And We Call It 'Love' (An Anthology)

EIGHT | In Which Eros Recalls The Past

Adolescent voices fought over one another to be heard as they usually did in the hallways. Bodies of faceless students parted on either side in a chaotic sense of order as the walls fell in. It collapsed the same way my heart did. If it was because of senseless anxiety or reasonable paranoia, I couldn't tell. There was nothing to drown out the sounds of teenage boys and girls.
I was running. To ask from who would lead to an interesting answer because it was a what. It was a collection of things: the noise, the pressure of all eyes on me - I knew they were looking because I had caught their many stares by accident - the hallway itself, falling down and down and down. If I wasn't careful, the school corridor would set on fire, too.
I was outside. I can't remember how I'd gotten there but I ended up aimless in the middle of a grassy soccer field. I didn't realise I was interrupting a game until the solid punch of a soccer ball hit my arm. There were twenty or so boys on the field. One of them cursed at me to get off. I did. I sort of wished I was able to apologise. Tell them, 'Sorry, I don't remember walking here,' or, you know, just something. It might have looked a little less pathetic than my complete silence.
My hands were shaking and smoke rings blew from behind the boys' toilets. I was only going that way to get to the school gates.
There was a large group of them, all gathered on the concrete, exchanging cigarettes and beer cans. They didn't even glance at me and I wondered if they were even aware I was passing by. I dug my hands deeper into my pockets and suppressed each heavy breath. They didn't need to see how I was aching. They didn't need to see me set myself and the entire building aflame.
I was glad to go unnoticed, even if the feeling was brief.
And then I saw him. Light-brown hair was obviously dyed and framed the softness of his face. The sun cast a golden crown on it. He held a cigarette between his lips.
I'd seen him around. We've spoken before, when we were fourteen. Then we were sixteen and I'd never really looked at him until that moment.
I wasn't moving anymore. I couldn't.
I wished I could've moved, looked away and changed my course of direction. But he was there and I was hopeless for him. And I wasn't shaking anymore, either. My breathing was no longer heavy. I don't think I was breathing at all, really.
It was hard to stand and my knees turned weak.
His gaze was on mine, and I choked on nothing but romantic desire.
'Hey,' he said prettily.
'Hey,' I said, barely. I stuttered on the word.
'You look lost.' He sized me up.
'I am.' I fiddled with the zipper of my jacket. 'I mean- I'm not really lost, I know my way around. It's just-'
'Your mind started wandering and your legs followed?' Every part of my skin burned, except it was a different kind of burning. I wasn't on fire. I wasn't setting anything on fire. It was him. Just him.
'Right.' His friends were focused on me but I didn't notice, then. He was the perfect distraction.
'I do that too, sometimes.' He leant back pensively.
'You do?'
'Mmhmm.'
I wanted him to tell me more. He didn't. Still, I waited. I hoped he would ask me to stay.
'I suppose I'll see you around?'
'Oh,' I said to his dismissal. 'Yeah, sure. See you.'
He took a drag of his cigarette.
He smiled.
I was in love.