I was excited about this. I knew you were going to be hanging out at my house, but I was a little apprehensive too. I mean, my house wasn’t as nice as yours. I was afraid you’d stop liking me seeing that we didn’t have money, but you weren’t like that because you never made me feel that way. You showed a lot of interest in my little brother, which he loved because he thought you were the coolest cat in town. You were asking him about all his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and he was pleased as punch to enlighten you on their individual talents. Little did Adolfo know that you were already schooled in the art of Turtle, because Ryan was as big of a fan as he was.

My dad paid special attention to your exchange with Adolfo, taking note of your good qualities, and very likely looking for any bad ones. I think he also liked that you were especially interested in his grilling technique: two grillers, one veteran and one prodigy. It was fun watching you guys. I remember your face when dad took the fajitas out of the pan and slapped them on the grill, you looked amazed. Then, he squeezed lemon on it and you seemed so very puzzled by this. I remember you asking dad, “Why did you do that?” and dad said, in his typical smart ass way, “Why not?” His normal way of never answering a question and confusing the hell out of people. I got the biggest kick out of your inquiry as to why he put the whole slab of fajitas on the grill, “Why are you cooking it like that? Wouldn’t it be easier to cut it up?” and I got an even bigger kick out of my dad’s cavalier response of “Maybe…”

My mom brought out two glasses with some of her wine cooler in it with a lot of ice, we were both thinking we were big shit 8th graders, soon to be 9th graders. How funny that is, we thought we knew something at fourteen years old. Man, we didn’t know crap! Remember when you asked for the butter for your tortilla, and how my dad looked at you like you were crazy? I just looked at you and shook my head, thank God you figured that one out, Mexicans don’t know anything about buttering their tortillas, that’s an American thing. I think my dad was confused. In any case, the way you acted after taking a bite of your taco was priceless, that full-mouthed, “Oh my God, this is so good!” made my mom smile, even though my dad grilled. She was the rice maker, and that was fine with her.

I loved sitting on the porch after we had cake. You held my hand, which was fairly brave considering my parents were right in the living room, but I think they were purposely not saying anything about it. They were giving us space, it was surprising but refreshing. I mean, we were very young, they should have been concerned. I know I would have been. Well, they probably were, but I never thought about it then. You always had a way of stealing looks, and the funny thing is, they weren’t really stolen, cuz I gave them away. I loved the attention you gave me, I just never knew how precious it was. Gosh, I remember how silly I was back then. I remember how everything I did was in the effort of gathering your approval. I was such a dumb little girl. Back then, I had no idea if I just would’ve asserted myself more, you would’ve have appreciated the confidence and self assurance on my part, but I suppose most fourteen year old girls haven’t grown into that yet. I think you really appreciated the woman I grew into, because you certainly behaved that way. You were just so loving, so damned loving that your sheltered me from the scary world outside, but I eventually learned that fear is very real, and it does exist. I learned that the hard way.

Looking back on the lunch room now, I have to wonder if any of us ate anything? I mean, I ate lunch but it was usually dependent upon the activities. If us girls were busy at work, work meaning planning for a sleepover, a school event, or someone’s date, we all huddled about outfits, new makeup tips, hair styles, and vast amounts of other typical tweeny interest. On these days, we all picked at our food, moving it around the plate. We ate a little and talked a lot about boys, and periods, and Jordache Jeans. Who liked who and who recently broke up. We would talk about new students, and where they came from. It was a table of busy, curious thirteen year old girls.

You sat across the way, with your class, at the end of the table. You were usually with Moe, Ronnie, or Jonah. When I saw them, I knew you weren’t far. For a good while, I thought I could survive without eating during lunch. It could be done. I could have mom make me one of those egg sandwiches that spills all over my skirt for breakfast, I could pack an apple, and I could bum food from the girls when we were in the midst of our event planning. This could work. It would have worked, if not for the impending hunger pangs running rampant through my midsection every afternoon, about during Mr. Roots class is where the growling began. I tried for a good while to keep this strategy up, but after coming home from school to binge on pan dulce, I figured I better just eat some kind of lunch at lunch.

I wasn’t sure if you knew how I felt. At this stage, I realized you were that kid I met at the church, and I had known you now for a few years. You looked so different. The kid pudge was gone, you were lean and cut. You were taller, and your hair darkened up, and that Spartans coat, man that thing made your eyes glow. I think lunch was tense for both of us. I couldn’t help but look at you, gaze like some love drunk fool. I often wandered out of conversations about makeup and hair, into your space. I watched you eat, talk, and laugh with those guys. Someone had to have noticed me over there, you had to have seen me. My eyes rarely left you. It almost makes me feel silly now, like I got no game. I was so obvious.

I kind of liked how you played it cool, and only on occasion, came over to sit with me, and the girls. I also noticed that you weren’t very excited about sitting with my girls, you did it because I was there. I think they got on your nerves. We’re all girly girls, so there was squealing and whining, and all kinds of other “girls just wanna’ have fun” going on at the table. It’s probably the reason you visited the seat next to me, only a few times. But nonetheless, you did come over and sit next to me. The way you looked at me sometimes made my senses leave. You pierced my soul with those beautiful eyes of yours, and I was paralyzed. It makes me not want to move, to remain in that very spot where we are, saying nothing just staring. I would give my life to be there right now. Most of the charmed banter was comprised of you complimenting me on something I was wearing. You looked at me when you were talking to me, but your eyes made it a point to travel to my legs, and eventually my backside. You didn’t bother with discretion, you knew I was enamored of you. Did you always know I could never say no to you? How did you know that? I guess I was that obvious huh? Why hide it? I was so absolutely stupid, crazy in love with you.

It morphed eventually into what we have now, or what we had. We still have it right? I mean, I do. I know you would still love me if you were here. I guess it’s okay to say you love me, even though you’re not here. I can’t stop loving you. Everyday I wake up, and breathe air into my body, I think about how much more I love you now, than ever in my life. The thought is beautiful and crippling all at once. It makes me hang my head in shame, because I don’t want to love you more now, I wish I had loved you this way when you were here. I was a foolish heart. In any case, I know you knew how I felt, and trust me Jas, I still love you. I love you more than any words I write will ever describe.