At the age of 15, I wasn't what you would call "mentally stable" and "overly emotional" would be an understatement. It didn't take much to make me cry. The slightest look of disapproval from others would set me off. I would obsess for days, weeks, maybe even months over every action I had made to recieve such treatment. No one's reassurance was ever satisfying.
Entering high school was never truly exciting for me and I chose to express that through the black clothes and cheap Gothic jewelry I purchased at Hot Topic. I was misunderstood and too deep for the world to understand.
Surprisingly, high school later became a drug for me, but only when Rob was teaching. He wasn't the tallest or the most attractive man. In fact, there are times I wonder how he was able to grasp my attention in the first place. Maybe it was his passion for teaching that made me swoon. He made learning fascinating and even laughable with his dry, sarcastic wit and self deprecated humor.
And as the days went on, his personality grew on me and I found myself anticipating his arrival every morning for 1st period. He was not very punctual, usually rushing in five- ten minutes late with a coffee in hand apologizing for his tardiness. I was only disappointed I lost ten minutes of being near him.
It was sad, and undoubtedly pathetic, but I couldn't help the feeling that had consumed me. I could burst through the ceiling with the amount of excitement I had felt just from seeing him. The way he moved, the way he laughed, the way he smiled.
After school, I would spend hours pretending to read in the hallway by his office, hoping to catch a glimpse of his face, to hear his voice.
Weekends were depressing without him, i began to despise Saturdays and cherish Sundays because I was one step closer to seeing him again.
I probably scared the shit out of him. It was quite clear I was infatuated and a bit strange. When he spoke to me, I would sometimes start to shake and sweat, looking like a tweaker coming down off a several day binge. How attractive.
On the last day of school, I waited outside his office wanting to tell him what was bottled up inside me for months. He walked out ready to leave for the day. Seeing me, he smiled and to my relief it seemed genuine, making me confident to tell him I would miss him and I love him.
Was he uncomfortable, I'm not sure, but it was at least obvious to me he was at a loss for words. An eternity seemed to have passed until his smile returned.
"Aw. Thank you!" He went for a hug and I was close to recoil from his touch, unsure if I was prepared to feel it, but I pushed myself to accept the warmth of his hold and for a brief moment melted into his arms. Wishing me a good summer, he turned and walked off and I watched until he disappeared from my sight.
The overwhelming moment sent me into a tailspin. I cried for hours in the hallway hoping he might have to turn around and come back for something and I would be able to explain myself. To explain my craziness and mental episodes. Maybe if he knew I had recently started medication, he'll understand I can't help all this.
He never came back.
I laid on the carpet, sprawled out when the janitor slightly nudged me with his foot, probably questioning if I was dead.
"Kid? You got to get out of here, it's six o'clock."
I gathered up the pity party and brought it back home with me where I locked myself up in my room and played Boys II Men's On Bended Knee on repeat and wept.
Rob is nearing 60 now. I google his name every month it so to find some new photos of him from the local area papers. If you thought the bald spot along with wrinkles and gray would change how I feel, you'd be sorely mistaken. Sometimes that excitement is still as powerful as the day he smiled at me for the first time.
I need a drink.
