She never liked dancing.
She wasn’t very enthusiastic about moving around to the sound of music because she wasn’t as graceful as other people that are better dancers, (and of course, prettier than her). In the other way people use this word, she doesn’t like when her feelings are dancing around someone else.
Each time she saw him, she felt as if her soul (with all the feelings inside the intangible part of her body) went away from and danced away with his fucking soul at the some tango, some waltz, maybe some stupid dance she didn’t care about.
And what bothered her most was that she enjoyed.
Every time he appeared into her sight, she felt as if new feelings were building up on her chest and grew bigger to the point her cheeks were bright red and everyone was asking her if she was feeling well. She always shrugged it off, saying that it was just the heat hitting on her (uh, get it?)
Anyway.
He was her best friend, and she wanted to roll her eyes back into her skull to see her brain because gosh, it was so cliché. She always hated the romanticism of things, but at the same time it was her guilty pleasure. She hated love itself but she liked feeling loved, she hated flowers but she liked receiving them as a love gesture, she hated dates because they were incredibly awkward sometimes but she liked spending time with people she cares about.
Let’s put it like this: she’s a very complicated person.
More than once she imagined him confessing his attraction to her, coming to her house and bringing flowers to her before going on a date (and she imagines her dad looking over her shoulder and pushing her away because, c’mon, he has to give him the talk and maybe know a little bit about him.)
She imagined him coming over and cuddling over on the couch, playing FIFA or maybe one of them playing a one player game because they’re not in the mood to play together since they know they will end up yelling at each other.
She imagined him taking his hand and walking around the school feeling the soft brushes of his fingertips on the back of her hand and she can feels like a light bulb because, god dammit, it’s like electricity is going thru her.
She imagined a lot of things that never are going to happen, because she’s too scared to lose him.
The word crush never made sense until now.
Because it’s the way her heart crushes in her chest, painful and physical even when it’s all in her head; she knows nothing it’s going to happen between them. Insecurities run thru her body as fast as fox chases a rabbit, and she keeps telling herself that maybe, just maybe, one day she’ll be brave enough to say something.
Days keep coming and she still looking at her phone, waiting for his response.
Afternoons passed by, both of them sitting and talking until midnight. Texts went and by, bills for them were paid each month but neither of them blamed each other for it.
The last day of school came (they were seniors ready to the live their lives), and both of them were sitting on the driveway waiting for their moms to come by and pick them up, and after that, maybe not seeing each other for the rest of their lives. The world is a big thing, making easy to quickly get lost.
They see more than one girl taking selfies with their friends, and she hears him snort before commenting something about they will forget each other in a few months and they will delete the photos just as their memories.
“When did you get so Paulo Coelho?” She said, her eyes half closed thanks to the sun on her face. He smiled at her and she returned it quickly, before looking around the parking lot and she swears their souls are dancing over the black car parked a few feet away from them. “Can I ask you something?”
“You already did.”
“Asshole.”
“Yeah, I poop out from there,” and she laughs, widely because she always liked vulgar jokes like those. The fucker knew him very well and she can see him giggling at her. “Now, what were you going to tell me?”
“We are never going to see each other again, right?” She asks and he nods, no hesitating. “Can I pull you by the shirt and stamp a damn kiss on you lips?”
He shrugs.
“It’s that a yes or a no?”
He shrugs again with a smile on his face.
“You’re the worst,” and she does it. She pulls his shirt and kisses him. It’s not like in the movies were the two principal characters are going to eat each other in one kiss and all the audience melts because it’s so romantic. The kiss is soft and quick, because neither of them have experience on it. “What did you eat? Your lips taste awful.”
“I used you chapstick?” He answers and she frowns (mostly because he used her chapstick, not the taste itself.)
“I must taste awful too, then.”
“I wasn’t complaining,” he smiles. Her soul his melting in his arms, and she cannot help to snort at the image of his soul trying to hold her in place but it’s impossible because she’s an ice cream slipping on his fingers. “Hey, I want to ask you something now.”
“What?” She tries to keep the conversation short, since all her limbs are shaking in excitement and it’s very possible for her voice to do the same.
“You know when people promise to marry each other at certain age if they are not married before that?” She nods and he looks at him, hand passing over his hair. “We should do that.”
“Aw, you think so?” Her voice sounds as if she was mocking at him, but the question itself was serious. The boy was proposing matrimony at her, basically. “You know everyone hates me, so it’s very possible for me to be living in a house with twenty cats when you get married.”
“Cats are nice.”
“Yeah, I guess they are.”
“Not everyone hates you.” She looks at him with the bitch, please face and he laughs. “I like you.”
“Fine,” she roll her eyes and smiles. “When do you want to do that?”
“Do what?”
“I hate you, really,” she shakes her head. “Forty?”
“Twenty five.”
“Nah. What about thirty?”
“What about nineteen? We take a road trip to Las Vegas without telling someone.”
“You need to stop watching those types of movies.”
“I guess that thirty can work,” he says, looking at his watch. “I bet you’re going to be as annoying as now.”
“Stop looking talking about yourself, gosh,” and he laughs quite hard, and she can’t stop smiling. She sees her mom’s car and gets up, taking her bag with her. “So, I see you on a few years then. Where are we going to see each other?”
“Where do you want me to propose to you?” She looks to the sky as if she was begging God to make her strong enough to not melt right there and just die.
She knows it’s not going to happen, so she smirks and answers “What about the Publix over my house?”
He looks at her and smiles. “Good. I’ll see you in at Publix, then.”
“Good,” she smiles back. “Now, try not to suck at life.”
“Right back at you,” and the share a last smile before she walks over her mother’s car and, when she’s out of his sight, she gaps and passes a hand over his hair.
Most people would say that he was regretting everything he said and did.
They were wrong, because he just proposed at the most gorgeous, beautiful girl he had ever met, and now he was smiling to himself and he just wanted to do that dance from Singing in the Rain in every lamppost he could find.
He would wait.
And he did.
After a few years, he was walking in the aisles of the Publix in their hometown. He had a ring on his pocket and he hated being so cliché but he didn’t like breaking promises.
He turned around the aisle and he saw her, and he couldn’t help but sigh at her sight. She was still the most gorgeous, beautiful he had ever met. He was going to start walking towards her when two kids came running at her, smiling and jumping in their place.
His smile fade away, he looked at the floor and then looked at her once again. She was talking with a man, and both of them had the same ring on their fingers.
He nodded, turned around and walked away.
For the first time in years, his soul didn’t have a partner to dance with but that really didn’t bother him. He smiled, just as he walked out the store.
She was happy, and that’s something that made him happy.
The word crush never made more sense than now.
