*footnote: 'Agent X' refers to a code name for a boy whom I am infatuated with*
Dear Agent X:
I may as well as blatantly say it, seeing as it MUST be obvious by now: I like you. Do not bother with trivialities, but I just assumed you would like to know the implications of this complex infatuation. It began with our first meeting in our martial arts class: you were the second degree black belt teaching assistant to the master and I was the shy colored belt. At first impression you were obnoxious, annoying, loud, and everything I found completely wrong with the opposite gender. Imagine my horror when our master would kid that we were 'flirting'. Puh-lease, with you? Imagine my greater horror when I suddenly had a fluttering in my stomach upon seeing you and a new sensation other than irritation. I was dumb-struck and surprised to find that I was infatuated with you...but it would fade, right?
Wrong.
It has been five years since we met that fateful day, and my feelings have, if anything, escalated into full force infatuation. Being the shy introvert that I am, and being the obnoxious center of attention you are, I could hardly see us having a future together. But when high school prom came around, and my bold (at least for me, the introverted shut-in) proposal of asking you to my high school prom, a place where you have never been and with people whom you have never met, was answered with a 'yes' on your behalf, can you fathom my confusion? YOU, this boy who was a senior where I was a junior, agreed to accompany me to a school dance? I was glowing when I walked away, glowing, mixed with the desire to puke...a lot.
But then the dance came.
You seemed aloof, quiet, and out of your own skin. As if there was an instinct to bolt, to run, to flee. I blamed myself: you were, under my interpretation, miserable and uncomfortable. When the reality hit that you were secretly shy, that self-blame turned into guilt for putting you in a situation like that. You and I are a different breed of human: we do not find pleasure in dancing in a crowded room, over dressed and listening to horrendous modern music. We would rather toss on our sparring gear and pound the crap out of one another. I found it amusing: this attention hog boy is secretly shy...who knew?
My memories come back to the night of prom as we waited for my cloud of friends to come back to your car so we could car pool, and they never showed. And as midnight rolled around and your car broke down in the parking garage, then when we had to get your car jumped by the patrol officer, I felt nothing but sympathy for you poor soul.
Well...time erodes many things, and as we grew, developed, and moved on with our lives, we changed. I went through a phase of convincing myself that there was no use carrying on with this everlasting crush, and I may as well move on. But something always magnetized me, drew me back in like some strange conjuring spell.
Here is an admitted truth about me: I do not like people touching my back. E=V=E=R. Touch it and my body locks up and I am instantly uncomfortable. Even when family members touch my back, it catapults me into a state of jarred anxiety, severing my connection with that person. However, when you, Agent X, pat my back or touch my shoulder, gently and not as if you were some hormonally driven young man, I don't feel uncomfortable. It is the past year I believe that I have reached a state of nature with you- the butterflies are gone and the fear of speaking or locking eyes with you is virtually nonexistent. I find that we can hold conversations and that you WANT to be involved with me, but were merely scared before. I don't blame you: I'm surrounded, guarded, it seems, by family members, which can be daunting to a man as shy as you. How on earth can you speak with me if my father is present? Fortunately, I am a grown woman now and have my own means of transportation, so that means no parents when we meet. You are fascinated by my musicality and I am fascinated by your multi-dimensional talents. There seems to be numerous layers to this man whom I am enamored by, and I can only assume you feel the same: after all, in the entire parking lot at our martial arts class you ALWAYS park next to me, even if there are other, closer spots to the door.
Beyond the melancholy star-crossed lovers drivel I have come to a recent realization: you never ever comment on my physical appearance. When you compliment me, it is based solely on my talents and abilities. I fully appreciate how you respect my internal being, rather than my external objectivity as a woman. In more ways than that are you respectful and mature towards me, conscientious and concerned when need be.
But here's the deal, Agent X: this crush is going on 6 years, and you know what, I'm shy and all, but you take the cake. JUST DO SOMETHING. Anything! You are bold, dangerous, and risk-taking when you feel comfortable. Be comfortable with me. I hope you find the courage you need to break out of your introverted bubble, because I do care about you...a lot. I can see us as US someday, and as I slowly creep out of my shell, I pray you do the same. You are a remarkably unique and unpredictable man, and I do not think I can merely let you slip out of my life. You are far too valuable to me.
Sincerely, your friend and fellow black-belt:
2nd Degree Burn
