My life came to a halt when he walked by. It was the summer of 2012 and the blistering month of July. I met him in a sea of people swarming the soccer fields as if the World Cup game is just about to begin and Spain is playing in the finals. He stood a field away; his body held the height of six foot, his hair was a shaggy surfer blonde, and his eyes consisted of the most hypnotizing shade of brown. I knew that just one glance from him would engulf my body. As hot as July was in the summer of 2012, the only heat my body could indulge was the radiation of him. My hands were dripping sweat on to the ground, my heart was infinitely pounding faster and faster, and my legs felt as if they would give out.

I had to resist the sudden urge to walk over to him to just feel the touch of his lips on my lips, the lips that would give life to death, the lips that could show a small town girl how to love for the first time. But I had to constrain myself, only to imagine the moment our hands would meet for the beginning of a new life, a life that would give purpose in this world of destruction and chaos. I longed to feel his lips pressed against mine, his arms holding me, and to know his name, a name that would never escape my labyrinth of thoughts.

My team began to notice that I was staring and commanded me to, “hike up your shorts and go get a man!” A man that I had truly fell for with all my heart. They told me I had one day to make him fall for me, one day to let him see the “real” me and every little thing I hid from the world, to reveal all my secrets to a guy I had just fallen in love with. But I do not have the slightest knowledge of his name or where he is from.

By the time I was supposed to be playing soccer, my mind went from contentment to a clutter of thoughts. He took up every nook and cranny in my labyrinth; every part of me was now him. Warming up for the game versus thinking of him was a difficult task, and I had to focus. I could not just sit in the middle of the field and stare at this guy. I had to play. The whistle blew. As the half passed, he escaped my labyrinth, but only for a moment. When half time appeared, I was drenched in sweat and blood. Then I looked up, I could feel his gaze from a field away. The eyes that overwhelmed my body were staring right at me until I threw my face down to hide my blushing. The whistle blew for the end of the half and I had to walk out on the field with a face as red as Morgan’s sunburnt legs. The rest of the game was a blur, more so because I was watching him more than the ball.

After the game it is a tradition to shake hands with the opposing team for good sportsmanship. I walked over to him last. As I made my way across the field, I began to feel a sense of nervousness. I was about to speak with him for the first time, about to give him a high five or shake his hands, our first touch. My heart then started to pound against my chest like a hammer to a nail. I felt like my heart was about to jump out of my jersey.

“Great game,” he said as he held his hand out to grab mine.

“Thank you, you did amazing out there today,” I said as I took his hand to feel his touch for the first time.

“What is your name? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Kali.”

“Kali, a name of perfection for a beautiful young lady. My name is Johnny.”

My face metamorphosed from a shade of pink to the blistering shade of Morgan’s legs once more. We exchanged numbers, and, after our encounter, we were inseparable. Johnny made me feel important and his touch made me feel safe. The image of his smile and the way his eyes looked still burn in my head today. Love is like a lost object if you are searching for it you will never find it; but if you are willing to forget about the future and focus on the moments, love will appear in the most unexpected form.


July 2012, was the last time I saw Johnny. He has never left my head nor has he lost my heart. Although his body has physically left, the thoughts of him never escape my labyrinth of thoughts. Johnny is a guy who comes around every so often; he is a guy that is full of pure joy and love. The thought of maybe one day seeing him again still roams in my head. There is never a definite possibility, but there is always hope. Johnny is my source of hope, my reason I attempt to stay sane in high school. I understand that I might never see him again, but we still talk and we can still reminisce of the chance to see each other again. Even though our messages can reach from California to Oklahoma, his touch never will. Well, not until this summer.