Echoes of Affection

We as humans tend to strive for the things we know will never come. The question as to why the desire for what can never be had and why the human mind seeks out for it more than anything else can never be told. Why do we reach for things that we know are out of reach? Is it because, we somehow think we're unlike anyone else, and that we're special enough to have things go our way? That we're actually capable of achieving something that is never meant to be achieved? If everyone thinks that way, won't everyone be disappointed?

Could it all lead back to simply having faith and believing in more than what you're supposed to? Unanswered questions can swirl your mind as much as you want them, but if they remain unanswered you'll only chip yourself down little by little, until you become what we're all going to be one day. Nothing. Nothing but a distant thought. No one will remember you forever. So maybe that's why we do it. Why we think the impossible is possible. Because it will never really matter in the end if you fail instead of succeed. No one will care. You're the only one who is capable in deciding if you're going to go for what you can never have, or if you're going to hide away and wonder if it ever would've happened.

Heartbreak or regret. It's up to you.

And despite how it may sound, I'll forever be grateful that I chose the first one.

...

I've felt their eyes on me for some time now. Lingering on my every movement like a hungry vulture waiting for its next meal. I know people aren't nice, but not everyone could be like that, could they? There's got to be somebody out there that doesn't mind who I am. That doesn't feel a wave of disgust just by the sight of me.

I'm hoping I've found them. The one who won't look away. There's only two possible answers as to why they keep staring. The first, and most obvious one, is that they know my secret. But the second, and nearly impossible one, is that they think I've got an interesting face. Or it could be neither and I'm just too in my head. But they've never looked at me before. Maybe they're new.

The teacher asks me a question. "Cleo, you know the answer?"

I'm forced to look up. And as if the Earth jerked left, my head turns and my eyes naturally land on the one who was eyeing me. Everything about it should've been perfect. The one person I've seen that didn't stare at me and whisper to their friends, throwing around familiar words I've buried deep in my heart, waiting for it to crack. Everything about seeing the one person who didn't whisper should've felt like a breath of fresh air.

Only I guess I never really saw them until now. Fresh air turns to a held breath and a heavy head. He's a guy. Why is there a guy looking at me like that? Doesn't he know? Doesn't the whole school know?

When he sees me looking, his eyes seem to change and then he looks away. Yeah, that makes more sense. And to think that there was someone else like me at this school, is immensely funny.

Except I don't let it go like I should. I don't put him into the category that everyone else is in. It's too early. He shouldn't be there right now. I'll give him a chance. I'll give him tomorrow.

And I'm glad I did. He's looking at me again the next day, in the same way he had done before. I can't describe the feeling I keep getting when I know he's looking, when I know every movement I make is scrutinized by his gaze. More likely than not I'm judged by him, not admired. I'm not allowed to be admired but I am allowed to be the admirer.

How dare I write notes down.

How dare I look at the teacher when she's talking.

How dare I spin my pencil in between my fingers.

I spare a short glance in his direction. How dare I feel things that everybody else feels. How dare I, out of everybody.

Today we're asked to get with a group in order to begin a project. I nearly fall backwards in my chair. Group projects are the worst things to ever come to school. One person does all the work, the rest get the exact same grade. Two people talk your ears off the whole time, then you can't-

"Would you like to work with me?"

I don't have to look up to know who said it. I recognize the clothes, the graphic tee with a band I can't place on the front.

Suddenly group projects don't seem all that bad.

I'm in a group with him, a girl named Reyna, and another girl named Quinn. I learn that his name is Ivan, and that he came from Greece. He tells me that, and it's the first time I see him smile. And the second my brain takes a snapshot of that image, I know things are going to get bad. I know there's no going back based on how far I've come. Which really isn't that far. But it doesn't matter if you're 100 feet deep in the water or 10 feet deep in the water, you're still drowning. And there's no coming back up. Unless there's someone there to save you. But what do you do when the savior is the reason you're drowning?

I glance at him again, but he's already looking at me. Looking at me write the notes as I look at him look at me write the notes. Back and forth. Back and forth. It's like no words need to be spoken to know there's something going on. As much as I want the words to be said, talk will spread like wildfire, minus one thing. The talk can never be put out.

The end of group projects typically bring be nothing but joy. Relief. Relief from the snide remarks and constant chatter of all the things I already know about myself.

He's disgusting.

He didn't even need to say he was gay, just look at him.

Why'd we get a group with this fag? He's gonna fall in love with us.

Careful, don't get too close he might be contagious.

But this one didn't. Not with Ivan. He didn't say much, just introduced himself and who he was. His eyes weren't filled with loathe. What am I supposed to do with that? How am I supposed to wash him away like the dirt on your skin like it was something that was never there to begin with. I'm supposed to do that with the bad ones, because they're not supposed to be there. But he's like the makeup you wear on your face. You never want it to go away because you feel so much better with it.

That's why after the project ends, I continue to talk to him. Before class, after class, maybe even when we happen to see each other in the hallways, we talk. People walk by, whispering things I can already guess. You get used to it eventually when it's always been about you. But Ivan isn't used to it. Not yet. But he'll get there, we just need to give it time.

I don't expect to get as close to him as I do. All I know is that it happens without trying, and as much as I wish to control it, I know something like this could never be controlled.

We ride bikes together in the dark every night, so no one can see us. What's there to talk about when there's nothing to see?

We lay on the cool grass in my backyard and look up at the stars. I learn about how smart he is when it comes to astrology. Sometimes I don't even look at the stars. Sometimes I forget there's such a view right beside me.

We eat lunch together at school in the back corner, hiding behind a huge group of friends. I'd like to assume nobody knows we're there, but someone will find out eventually, there's just no need to worry about it. As long as I've got him beside me, I don't feel the need to worry. I don't worry because all you need to feel at peace is just one person who isn't like the rest. He can't be categorized with everyone else.

I reach for his hand, let my fingers travel through the silky smooth grass. And I don't take my eyes off his. How did I become the one to stare in awe instead of him?

When my hand touches his my heart aches with dread as I know what's coming next. He'll stand up, say he has to leave. Wash his hands over and over until he feels like the curse of me is washed off him forever. Never talk to me again, nor even look at me as he passes me in the hallways. He'll join the crowd I could never imagine him in, because it doesn't matter if you can't picture someone doing something. They'll do it. People are capable of holding your heart in their hands like a fragile box. Yet, people also have no problem letting your heart sink to the floor, to leave it as something that could never look the same as it did before.

He doesn't do any of that. He doesn't do anything in general. We become mannequins, configured to create the allusion of what happens when two souls like each other. Nothing but deep breaths create sound. Breaths of all we want to say but know we can't.

Days at school pass. He begins to act different. He doesn't want to sit by me at lunch anymore. No matter how much I try to get him to talk, or the tiny taps I give to him on his shoulders, or the longing stares across the classroom in hopes he'll look back at me like he once did. It feels like years ago.

Why does time go faster when you want it to slow down?

Why can't time give me this one chance, to slow things down for me. Just for me. Give me a shot to get him back. I just need to talk to him, to touch his hand one more time before he pulls away. For him to tell me everything he feels and to not hold back on a single word he wants to say.

"Ivan." I've cornered him in the restroom after skipping class to wait. Heavy breaths fill the silence I want to scream at him to break. Why am I the one reaching? Why am I the one reaching when he was the one in the wrong?

"Ivan what's wrong, what is it?" It's stupid of me to ask. So stupid of me to think that there may be a different problem, other than the one no one dares to say.

Before I know it, he's crying into my arms, and we're sliding down the wall together. So close to each other yet so far away. I wrap my arms around him and pray this all goes well. I let him grab my shoulders a little too hard for comfort because this is the only way people feel better about things like this. Hurting the one that never meant to bring you the hurt.

I should've known, yet I keep hugging him. Throw "I'm sorry"'s and "Ivan please"'s around so much so I get sick of hearing the words. I get sick of myself for trying as hard as I am. I then take his arms off my shoulders to hold his hands eventually. It's not like the time in the grass. This time he actually pulls away.

I know when he walks out that I've lost him, even though I realize now I never had him in the first place.

Winter break passes. I've never been more grateful for workaholic parents than I was this winter break. I needed some time to be alone. To sleep in the silence, and drown in all the thoughts that would never be said out loud. Why would they?

Why would they when the one they'd be told to is gone?

When I get back to school, my body instinctively takes me on the route I used just to see him. Maybe he's changed his mind. Maybe he'll finally be the one to apologize.

Hope flutters like a runaway butterfly in my chest. I know what to expect, yet it remains there for a reason I can't place. Why hope for the one who doesn't deserve it?

But maybe he does deserve it. Maybe he deserves more than you would ever think.

Then my mind goes blank, and the butterfly flies away. I want to reach my arm out so far it nearly falls off to get it back. To grab it even if it meant crushing the thing to microscopic pieces. At least then I could spread the flakes all over me, glue them down, letting hope overtake my soul.

Though I'm glad I don't. I can't imagine what all hope would feel like to a string of it hanging on, based on the new snapshot I'll never get out of my head.

People are capable of carrying your heart and dropping it. Only I never knew someone had the heart of doing both to the same person.

He's still smiling like the one before, although it's not at me this time.

I'm not even associated with the picture.

I'm just the photographer now, and all I see is him, the girl beside him a blurred image in my head.

Their hands are intertwined with each others, and he isn't pulling away.

The way he looks at her is familiar, because I've seen that look before. There once was a time where I received those same eyes, eyes reserved for me, yet no one would ever know.

Only I would, and I don't think I could ever forget it.