I Was Weird Because I Liked You
The doorbell rang while I was upstairs. I crept to the top of the stairs just in time to hear a strained “Can I help you?”
Holding your little sister you explained that your car had broken down
That you knew I lived close by so you walked over to use our phone.
At least that’s what I thought you said- it was difficult to hear from my perch.
(An important note to anyone born after 1995: at this time cell phones were still novelties. He was asking to use our landline.)
I think you’d been given a phone by the time I walked downstairs. Had I been called down or did I try to act like it was a coincidence that we were both somehow in my foyer on a Tuesday night?
The mood was strange- awkward and tense. Like you’d stumbled into a private party, unwelcome and uninvited. (I had worried my parents wouldn’t approve of you, but I didn’t imagine it would be that bad.)
I’m sorry I didn’t make it better. That I didn’t do something to make you feel more at ease. To make you feel like you belonged.
You’d think after all the imaginary conversations I’d played in my head that I would have worked out how to speak to a crush.