The first time I knew of his existence was when my best friend mentioned that our English teacher had a photo of her stepson on her desk. And I know that, as he reads this, he wonders about that and why I never mentioned it.
The first time I saw him, I saw a semi-cute boy with rather goofy hair. And I know that, as he reads this, he is amazed that I ever thought him any kind of cute in those days.
The first time I spoke to him, I believe I said one word. "Ha." I had more than likely just smacked him upside the head. And I know that, as he reads this, he chuckles, for the fact is that there is a black mark in the shape of my hand on the back of his head.
The first time I saw him after I heard that he liked me, he glanced up at me from underneath his bangs in the hallway after school. I took the glance as an affirmative to the rumor I had heard. And I know that, as he reads this, he wonders which day that was.
The first and only time I told him "ja," he rubbed his hair a little and said, "I take it you understood what I said then." I had. Perfectly. And I know that, as he reads this, he grins to think of that eventful day.
The first time I told him "I love you," we were at a football game. I learned months later that he worried I hadn't heard his response. And I know that, as he reads this, he smiles to think of that night.
The first time he kissed me was at Homecoming. I couldn't speak nor take my eyes off him for an hour afterwards. And I know that, as he reads this, he smiles fondly.
The first time we fought was one day in my mom's class when we had a sub. I stared at him for twenty minutes straight, mouthing, "I love you. I'm sorry. I love you. I'm sorry." Finally he looked back at me. And all was okay. And I know that, as he reads this, he grins to think of all the times we fought and made up without ever breaking up. Aren't we talented.
The first time I cried on his shoulder was at track practice one day after I was humiliated about finishing last. (I just hadn't gotten used to it for the season.) He tried to catch each tear with his thumb, but I cried too hard. He kept trying, though. And I know that, as he reads this, he smiles with a sad undertone when he thinks of me crying.
The last time I saw him, I cried some more. We had a tearful parting, standing in each other's arms for ten minutes. I will never forget it. And I know that, as he reads this, the tears start in his eyes.
The next time I see him I'll jump straight into his arms. We'll stand there for ten minutes like we did before. I'll start crying, and as he tries to catch my tears with his thumb he'll cry too. And I know that, in anticipation of that day, as he reads this, a tear falls down his cheek.