Secret Admiring

 

Monday came too quickly. I knew it would be so awkward, facing Ryan after the monstrosity that was Saturday. Immediately, afterwards, it felt like things were going to be Ok since our conversations weren’t awkward, but the air between us felt weird. My mind was racing with topics of what to discuss, pop culture to reference, and compliments to give about his skateboarding talent. Nothing felt right; it felt forced and insincere. So I did what I thought was best: remain quiet.

I walked into English class and sat in my seat. I gave Ryan a small smile as an attempt at a greeting as I sat. To my surprise, he didn’t say anything to me either. He didn’t flirt, make small talk and suggest we hang out again, or even compare our answers on the literary assignment. Ryan was speechless. As a result, class went by so slow. I couldn’t help but zone out every two seconds, wondering about what he was wondering about. Even though he was sitting three feet away, there was a mountain between us.

At the end of class, I got up and quickly retreated to my locker. I put my books away and grabbed the materials that I would need next. I shut the door and found Ryan standing there, staring at me. The feeling of déjà vú began to overwhelm me. All of the memories of him and me, me and him, of us began to run through my mind. I felt like I couldn’t breathe and I was nauseated. I thought I was going to faint and the room started to get really hot really quickly. I had to get out of there. I saw Ryan’s mouth moving but I couldn’t hear any words. I had no choice; I ran away and went to straight to the school nurse. I called my mom, had her pick me up, and retreated home.

Once my mom dropped me off at home, I immediately began to feel better. I took a shower to cool off, but I didn’t start sweating again. I no longer felt faint and my stomach settled. I took deep breaths, in and out, to relax my mind and body. I had just survived my first anxiety attack. I watched TV and did my best to remain calm so I didn’t watch any action-packed shows and movies, per Mom’s advice before she went back to work. I essentially wasted me whole entire day and three o’clock came before I knew it. Throughout the day, Mom called to check on me before finally telling me that she wouldn’t be home until six o’clock. Dad texted me, alerting me that he would be picking up my sister from dance class and later asked me what I wanted him to pick up for dinner. Outside of that, I had little no interaction with the outside world. So, of course, when Ryan called, I was a little shocked.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Hey, it’s me,” he started. “I just wanted to know if you were Ok. You didn’t look so good today after English so I was checking up on you. Do you need anything? I have your homework.”

“Oh, I’m fine. Thanks for picking up my homework; you can just come over and drop it off. I don’t need anything. My mom told me to just relax, stay calm, and make sure that I don’t get worked up again.” I responded.

“What happened to you?”

“Panic attack.”

“Why?”

There was silence. Why did I have a panic attack? Was it because of Ryan? Was it because of me? Did my subconscious have a conniption because it knew that things weren’t Ok? Could it have just been a result of me being overwhelmed with school and stuff?

“Hello?” Ryan tried again.

“Yeah, I’m here, sorry. My address is 372 Brookfield Lane, if you still want to drop my homework off.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m already here. I got your address from the Attendance Office before I left, just in case you weren’t answering the phone.”

Once he said that, I heard the line end and the doorbell sounded. I was wearing my monochromatic, blue striped boxer shorts and a plain, white V-neck shirt. My messy bun was more of a bird’s nest on the top of my head, but what could I do? He was already here. I answered the door and invited him in.

“Your French teacher said to make sure that all 250 conjugations are done, first thing in the morning. There are no exceptions,” he warned.

“What?!” I nearly screamed. “How is this possible? I don’t take French! Do you mean my Spanish teacher? There is no way Señora Ruiz gave me this work!” I shouted as I began frantically searching through the books and papers that were set on the table.

“Lynnie, I’m kidding!” Ryan beamed.

“Stop it,” I scolded him. “I told you I’m supposed to be calm. This is not me being calm. This is me being the opposite of calm. This is me being uncalm.”

“Calm down,” he began, as he tugged at my shirt bringing me close to him. He smelled so nice. His arms enveloped me in a big hug that I wanted to melt in. He rubbed my small circles on my back to comfort me. “It was a joke. It’s going to be Ok. You want to stay for a while?” He whispered in my ear as he continued to hug me.

I nodded, not knowing what to do. It was probably wrong to push him away and tell him that I couldn’t kiss him yet allow him to stay with me, but I did it anyway. He sat down and lied on the sectional. “Do you want something to drink or anything?” I offered.

He shook his head and I took that as my chance to lie next to him on the couch. He draped his arm around me. As a response, I then turned onto my side to curl into him. I probably looked picturesque: my head on his chest, his arm around my waist, my leg and arms draped on him, his head resting on mine. It was so comfortable and so peaceful, because we didn’t talk. We just listened to the literal rhythm of each other. Our breaths weren’t really coordinated. Our hearts weren’t really pounding with passion. We were just content with each other. We stayed there for a while before I had to end it. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let myself do it. I didn’t fall in love. There was something in me that was saying that this was wrong.

“Ok, Ryan, I need to get up. I have to get up.” I tried to get up but Ryan tightened his grip on my waist, keeping me pressed to him. I tried again, but he did the same thing.

He didn’t say anything. He never stopped breathing. His heart didn’t even skip a beat. He just kept me pressed to him and so we stayed there a little longer. After about five more minutes, I made another attempt.

“Ryan?” I said, barely above a whisper.

“Hmm?” He answered.

“I seriously have to get up now. You have to let me go.” I rose up from the couch and this time, Ryan actually allowed me to go. He leaned down to kiss me, but I had to refrain. I turned my head, forcing the kiss to go to my cheek. “You just got me to calm down; that wouldn’t be a good idea.” He gave me a small smile to show his sympathy. I retuned his with one of my own.

Ryan got in his car and left. He left my house. He left my driveway. At the time I didn’t know it, but that was the moment he left my life.