A couple of friends and I arrive at school. We’re early. Very early. Only one other person sits in the wide room where we greet each other every morning. We make idle chatter. Another person enters. I want to know where he is. I wonder if today, the last day of school, will be the day that he doesn’t come in. We all chat, though I think about him more than the words leaving my mouth. His face. His beauty. His smile. I sit in between two friends on a large rectangle of joined tables.
I miss him so, so much. Where is he? Is he going to come in? Why did I come in? I’m not going to see him today, I just knew it. But my intuition said I should come into school. There’s more happening than what I see in front of me. I’ve gotta be patient.
The main doors click open. My body quickly leans forward and my eyes flick towards the two people walking through. D walks at the front and he walks at the back. They both laugh at a joke. I look at him and smile. For no reason. And every reason.
Shit. Do I look okay? Does he like my clothes? Do I look fat? Did I put enough deoderant on? He’s so wonderful. Matt. BREATHE.
I scan down his body as he walks across to our group. He has no idea, too busy in chatter. I try to commit his entire being to memory. He comes over. A hug to a friend. Then he walks in front of me and lurches, hugging me tightly. I want the moment to last forever. The world melts away.
His body feels so nice! I love this coat on him. He always looks so amazing. How long can I make this last? Take it in, Matt, take it all in.
The hug lasts for a time, though my mind is too drunk on emotion to sense anything but the texture on my skin and the warmth pressing into me. A flicker of hope burns in my heart, while tears begin to gently surface into my eyes. I secretly blink them away, hiding my emotions as more and more people filter into the room. My heart feels heavy in my chest. Desire. Hope. Need. Longing.
How come I never saw him before? Why did I never notice this beautiful, happy, engaging person? How?
We release from our embrace. I before him, so as to make it seem that it was only a long, friendly hug. The truth hides in my tear ducts, waiting to reveal itself. I smile a happy smile and look him in the eye for just a little too long. I look away. He moves to the side and tells me about the perfect cigar he smoked last night. I lose all of my words, then I tell him I can’t condone his actions. A friend chimes in jokingly, telling me what I should have said. I say it. We laugh. I remark her as my shoulder devil. I fail at making the situation more palatable.
Oh no! I hope he doesn’t hate me because I dislike smoking. That will never change. I really like him so much! But he smokes. But I like him. But he smokes. Though it seems social. I’ve got to dissuade him from it. But would that be rude? I have to accept him fully, as he is.
He meanders into a conversation with others. I stare at him, scanning the back of his body and down the contours of his jeans. I wonder about what he looks like underneath his clothes. I see his shirt hanging silently out the back of his coat. I commit the fabric and pattern to memory. A slither of information. A piece of him. I joke to a friend if we can stay where we are for a few minutes and say the roads were icy. She agrees. I don’t tell her my reason, yet it’s already cut deeply into my heart. I just want to watch him. To see how he lights up. To have just a few more minutes of joy being in the same room as him. He goes to lesson.
Oh no. What if I don’t see him again all day? Or for the rest of the year! I miss him so much. He’s gone. I can’t believe it. I hope I see him at break. But what if I don’t? What if that’s it? Maybe I can catch a glimpse of him on our way to Spanish?
My friend and I leave the room and head to Spanish. I stare quickly down the corridor which I thought he walked down. I see someone like him. It’s someone else. I release a sigh without any conscious thought. We get to Spanish. We begin watching Pan’s Labyrinth. My thoughts bounce between the film and him, though my heart never forgets his face. His laugh. His everything.
Can we hurry up? When does this finish? Should I go to the bathroom just to have the chance to see him? But what if he’s in lesson too? But what if he’s not? I miss him! No, it’s okay. I’m sure I’ll see him. But what if I don’t?
The lesson finishes. The same friend and I decide to avoid the weekly assembly by going back to the room before. The room this morning. The room yesterday. We amble upstairs. People are collecting for assembly, though we had no idea it would be in there. We vacantly enter as more continue to enter behind us. A friend pulls me aside for help in History. There are only a few seats left far to the other side, so I sit on the floor in front of D., hidden behind students sitting on tables and standing. I listen. I look beneath all the tables and chairs to see his shoes. To know where he is. I can’t find them.
I feel weird. My name is going to get called out. Oh no. I can feel it. I can feel it. It’s going to happen. I know it. But who? Oh no. Please don’t say my name.
“Matt Dixon!” I briefly squeeze my eyelids shut. “Is Matt Dixon here?” I reluctantly stand up. I start moving to the front. I’ve won a prize. All I can think of is him. His eyes on me. The whole world seemingly watching me. I’m so embarrassed. I knew they’d call my name out. My vision blurs around the edges. I wonder what he’s thinking.
Is he watching? Is he seeing this? I feel so stupid. Do I look fat? Oh god, I bet my clothes make me look fat. I’m sure I look fat. Oh god, he’s going to hate me! Pull everything in Matt. Make yourself look presentable. Keep it together, Matt, keep it together.
I shake the hand of the prize giver. I smile at him. My vision becomes tunnelled. I turn around rapidly and clutch the gift to my chest. A part of me fills with adrenalin. Another part of me is filled with angst. I return to my position. I sit down. I smile. I clap absently whilst other names are called out. Assembly finishes and most filter out. I sit on my usual table, back against the wall. I open the gift. A book which I talked to my college leader weeks ago. I know I’m listened to.
I wonder what he thinks. I wonder if he cares. Oh my god, he’s coming over. He’s near. Look at him! Look at how beautiful he is! No Matt, don’t stare. Keep cool. Keep cool.
He squeezes my legs as I sit on the table. I make some stupid, sexual remark in a joke. He doesn’t really laugh. I attempt to save the situation. He seems more amused. We pass joking winks and gestures. He seems a tiny bit uncomfortable. I worry. He moves on. I go downstairs to leave a note on my college leader’s desk in thanks. “You’re a one in a million teacher,” I write, “You’ve made my year.”
Why am I down here doing this? I don’t have time to be nice to others. I’ve got to be near him. No Matt. It’s important to do this. You have to show thanks. This means a lot to you, and you have to show how much you appreciate it. Write quickly. Oh shit! What if he thought my legs were fat!
My body, filled with so much emotion, makes writing difficult. I forget words and have to push them into sentences on the post-it. All I can think about is him. I speed back upstairs and return to my table. I watch him. A friend talks to me and doesn’t stop, though I don’t blame her. All I want to do is look at him. Talk with him. Involve myself with his conversation with my friends. I’m a little brusque with her, though make sure to retain my politeness. I ask to try a friend’s hat on.
Why am I doing this? I bet I look so stupid. But it’s okay. It’s fun. It’s cool, Matt. Be cool. Just have fun. Let go. Show him that you actually have sillyness down there. Impress him.
I take the current one off and ask to wear his hat. He doesn’t hear. I shout it. He turns around as he walks and speaks to me, “Don’t worry, I’ll be back. You can try it on then.” I watch him walk out, my eyes following him until a wall stops my gaze. I wait. And I wait. I talk with friends. I explain spooning to one. I feel restless with emotion. We talk about Pan’s Labyrinth. Every time I hear a door click, or feet shuffle or see movement in the corner of my eye, my head turns sharply. But it’s not him. Or him. Or them. I find out that he and D. have gone to pry a cigarette out of someone.
He doesn’t come back before I go home. I don’t see him walking back to school, or on the main road towards school. I don’t see him anywhere. My heart twangs with pain and Duffy plays on the radio. Tears well at my eyes. I miss him so, so much.
