A Confession of a Missed Opportunity

Dear _________,

I transferred to a new school for the 4th grade - where I met you. It appeared you were the boy of everyone’s dreams. Like most of the school, you were Hispanic. But what set you apart from the other hard-looking, dark-haired boys is that you had light eyes and dark blonde hair that blew softly in the wind. Your dark olive skin was a stark contrast against your blue eyes that captured every girl’s heart - no matter what grade. But you ended up being in my grade and eventually, you’d be the one teaching me how to feel regret .

We didn’t talk to each other until the last few months of the school year (the only one I had in that school). Even so, we only spoke 3 sentences to each other. You were too popular to talk to me - a shy, chubby little 9 year old with terrible fashion taste. I really did want those low-rise, flared jeans with the diamond-studded pockets. Unfortunately, my Mom couldn’t dig enough black holes in the thrift store to find me a pair. Mom-style and wide-legged jeans it was - if only I knew how trendy I would have been in my 30s. You were popular and you also knew it. I’ll never be able to erase that smirk I’d see you give other boys and girls in the hallways, with your posse following you - admiring your every move.

So I know I was not as mature as the other girls in my grade. While they talked about cute boys in school (you, of course, were always included), I would sit at my desk and draw hearts around J.T.T and Devon Sawa in my Bop and Teen magazines. Because real boys were gross.

However, my disinterest in reality didn’t stop that other boy from accosting me every day in school. Every afternoon, on the way to our lunch break, he would ask me out.

“No”, I would say, and walk away.

Yet still, every single day he would ask the same question.

“No”, and again, I would walk away.

I mean, do 9 years olds even date? Lord, I hope not.

Then one day, that persistent little boy asked me in front of everyone in the hallway - and I could feel the peer-pressure set in with the weight of all their eyes on me. I remember thinking,

“Is this what I am supposed to be doing? Am I supposed to go out with him because he asked me?”

I could feel myself getting nervous and warm, but before I could sputter out a response, that is when you stepped in.

“She doesn’t want to date you…”

A weight off my shoulders, a halo around your head, my hero, my savior. That is, until you turned to me and asked,

“You’d rather date someone like me instead right?” Then that smirk.

My reverence for you quickly dissipated and was replaced with disgust so abruptly, that I could not help shouting,

“EWW. Never! I would never date either of you!”

This time, I ran away.

Thankfully, that other boy never bothered me again. You also kept your distance, and it took me by surprise when I realized I was sad about it. Sometimes I’d catch you looking at me, but then I’d stick my nose back in my book as soon as I’d catch your eye. It wasn’t until Halloween when we had our next encounter. We were all dressed in costumes and because I loved horror as much as my Mother, I decided to be a scary and ugly witch. Since I was blonde when I was younger, my Mother bought me a black wig to wear . You and I were grabbing Halloween cupcakes at the table near the teacher’s desk and she commented,

“Doesn’t Kayla look so different with that black hair?”

You looked directly at me with those blue eyes (which for years would always come to my mind when Donna Lewis sang this):

Then you looked back at the teacher to say,

“I think she is much prettier in her real hair color.”

You blushed, which made me blush.

It was right then, I knew I’d be replacing J.T.T with your initials surrounded by hearts from that day on.

Suddenly, the 4th grade was coming to an end and I was, again, transferring to another school. I’d see you a couple more times in the neighborhood park, but we never approached each other. Even though I wanted nothing else but to run up to you and kiss you on the cheek. That’s when I first felt the pang of regret for not saying, “Yes, I would date you!” Then what next? Would I become the most popular girl in school? Would we become high school sweethearts, go to the same college, get married and have a family? All these questions and possibilities sometimes race through my head - all these “what-ifs”. I keep telling myself, I was only 9 years old, you dummy - nothing would have happened. But, what if?

You, unknowingly to both of us, were my first crush. You were, perhaps, a missed opportunity. I wonder, do you ever think the same?