It was a hot, sunny in the 5th grade but I was wearing a long sleeve shirt because it was my favorite. It was printed with the phrase “It’s so wrong, it’s right”, which honestly still doesn’t make sense to me and actually brings up fairly advanced questions of morals and ethics but I was 9 years old and I just thought it made me look edgy. 10 years later and this is still sort of how I dress myself. I remember he shouted across the blacktop, and for a second the words seemed to be suspended in air and a flush crept up my neck, and it wasn’t because of my shirt.
“Hey Sydelle, I heard you have a crush on me.”
See, I did have a crush on him, in the way that you can only feel when you’re in elementary school and holding hands seems to be such a far fetched concept. He was a skinny guy, the class clown, and I liked that he made me laugh. That was about it.
I defended my dignity and emotions, I would admit nothing, even on the pain of death. (Again, apparently a habit I haven’t lost)
“No, I don’t!!”
“Well, just so you know, I definitely do not have a crush on you.”
It’s funny how things stick with you. I can barely remember what my 5th grade teacher looked like, and I don’t remember anything I learned in 5th grade, but I remember this moment, how I felt, what I was wearing. And I still find 9 year old Sydelle inside of me, staunchly refusing to admit her feelings.