This was an assignment that I had to write for, well, writing class. Over the course of the required peer review, it became clear to me that the main message and overall point of the essay had been missed by most. So here is the essay for your enjoyment. I hope you get more out of it than they did.

In grade school, I tended to be the odd man out. Always the third wheel in a group. I was unironically picked last for sports during recess and PE. I always wondered why that was the case. I wasn’t overweight, I could play kickball pretty well, so without a clear reason, I just… accepted that fact. The fact that I am the odd one out, the third wheel, the last picked. I realize now, with the gift of hindsight, that I was not a great kid back then. Temper issues, insisting on being included in everything, and a general bad attitude resulted in me being sent home a lot. All that to say, that due to these issues of mine, I rarely found myself on the receiving end of positive attention. Borderline no romantic attention, and true friendships were few and far between. I began to daydream. What if a new student joins the class? Someone new, who would have no preconception of me!

My grade school was… different. K through 8, I went to a Waldorf school. Rather than moving classrooms every period, we had one assigned classroom to each year– in first grade you had the first grade classroom, in second, the second grade room, you get the idea. And these classes weren’t mixed at all. I graduated middle school with a lot of the same people that I entered first grade with. We keep the same teacher for all eight years as well. Apparently this has us children “[…] feeling secure in this long-term relationship, [and thus] are more comfortable in their learning environment.” (Waldorfeducation.org) I never switched teachers enough to test the theory.

All of this meant everyone in class knew everything. I had a “crush” in first grade (if you can call it that, I was 8) and that kind of history follows you. So it’s not as though I had a shady past or anything, it’s just that everyone knew everyone’s history. I was desperately hoping for someone new to enter the class– which was a rarity. Someone who didn’t know my history of being picked last, my history of rejection, my history of bad tempers.
And lo, gifted unto our class in seventh grade was a new student. She was very interesting– of course she was. A new student always is, but it helped that she was pretty as well. Homeschooled for most of her life, not rich, but certainly not poor, and honestly a little spoiled due to her condition; I think she had almost six or seven concussions over the course of about four years. She was literally not allowed to run because of the risk of another concussion. I was interested, of course, but not romantically. She was just a new person. Getting to know her over the course of that year gave me an inkling. This might be my chance! There was no certainty, but maybe, just maybe, this is what I had been fantasizing about. But I didn’t admit anything. No, that took another year. Not until eighth grade.

I don’t know how the tradition started, but every eighth grade class goes on a final trip at the end of the school year– one last hurrah. We had been fundraising for two years, and our trip was going to be awesome: a road trip down to the coast of California, with stops in Oregon and plenty of places in Cali. I was so excited! The Monterey Bay Aquarium and the Santa Cruz Boardwalk had everyone else excited as well. This would be the first time I got to spend an extended period of time with her, about ten days, away from parents, but still in a chaperones eyesight. A win is still a win!

But sometime before that trip, I decided to be brave. I had gotten my first ever phone that year in 8th grade, in preparation for the trip. I would be states away from my parents, so they figured now was the time. When I finally made up my mind to do it, I took a week to draft up a whole page in my notes app; a confession of my feelings towards her. Something that I had not previously done. It was terrifying. I was old enough to understand, at least somewhat, what this meant. It would fundamentally change our relationship, for better or worse. I don’t want to toot my own horn here but you know, to my credit, I sent it to her. It was my first confession, and it was over text. And she rejected me.

Even still, it wasn’t over! We stayed as good of friends as we had been before. We had grown closer over the course of the year– we were close because of our joint role as narrator in our seventh grade play, and as leads in the eighth grade play. But neither of us said anything about my confession in person. We kept texting, neither of us were leaving anytime soon, so we might as well get over the awkward part. If anything we got a little closer during that time. Learning more about each other, eating lunch together. Little things that brought us closer.
When we left on the trip, I was in love. I think I can confidently say that now. I would never say it at the time though– I was in eighth grade! The most I would say is that I “liked her.” But I remember sitting in the backseat of the enormous van we rented for the trip, something like four rows of seats. I sat in the back of the van, next to her, and I took this picture. For whatever reason, this picture is a very vivid memory.

While staying in Santa Cruz, we had the whole class in an Airbnb. The boys were relegated to a room in the back of the house, with multiple beds pushed together for one mega mattress. The girls got to have a slumber party in the living room. I remember how dark that house felt all the time, dim and uninviting. And crammed full of teenagers. We had to divvy up the chores somehow. 16 teens in one house is bound to be messy. She was in charge of the kitchen, it was her domain during the trip, as it was well before. She had a cookbook published that year, which was (and still is) very impressive to me. I clearly remember volunteering to help her clean the kitchen– and the echoes of the laughter as everyone made fun of me. I like to think I was subtle about my feelings during the trip, but I most certainly was not. Because of her interests and physical abilities, I ended up incorporating a lot of her into my life. I began to enjoy working in the kitchen, because that’s when I could spend time with her. Because she wasn’t allowed to run, she walked very fast. That’s something I still do: I walk really fast, because I wanted to keep up with her. We got closer over the course of the trip, but it ultimately ended without any progression in our relationship.

The post-eighth-grade summer was particularly hot if I remember correctly. I remember wearing only shorts all summer, and having the windows down every time my parents took me over to her new house. I think I could still navigate to the turn onto her street, but the light there takes forever to change. She didn’t live in a cul-de-sac, but it was a dead end. The garage was always open, on account of having to move stuff inside. I helped out a lot with her family moving that summer. Like I said before, I was head over heels, and the amount of time and help I gave to her and her family was either 14-year-old me trying to show some amount of commitment or, more likely to me, an excuse to be around her. I remember very clearly building Ikea furniture in her living room, barren except the new carpet put in before the move. That had always been in my head as a couples activity. I thought we were moving forward.

We made cupcakes at some point that summer, on a particularly warm day after they had moved in. The back door was open, save for a screen keeping the flies out, and the kitchen was full of natural light from the big window over the sink, facing the backyard. Her cookbook was always propped up on the counter. A show of pride from her mom. Somehow the batter must have splashed or something, and one of us ended up with it on the face. It resulted in a pretty intense chase around the house, each armed with chocolate batter. It was a brutal war, one that left me with many chocolate scars. I still have the pictures. It was then that I thought Maybe we do have something. Maybe this will continue.

One day that summer, she stopped texting me back. It was abrupt, and unexpected. I had set a unique notification sound for her– I don’t remember what it was. My iPhone 4 never played it again.

There is more to this story, more for later. But I consider this my first lost relationship. I used to wonder why it was lost–
Did I do something? No, I tried so hard to be helpful and kind. That’s what I was taught!
Did I deserve this? Did I deserve to feel this sadness that I feel, that leaves my stomach in knots and doesn’t let me eat?
I must deserve it. Some part of me knows that this is my payment. For what, I am unsure. On some cosmic level this is deserved. It must be. Perhaps it is just a balancing of the scales. But that doesn’t change the hurt.

I felt punished.
I had problems eating after that. In fact, I don’t remember much of that time. It was the deepest depression I have ever experienced, and it really affected my memory. I felt like I was disposable to her, even after everything we experienced together. And my time had come to be replaced. I let this heartbreak get in the way of other possible relationships– both friends and partners alike.

Finally, in highschool, she started dating my best friend. I look back now and laugh. What kind of sick joke was this? I wasn’t depressed anymore, so this didn’t affect me as much as you’d think, but I remember him asking me if it was ok– he knew we were close. And I remember looking him in the eyes as I told him, smiling through the twisting pain in my heart, that it was ok.

With almost 10 years of reflection though, I think this taught me so much more about how I love and grow attached to people than I initially realized.

I love with my whole heart.
Regardless of romantic or platonic, I give it all.
I learned that then, through the pain of passing ships.
And I have seen it over the course of my current relationship.
It has hurt me plenty of times in the past. Both with romance and friends.
But I know that I have more to give.
And I have refused to let this one heartbreak ruin my chances of ever loving again.

I am in a fantastic relationship now, with someone who truly cares about me and my well being.

I learned from this. I have, and will continue to do so.

To better myself, and my relationships.