What first got my attention was the way he held himself. He was at ease in his own skin, the way I never was. He always knew what to say, and just how to say it… He’d set butterflies loose in my stomach constantly. All the while, never knowing.
He never paid much attention to me, but when he did, it felt like the sun. It felt like I was going to burst with anticipation for something between us to work. He made me so nervous, I wasn’t capable of saying something without stuttering or being crudely sarcastic — that’s the way it was. I could never say anything to him without my hands shaking, and smiling. That’s what I remember most. Is how I’d never stop smiling around him. Smiling is something I never really did often, but when he was next to me, talking to me, even for a couple seconds, I smiled like I would never stop.
I stuttered so much around him. He knew how to smile at me, and I’ll never be sure if he did it on purpose. I’ll never be sure if he saw straight through me. He just knew how to pull the strings; he knew how to make my head stop thinking.
My friend had said happy birthday to me a bit too loud though I didn’t want to bring any attention to it. He’d heard it. He asked me if I was shy about it. I didn’t know what to say or do but laugh about it. He laughed with me and wished me a happy birthday. The memory still warms me to the core and makes me want to burst.
The happy memories are too little in number, but the first of their kind. About a boy.
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