I am in love with the boy who sits next to me in my Communications class. He has sharp features. He is intelligent. He is Australian, and when he’s excited or passionate his accent slips out. He cares too much about the human race in general, and me in particular. He has a seemingly limitless vocabulary and is the best speller I know. He is a hilarious story-teller, and you can tell from the beginning how funny it’s going to be by how much he leans forward. He’s a good listener and knows when to offer advice, when to make a joke, and when to just express sympathy. When I first told him I liked him, he got quiet and thoughtful.
I am dating the boy who sits next to me in my Communications class. He’s a little too short, but we make do. He tells me he loves me on a regular basis. He gets along with my family. He likes to hang out with my friends. He randomly shows up out of nowhere with little gifts for me to brighten my day. My teachers smile at us as we pass them in the hallway. My dog can’t get enough of them. He is the best friend of the boy I love.
So I sit in my Communications class, just as literally as figuratively in between the boy I love and the one who loves me, and know that I can never be enough for either of them. I lay my head on one’s shoulder while the other busies himself with his homework. I immerse myself in one’s stories while looking anywhere but at the other in hopes that he won’t see the longing in my eyes. I remember a drunken conversation where we both cursed the night when he lied and told me to say yes to his friend. So I sit in my Communications class and try to pretend everything’s all right.