A Life Never Lived

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Khaliban
Watchman, Second Class
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Joined: Sun Feb 22, 2004 5:55 am
Location: Evanston, IL
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A Life Never Lived

Post by Khaliban »

We met at preschool when we were three. I was shy and distant, traits I still have. She already had friends. I saw her as just another classmate. She seemed to feel the same way about me. I don't remember any specific interactions with her. She was a girl, and I wasn't supposed to like girls at that age.
The school, a Lutheran private school and church, included K-8 classes in addition to the preschool and became my prison for the next ten years. My mother, a devout Lutheran, wanted her children properly indoctrinated. It didn't work out for her. My brother is now an atheist, my sister is Wiccan, and I am... complicated.
Over those ten years, I gained a reputation as the weird one, the smart one, and the disappointment who never did his homework. She was the smartest girl in class, the best student, the nicest girl, the one everyone trusted. She was pretty but not the prettiest, but she was the best person in our class by far, the most sensitive and the most caring. She understood emotions the way a fish understood water, while I understood them the way a fish understood Euclidean geometry.
But, I didn't notice her.
Well, a little, maybe, as I was acquiring an interest in girls. She was always first or second on any test. She stood out that way. And we were in bell choir together. I called her that one time when I forgot the rehearsal schedule. Not the instructor. Not anyone else. Her. Her mother answered, gave her the phone, and whispered, "It sounds like a boy!" I thought that was funny. At the time. We worked on other things together, of course, because of class. I don't remember not liking her, even when I wasn't supposed to like girls. I don't remember arguing with her. I don't remember her being frustrated with me. For me, the absence stood out.
Around the age of twelve, I developed a crush on a different girl for no reason I could understand. She was in our church but not in our class, and my mother asked me to be nice to her. I didn't know how to approach the new girl, after I decided I had a crush, and essentially became a stalker. It didn't end well.
Her father, the father of the new girl, that is, worked at the same company as my father. My father took him under his wing, helped him out, and he, basically, stabbed my father in the back. My father lost his job when I was thirteen, and we moved two hundred and twenty miles away. We had a goodbye party. The class pitched in and bought me a Rubik's cube. She, the original she, was at the party, but she didn't stand out.
I still didn't think about her.
A year later, my family returned for a visit during summer vacation. We met with old friends, talked about what we were doing, and, of course, went to church. I toured the building before the service and talked to the former classmates in attendance. She wasn't there. Not yet, anyway. Shortly before the service, I separated myself from the pack, which was normal for me, and made my way to the front of the building. There, I stood and waited for the doors to the church to open so I could find a seat. I leaned against a wall instead of sitting, because I'd forgotten dress socks, and the white tube socks were embarrassing. I wasn't near any of my former classmates. I don't recall why I left the pack that particular time, but, most likely, I left to write. I'd been writing stories in my head since fifth grade, and I escaped to them when life became boring.
The building was shaped like a cross over an eight pointed star, like a Melpomene symbol, with the church at the center of the star, a congregation in the round. The church offices were in the bottom most arm of the star, and the two main entrances were on either side. I stood at the right side entrance, as viewed from the outside of the building. She entered through the left side doors, threw her purse into one of the many closets lining the walls, and walked in my direction. Her ranking among the pretty girls in class had changed. Considerably.
Now, I noticed her.
When she was about even with the right side entrance, she recognized me. She obviously didn't know I was back. Her face lit up in a really good way, and she came over to me.
I still wouldn't sit down, because of the socks, so I leaned on the sign-in table, and we talked. And we talked. And we flirted. And it felt good. Sweet fucking Christ, it felt good. Better than any conversation I have had before or since. I was comfortable around her, a rare thing for me, and ten years of shared experience made her feel very comfortable. I don't remember anything we said, but I remember how nice her hair looked, the light tan of her skin, and her smile. Good God, I remember her smile.
At some point, the doors to the church opened, and we went in to sit down. We didn't sit together, I'm not sure why. Instead, we sat at opposite ends of the same block of pews, about ten feet apart, and smiled at each other. For the whole service. I remember that smile more than any other. I have it permanently fixed in my memory.
After the service, she left to find her family, and I got pulled away by my other friends. I didn't see her again that day. Eventually, my family returned home, two hundred and twenty miles away. And I thought about her. And thought about her. In retrospect, we made a lot of sense. Anyone from our class would have understood that. We were an obvious match. But...
Life happened.
I had other crushes at other times. Some, just because they were pretty. Others had more substance. The best had more substance. But, they faded from me. I lost interest in the ones without substance. The others moved away, or got married, or my temp job ended. Through it all, I held onto her.
After twenty or so years, I searched for her online. She was a social worker and lived in a major city about a hundred miles away. A long commute, but not impossible. However, I was in a sorry state at that point for... reasons, and I knew I wasn't good enough for her. Besides, showing up out of nowhere would have been creepy, even by my standards.
More life happened.
I got regular work. I got diagnosed. (Never underestimate the value of that.) I started pulling the many stray threads of my life together. I finally understood why I was the way I was, and I worked on it.
After ten years, I moved to the same major city for work. Not planned. It just happened. I searched for her again. She lived about thirty miles from me. With her husband. And two point three children. (I'm guessing about the children.) Of course, she had to be married. She was the living embodiment of the term "keeper". I'm honestly surprised it took her that long.
I didn't pursue her. I understood boundaries. I knew the city where she lived, but not her exact address, not her phone number, not anything, really. I doubt she knew I was so close. I never gave her a reason to know.
I don't wonder if she remembers me. I'm far too weird to be forgotten. I don't wonder if she thinks about me. I'm depressed enough as it is. I don't wonder if she's happy. The reason for that is far more complicated than you might think. I still think about her, but not in a creepy way. More like my brain won't shut it off even if I wanted it to, borderline OCD way, because I'm allergic to antidepressants, and the goddam Asperger's won't let me forget, and I will have the smile of the only woman I could ever see myself with locked into my memory until the day I fucking die, because high functioning autism shows you no mercy, no matter what, forever and ever, you pathetic shit.
That kind of way.
Anyway, I hope only the best for her. She deserves it.
"This is the sort of bloody nonsense up with which I will not put."


Smashwords: Discovered Mate: A Tale of Desire and Chess

Some Stories: FanFiction or Archive Of Our Own
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