Secret Admiring

That’s the story of Ryan and me. On Friday, he helped me get to every class since I was on crutches from breaking my ankle the night before. On Friday night, however, he went to the party with Marla and they had a good time, I guess. Marla called me Saturday and told me every single detail—every flirtatious comment, every soft touch, and every lingering kiss. At first, I thought it was exaggerated but I witnessed the aftermath myself on Monday when Ryan sat with us at lunch. He came up in his usual cheerful way that always made me smile and took a seat next to Marla.

“Hey Lynnie,” he greeted, before turning to give Marla a kiss on the cheek. “Hey Babe.”

“Missed me?” Marla asked.

“Of course,” Ryan played along.

The exchange continued but I just sat there quietly, nibbling on my turkey and cheese sandwich. I couldn’t help but let my mind wander to what things would have been like. I imagined Ryan sitting beside me and holding my hand and calling me sweet nothings, but it wasn’t real. It would never be. I collected my things, picked up my crutches, and left lunch early. I had nowhere to be but I didn’t want to be there.

I heard Ryan call after me as I left, but I kept going. I began to hear footsteps and they got louder.

“Lynnie, Lynnie, Lynnie,” Ryan started. He lightly touched my arm to make me stop.

“What?” I asked, not looking at him.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, trying to step in my line of vision.

“Nothing,” I murmured while still avoiding eye contact.

“No, it’s not nothing. I know you, Lynnette.” My head whipped up and I looked at him, staring into his eyes and peering into his soul. He never called me by my real name. Maybe he saw it in my eyes because he said it, “You’re upset about me and Marla.”

I didn’t address it right away. I just looked down.

“Lynnie,” Ryan started gently. “What do you want me to do? I love you but I can’t read your mind. We kissed and you say you want to be friends. I try to move on and you can’t even bear the sight of me. I’m getting mixed signals from you. I just need you to be honest with me about your feelings; I need you to let me know.”

“I tried!” I nearly screamed. “I tried to tell you, but I guess you never got the message.”
“Then, send it again!”

“I’m not strong enough. I’m not Marla. I’m not you. This is too much for me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Go check your jeans pocket,” I scoffed. I shook my head, and angrily continued on my way. I stormed off—the best way one can storm off while on crutches. Ryan tried calling after me again, but I ignored him. He didn’t follow me. This time, he let me leave so I left.