How my first serious crush rejected me in public

Shame tie me kaftan

I was less than ten years old when I had a crush on Nonso.

To me, he was fresh( 2014 fresh with bandanas and all that 😂)and a bit quiet. He didn’t talk much. I liked boys who didn’t talk much. A little part of me still does, though not as much anymore.

He was my mother’s best friend’s son, and some nights I slept over at their house. He had two sisters whose names and faces my memory has quietly erased over the years.

I had a serious crush on that boy.

The whole church knew. Or at least everyone in my children’s church class did. I never actually admitted it, but somehow children always know. Every glance became evidence. Every time we happened to stand next to each other, there would be giggles and whispers.

Then one Sunday, we were in the church bus coming back from an event. There couldn’t have been more than six of us inside. Someone started teasing us again.

Before I could even shrink into my seat, Nonso said it, loudly enough for everyone to hear.

“I don’t like her. I can never like her”

Ewooooo

Immediately I was surrounded by hot unmistakable shame.

The laughter that followed isn’t something I remember clearly. What I remember is the feeling. I wanted the ground to split open and swallow me whole. I wanted to disappear into the bus seat, into the floor, into anywhere that wasn’t there.

It was probably the first time I realized how public embarrassment can feel so private. Everyone moved on after a few minutes. I didn’t.

Not long after, he moved abroad (Thank you jesus)

There was no dramatic goodbye. No exchanging numbers. No promises to keep in touch. We were children. We simply drifted into separate lives. As far as i knew he simply tolerated be because of our mothers.

Eventually, I forgot about him.

Well, not really. I still think about him from time to time and foolishly I still have a fondness in my heart for him. (even if we haven’t so much as said a word to each other in 11 years)

Years later , I heard he was back.

And somehow, on the exact day he came around, I looked my absolute worst.

I was wearing one of my mother’s ugliest dresses.

My hair was cut so low.

My skin was so ashy I looked like a memory.

i really didnt care what i looked like when i was dressing because i didnt exactly have anyone to impress.

lets just say i looked something like this

NO OFFENSE TO THIS CREATOR! I FOUND THIS ON PINTREST.

Out of all the versions of myself he could have met again, it had to be that one😭😭😭😭.

I remember feeling so embarrassed, as though the the one from years ago wasnt enough.

We didn’t talk at all.

He looked really good that day with his skinny jeans and white canvas.

There was no movie ending. No childhood sweethearts reunited. No revelation that he’d secretly liked me all along.

Just a brief crossing of paths between two people who had once occupied a tiny chapter in each other’s lives.

He left again.

As far as I know, he hasn’t returned since.

Sometimes I think about how funny memory is. I can’t remember his sisters’ faces. I can’t remember most of anything. I can’t even remember the sound of his voice.

But I remember exactly how my heart raced when he walked into a room.

And I remember the little girl who thought one boy’s opinion of her meant everything.

I’m glad she eventually learned that it didn’t.