Un-Buttoned

Endless Potential

I don't remember when I first saw her. Perhaps it was from afar as I watched her play on the soccer field. Maybe it wasn't. But I was smitten the moment her features met my eyes. She was cuter and far less sexy then. Her curves still showed despite the loose track pants and t-shirts she wore every day. Her outfits had very little variety. I think that's what first drew me to her. Her apparent simplicity.

Impossibly infatuated, I was incapacitated.

You know the feeling. When you've been so enthralled by someone that the only thing that holds you back, that keeps you from talking to that person is sheer terror. Terror at tumbling over your words, at suddenly having nothing to say, or even worse.

Committing to a date only to find yourself staring at her from across the table with absolutely nothing to say and still several hours before the date is over.
I first met Michelle. Truly met her, I mean. And not just stared at her from the sidelines or talked to her on the phone after finding out her name and working up the nerve to call her.

It was at Bible Club that we first met, and I wasn't sure if she knew that I was the guy who called her up while she so graciously talked and listened for hours.
But she knew.

I could tell when she came to me and smiled. She was radiant. Her teeth seemed to show whiter and brighter beneath the classroom's fluorescent lights. Her skin, a light brown, blushed. She said hello and barely looked me in the eye. I stammered a hello back to her. We talked for about a minute, skirting around what we both knew to be truly weird — me getting her number without asking for it and calling her, even though we'd never really met in person.
Maybe she found me in the school yearbook.

Like I found her.

At Bible Club she got in front of the group and gave her testimony, citing some scripture verses meaningful to her. I wasn't really listening. But I knew then that I wanted to somehow be a better person. To be someone she would admire as I admired her. For her looks, yes. But also, for her kindness and the way she wore a smile and carried herself, inviting everyone into her world.
She was attractive then. Only she didn't know it. Or, perhaps her Protestant morality refrained her from flaunting it. I don't know because I never got a date with her in the ninth grade.

Oh, I'd sit with her at lunch.

A few seats away.

With my band of buddies.

At another table.

I'd look up at her and see her between rolling hills of heads and shoulders that slanted daintily to allow me to catch a glimpse of her as she ate and chatted with her friends.

My buddies, Stephen and Matt. They'd catch me looking at Michelle. One would glance over his shoulder, then back at me. Then, the other would mimic my expression and toss something at my face. Maybe a cold, soggy tater tot would hit its mark, and Michelle's spell on me would momentarily be broken. I'd come back to my buddies, and they would laugh.

Behind them, nearly back to back to Stephen and Matt, would be Michelle's friends Eve and Clarisse. Like Stephen and Matt, they were probably staring at Michelle, who'd catch my eye and smile. I'd smile back, which I think gave my friends the perfect opportunity to toss a particle of poorly prepared food in my face. Michelle would cover her mouth with the tips of her fingers, stifling a laugh as her cheeks dimpled and blushed. Eve and Clarisse would glance back at me. And they would roll their eyes.

No matter.

I once worked up the nerve to ask her out.

But I blew it.

I created the moment for casual conversation with Eve and Clarisse when Michelle was not around. Easy to do since they took some honors classes with me while Michelle took, as I would later find out, pretty much all AP courses.

The goal of these conversations was information. I was finding out about Michelle without actually getting to know her. We've all been there, and for me, it was a need. I needed to find that common ground before committing to hours with someone I hardly knew.

She liked the same band as me.

I told her I had two tickets to the show happening that weekend.

"Do you want to come?" I asked.

"Of course," she exclaimed, "that would be awesome!"

So, we had a date, except for one technicality. Did you know that it is not really a date if you do not say 'date' or definitively state 'do you want to go out with me'?

So, there I was — nauseous with nervousness — and that one simple four-letter word doesn't come out. Instead, it's just an invitation from a friend.

Or acquaintances.

Or strangers.

Two people with endless potential as long as one of them doesn't steer the relationship in the wrong direction or propel it forward too quickly.

"Great," I said as I fought back nausea. "I'll pick you up at your place."

"All right," she said and began to walk with me.

Most guys would be elated by this.

Most guys would even be bold enough to take the girl's hand, or maybe put an arm around her waist.

I'm not most guys.

I don't even know what her reaction was when I began to pick up speed. I have a faint memory of her walking beside me and trying to keep up. Maybe she asked if I was okay. But I lost her as I darted into the boy's bathroom and found the last stall. I knelt, taking deep breaths and swallowing until my stomach stopped fluttering.

When I came out of the bathroom, she was gone.

When I saw her again, I didn't bring up the incident.

Neither did she.

She was kind and gracious.

Me, I couldn't wait for our "date."