Dear Boy with Brown Hair Who Sat One Seat in Front and to the Left of Me on FDOC in Our Psych. Class,
I hope this letter finds you well.
I imagine a quizzical expression pulling your eyebrows down toward your hazel eyes—the eyes I got just one glimpse when you walked through the door—as you ask yourself: “Our psych class? I’m not in Psych.”
Oh, but honey, you were—for eighty glorious minutes you were—and in those eighty minutes, one thing became clear to me: this class was ours. Not mine, not the professor’s, not that kid over against the right wall munching loudly on baby carrots—but our class.
For those eighty minutes that I spent staring at the back of your head as the professor droned on and on about due dates and STINFs and her four cats, no one else mattered. Nothing else mattered. The whole world fell away. It was just you and I. I loved us that way: the back of your head, the slope of your shoulders, your soft curls, and me.
I was looking forward to this time we would have. Twice a week I was going to spend my heartbeats from 10:05 to 11:20 being your most faithful sidekick. I’d admire your online shopping choices (another pair of khaki pants? Yes, you need those, sweetie.), laugh at your friends’ groupme messages (haha yeah Brett’s a total sav), and become a die-hard for Manchester United (your favorite).
Then, you left.
For the first two tortuous weeks following this fateful FDOC, I hoped against hope that you were simply sick or traveling or saving a rare species of crab on the other side of the world. I would sit in my seat, barely breathing as waited to see you walk in. Maybe he’s just late today. 10:27. Maybe his grandma died, and he needs to wait for his eyes to be less red. 10:52. Maybe he’s busy planning an elaborate profession of his love for me and didn’t want to see me until it’s ready. 11:20. He’ll be here on Wednesday.
11:20. 11:20. 11:20. Over and over again, and you never showed up.
Apparently you dropped Our class forever. You selected a new class that was more palatable to you, one that was easier or perhaps gave you better flexibility. And you left me all alone to stare at the space where you once were. The space that some greasy-haired girl who takes her shoes off and asks dumb questions has occupied.
I hope you miss the feel of my gaze on your shoulders.
The Girl Who Sat One Seat Behind and to the Right of You on FDOC in Our Psych Class.