second floor, and walked calmly to the room of my review center.

As I opened the door, I surveyed the whole classroom. Around nine chairs, neatly positioned in columns and rows, were still empty. To be honest, the room was a bit small, but I wouldn’t say it was cramped. There was also a window that overlooked the stream of cars running around the street beside the building.

“Hello there!”, a voice of an old man spoke on the left side of the room.

To my surprise, the review teacher was already sitting on the chair in front of the blackboard.

“Oh, hello sir! Uhm, how long have you been sitting there?” I asked.

“Long enough to observe you with my eyeballs, young sir.”

Honestly, I was a bit creeped out by the way he spoke to me, so I just picked a seat at the center of the room and sat down. I checked my little Timex watch, and it was five minutes before five in the afternoon.

“Darn, where is everybody?”, I whispered to myself.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps from the hallway approaching the doorstep. Slow strides of steps, left and right, were echoing the entrance. The doorknob turned, and it opened. All of the sudden, my eyes laid upon the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.

This goddess just had an alluring presence that stung me like a bee. Her eyes sparkled just like the Betelgeuse star, which, according to my science teacher back then, was one of the brightest stars in the universe. Her hair was as gorgeous as how the Niagara Falls streams water from its source. Apparently, despite the fact that she was a goddess in my mind, she doesn’t seem to realize that, and walked shyly towards the chair on my left and sat down.

As a guy from an all-boys school, I was also pretty shy when it came to talking to girls, which made the awkwardness dazzle towards the roof, especially when we were the only students in the room together. Not to mention, the review teacher in front of us was looking at the two of us happily.

As students, entered the room, my mind was focused on the girl on my left. I told myself that I needed to talk to her that day. So, I sucked my guts, and hoped for the best.

As far as I can remember, I said hello.

“What?”, she replied.

WHAT? You say hi to a girl, and she replies the word WHAT? At that moment, these were the thoughts entering and running inside my young mind.

“I’m Stephen! How about you?”, I tried once more with a smile.

“Mikaella”, she replied smiling back at me.

That, my friends, was the beginning of a relationship between two young people, a boy and a girl, from the same review center, who stared and were attracted to each other; at least in my perspective.

As the days ran through, our so-called “relationship” with Mikaella started to blossom each moment we were together. We started to become comfortable with one another by sharing both the laughter and sadness of every story we narrated. Each minute of hour, of every day, we unfolded an article of oneself which brought out every version to one another.

I remember one time, when it has been weeks since our eyes first laid at each other, she gave me a friendship bracelet that would signify our relationship with one another. I didn’t have one so I made a pink bracelet out of wool I had in my bag. Of course, at that time, I didn’t just want to be friends with Mikaella, I wanted something more. However, at that time I knew it was still too soon to tell, and so I waited. I waited for the right time to say what I really felt for her.

Then came the end of our review classes together. At that time, I was confident enough that we will still be seeing each other after the classes we had together. That we would still eat some Taco Bell at a place near me and talk about random stuff that would bring laughter to our faces. That we would remember the days on how our eyes laid upon each other, and debate who saw each other first. All these while Frank Sinatra’s “It Had to Be You” is being played on a radio nearby.

“See you soon, I guess! Will miss you slight!” she said to me.

“Will miss you too, slight.” I replied. Only, it was more than slight. This thought was lingering my mind as we parted ways on our last day of review classes.

Months had passed away, and I had yet to get a call or at least a text from her. So, I tried to carry my guts again, and tried to leave her a message.

Hi Mikaella! How have you been? Shall we catch up soon? I’m starting to miss you, slight.

I sent this text, and waited for an hour. Then, the hour became a day. Eventually, the day became a week until she replied to me.

Oops! Sorry! Maybe next time?

As soon as I saw her reply, I had a mixture of emotions, from anger to the state of irritated. However, I wanted to be as understanding as possible. I still wanted our relationship to work, and not screw things up with just a single message. Hence, just like a solvent to a solute, my negative emotions were dissolved by the sweet images I had of her, of how we could be romantic again once we see each other.

So, I tried to understand her, and waited for the right time to ask again. As time has traveled from months to years, this has been the cycle of our relationship. I have been patiently waiting for the right moment to ask, and her response has been fashionably late.

Until this moment, as I write this story to you, I am still patiently waiting for the right moment to ask her out again, and savor every experience that I will be with her. Should I wait even longer? Or just move on and face the fact that I am not the one for her? Feel free to comment. Sometimes, I imagine our relationship as a road. I am already in the destination, and she is just on the way, always running late. Or worse, she turned right into a different street that would never intersect with mine.