The Only Way Out Is Through It All

Reality

She was there before I knew she would matter. If I go back in time far enough, I realize she didn't randomly spawn in my life in seventh grade.
Not suddenly, or dramatically.

As I mentioned, she had been un the background since 4th grade. A quiet shape in the corner of my mind, in the corner of the world that happened to move too fast for me to understand, leaving us such little time together.

Back then, she was just the religion teacher.
A calm adult in rooms full of voice, minding her own business, focusing on her own achievements and work.

I noticed how everyone came to her. She was visited more often that the schools counselor has ever been if I'm honest.

I said I didn't feel anything towards her, but when kids asked me "which teachers do you like?" I'd never leave her out. Her name would always be mentioned.
Not because I knew something they didn't. Not because I felt something -- I didn't really know how to feel at all at that time. But because something about her just kept me drawn in.

I didn't know what everyone liked about her so much, until it hit me too.

Maybe it was her hair. Those beautiful, long, dark messy waves, always falling perfectly on her back and shoulders.
The way I looked at her walking past the desks like she was some sort of angel.

Maybe her dark brown eyes. That warm gaze that holds your everytime you talk. The way she looks into your eyes so deeply as if reading your body language. Like she feels something is wrong and you're not telling her.

I remember how she made her way to my heart in fourth grade. Only the two interactions I remember between us at the time.

Once, we had to make little crosses out of red string and toothpicks. She was showing us how to do it.
She then happened to stop at my desk to help me tie the little cross, and my shy self (I don't know how) mustered the courage to tell her

"I know why the string is red!"

She looked at me with an intrigued and amused expression then asked me

"Is that so? Why?"

Then I proceeded to tell her with all the confidence in the world

"Because it's the blood of God!"

And thank Him I was right. She agreed with me and complimented me. I felt so happy to be finally noticed by her too, just like all my classmates were.

The second one is where we had to write a poem about Saint Mary. Including talking about what God offered her and why.
Since I used to write poetry some time before that, I had some sort of idea of what I was doing and found some pretty good rhymes.

I made it about 7-8 verses long. She was impressed. I watched her read it, blushing every so slightly. She seemed genuinely surprised and gasped while doing so. I felt proud of myself.
After that? She vanished once again.

After the sports teacher incident, I could've sworn I was done. I kept myself low, I was retreated. But she managed to somehow slip back into my life.

I told myself I wasn't going to mess with my feelings again. Wasn't gonna let myself trust a teacher with all my worth and resistance. Not gonna let them this close ever again.

But then, the need of having a teacher to look after every break came again. And she came along with it. At first I was like "Noo, I can't. Not her, right? It would be weird..".
But it still happened.

And somewhere near all that chaos, the end of my mess, my attention slipped and fell right back on her. And this time? It didn't get back up. It happened so casually. Accidentally. But who knew that these kind of mistakes would change my life forever?

Her hair looked beautiful again.
Her eyes hypnotized me again.
She felt like the safety I needed all that time and I didn't even knew it.
Didn't know she even had it in her.

It wasn't deep.
Wasn't sudden and dramatic.
Not even a realization yet.

Just a flicker, a small quiet shift. The kind that appears right before you get burnt by the fire it ignites.

I didn't feel the fire yet. Just the warmth it offered. Distant, but present.

I told myself it was nothing. Just routine. Just familiarity. Just the comfort of someone whose presence isn't infuriating, suffocating or demanding.

But there was a pull. A slight tug that sat right under my ribs, subtle enough to ignore, yet strong enough to return each time I saw her. And I couldn't pretend I didn't feel it. Because I most certainly did.

I caught myself waiting to see her on the hallway for no reason. And it happened more and more often. Like my body remembered something from fourth grade that wasn't finished just yet.

The strangest part of it is how natural it felt. Peaceful. It lightened my mood each time. It felt almost safe.
Like my heart was so tired for so long, and her presence was the first, one and only that made it feel not hunted.

I didn't try to analyze it.
I didn't pay attention to it.
I didn't try to make sense of it or find a reason.
I just let it. Let it be. Let it sit there and grow inside of me, quiet and I bothered, because ignoring it wouldn't make it less real.

But feelings don't disappear just because you choose not to look at them because of past trauma.
They keep growing in the dark, taking the shape of every moment you refuse to acknowledge, until it gets so big that you don't have room for it anymore.
And it explodes.

The school year dragged on. As slow as a snail. But I realized something. Each time she was near, the world felt a little less sharp.

I didn't think it'd mean something. Not yet.
I only knew her calm felt different that anyone else's.
Not louder or brighter. Just real.

Something my own mom could've never offered me.

There were days where she'd walk past me in the hallway, and something inside me would tighten and soften at the same time. But I blamed it on coincidence every single time. Timing. Boredom. Anything but facing reality. Anything but repeating the sports teacher incident. Anything that wasn't the truth.

But truths don't care to be softened. They show up slowly, then all at once. They fill the silence like a confession you never say out loud.

And I had no idea how dangerous that would eventually become.