Missed Connections Ads to My Childhood Crushes

We were on a field trip to the post office. We were paired up because our first names were next to each other alphabetically. You held my hand when the postman showed us the picture of Ted Kaczynski on the Most Wanted wall. I’ve never been so grateful to belong to the A-L group. I wouldn’t mind being your buddy again. My parents’ number is in the registry.

We were waiting backstage during the Fourth Grade family-friendly musical adaptation of Titanic written by our homeroom teacher. The boys playing the pirates called us Bill and Monica because we were sitting next to each other and I was wearing a sport coat. You asked me, “What kind of bed do you have?” You should know: I have a twin bed.

We were lab partners for the experiment where you put the potato bugs in an egg carton and watch them walk around for twenty minutes. You asked me why I hate you, and I said, “I don’t hate you, I just don’t particularly like you, that’s all.” I just wanted to let you know that Dale the school nurse was able to get the mechanical pencil lead out of my palm and that you look good in that tank top. My mom says you’re going to be one of the “fast ones,” but I think the tank top looks good.

I heard you gave Tucker Dash a handjob in the employees-only restroom at Ari Fleischman’s bar mitzvah reception. I’m not saying I believe everything I hear, but, um, let me know if you want to work together on that history project.

You sat next to me in assembly when we watched the invasion of Iraq. Your eyes sparkled as the bombs lit up the skies over Baghdad. I asked you if you wanted one of my Gushers, and you said your mom doesn’t let you eat processed sugars. With a smile as sweet as that, you could’ve fooled me. Keep an eye on my AIM away messages. One of them’s for you.

I saw you across the quad at the Back to School Dance. You were standing in a big empty circle with your friends. I had to tap you on the shoulder two times before I could ask you to dance. You turned around and looked at me sort of quizzically. You were thinking, “Is this really happening?” And let me tell you, it was happening. I could tell we were a natural fit by the way you put your hands on top of my hands, guiding them from where I had them down on your hips to up sort of loosely on your sides. I whispered in your ear if you had seen the footage of Harry Connick Jr. delivering food in New Orleans, and you leaned your head close to mine and replied, “What?” We made it through two choruses of “My Humps” before your friends pulled you back into the circle. If you don’t have anyone to go to Homecoming with, I’d love to freak again. I’ll wear thicker slacks this time.

I met you at the Campus Democrats’ VP Debate Bingo Night. You won early on the across when Sarah Palin mentioned Hockey moms. The way you laughed at my joke about Trig was music to my ears, and how you just locked eyes with me when we talked about Nate Silver sent goosebumps up my neck. I was going to invite you to get a grilled cheese sandwich at Jo’s, but you started playing with your hair and kept asking me what dorm I live in. I just never saw my opening. If you need a second pair of eyes on that Antebellum America paper, you know where to find me.