Accidental Ambivalence: Sixth Grade

Saturday, October 09, 2010

Sixth Grade

I've never been in a relationship. You know, a mutual, let's-hold-hands, I have a boyfriend relationship. I've only gone on two dates - both of which made me feel really awkward. Instead of relationships, I have liaisons, often overcomplicated by yours truly. I've done this with two different men with varying levels of interaction and insanity. I've decided (or convinced myself) that this is how I like it for a whole host of reasons that could be an entire series of posts. (Potential title: Nic's Justification for Life as a Spinster)

But in sixth grade for approximately two weeks, I did have a boyfriend.

I'm absolutely certain that sixth grade "relationships" don't count, but I caught myself thinking about this particular situation in the shower somewhere between the raspberry sorbet body wash and underarm shaving. The details are more than a little sketchy in my memory, but I've done my best.

We had social studies together, and our teacher was not a good one, meaning that it was more than easy to chatter to your neighbors for the entire hour. Unfortunately, he also made his seating charts alphabetically and with a weird arrangement of desks. This put me and the boy in a two-desk row between the wall and a row that had an empty desk and the requisite class "weird kid." We became chatting buddies because everyone else was too far away to talk to without getting in trouble, and somehow he ended up asking me to be his girlfriend. I think I would have said yes to anyone who asked me that (unless it was that weird kid).

I remember lying on the bed in my grandma's room (now my room) and chatting on the phone with him one day after school, though I have zero recollection of any conversation we ever had. And at some point in the next week, he ceased to be my boyfriend, though I don't recall having a conversation or officially "breaking up." It just ended. I knew at the time that it was the result of teasing by his friends.

See, I wasn't particularly cute at twelve. I still had prepubescent chubbiness, my hair was nearly long enough to sit on, and I was pre-braces. I've always believed that this meant that his interest in me was actually based on my personality, which I suppose is flattering. That, of course, is the adult view of the situation. The adolescent view was to be quietly mortified and hurt. I'm not sure if he and I continued to talk during class after that; I seem to think that we didn't. I was still a pretty soft heart back then.

I never told anyone about it, never discussed it after that. That's the sort of quiet embarrassment that I'm not sure you completely outgrow. Yes, it still makes me the teensiest bit twisty in the stomach. When something really hurts my feelings, I tend not to talk about it at all - apparently even after a decade and the recognition that the situation was laughable. I do wonder how much I internalized that and even now behave based on that foundation, the idea that someone wouldn't want to be with me because of what his friends thought.

I don't remember having another class with him in the next six years of school, strange given how small our school was. I'm fairly certain the last time I saw him was my freshman year of college when my roommate met another guy I went to high school with and we all ended up at the same party, and then I think all that was said was hello.

This is the sort of thing that makes me wonder if everyone remembers the sorts of things that I do. Does he even remember? Part of me hopes he doesn't because of that lingering embarrassment, and part of me would be sad if he didn't because it would make me feel insignificant.

No one wants to be forgotten.

Labels: boys, personal growth