Little Me Romance

I wrote this.

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I liked a boy in the second grade.

That's usually how it works, isn't it? Girl likes boy. Boy spits in girls bologna sandwich. Girl cries until she throws up on her teacher's shoes.

It wasn't a picture perfect romance, I'll admit. But, the stains came out of the shoes.

His name was Charles. We called him Charles back then. Eventually, Charles became Charlie and even Char on some days. I loved the way that ch felt on my throat, my tongue, my lips.

I would stand alone in my bed, staring at my bookshelf or my desk and I would say his name over and over again just to feel it. "Charlie, Charlie, Charlie."

Third, fourth, fifth, sixth grade all came and passed with no more ruined sandwiches or shoes. We didn't see much of each other. Our classes were split into tracks A, B, and C. I was an A student and he was B.

Then, the movement came. Jr. High. New building, new students, new classes, no A, B, and C.

We shared a homeroom. Lily Walsh and Charlie Walters. We were made for each other.

On the first day, he passed me a note on green paper. It was covered in scribbled pen tests on the corners and small doodles of circular men holding various objects: a bouquet of flowers, a small explosive, a grenade launcher, and a thick book. In the middle were three of the heaviest words I had ever read:

Wanna go out?

So, I answered him on the same piece of paper. A resounding yes.

I won't tell you he made any big, romantic gestures. I won't tell you he kissed me and took my breath away. I won't tell you the sound of his voice made my knees shake. None of those things are true.

He took me out for pizza. I ordered a cherry cola. We ate and drank. We saw a movie. Something with a lot of explosions and one sex scene that was awkward for both of us. His mom picked us up and drove us home. We were 12. Not much more to expect from a first date, is there?

We went out two more times before we stopped talking, almost all together. One trip to the mall and another playing laser tag. No sparks. I don't know what little me expected, really.

We worked on some projects together in history because we knew each other by name. Other than that, no words were exchanged. No promises kept or broken.

I was lovesick for a while, but, I got over it when I finally pulled my head out of that bologna sandwich from second grade and realized Charlie wasn't the only boy my age.

So, I little me had a romance. It was big in my heart, big on the paper I scrawled it out on, and big in the dreams I had, but, small in real life. That's how most little romances turn out, isn't it?