I met her on the bus
The first year of middle school meant the first year learning to step up the three way staircase leading the the classic old bus seats I'd learn to love.
The end of the day held more kids then the early days but there were always enough room to get room for a lucky person to get a spot for themselves and one day I was awarded that spot in the last row.
I'd memorize the streets where they're get off and which detection they took and it was at one of those stops where I'd notice a girl.
Long wavy red hair, thin and tall with pale skin to set her apart, she with another short thin girl with thin brown hair falling down her back would get up walk down the long leg crowded aisle and turn left walking up the street.
That red hair marking it into my head. Her hair the only sight I ever saw, her face never crossed my mind.
I'd see her hair around the school but the bus is where I'd get to know her. They way she would walk with such elegance, never looking past her view point from her seat. But I still saw her all the same.
Then on day when I watched her walk up the street a name tag lay on the seat. Feeling in my hand I read the name branded in cheap plastic. Outlined in a picture perfect flip flop of summer.
I kept name in my hand the whole next day confident in being able to look the red hair in the eyes. The heaviness on her name pulling me down but a weight I was ok with lifting when I could give her name back.
So when the stop came I reached out excusing myself, holding out her in my palm telling that she left it.
She looked me in the eyes and saw the girl for the first time, back rimmed glasses and all. I wanted the weight of the name lifted and gone with the happiness known that I returned something personal to the red haired girl.
But she looked at me and gasped, her lips outlined in the "oh" I had expected. Her eyes glazing over her name. But she didn't take the weight back she smiled and said "keep it I don't want it" tossing me one more smile before leaving me with the burden of her name in my palm.
A no longer wanted item but a piece of trash that was my responsibility of disposing. All the excitement of her acknowledgment gone as soon as the words "keep it" left her.
But I was given the task of erasing her foot print. So I would do that if she asked. But I held on to the name until the next day where her name found it's end at the bottom of the classroom bin.
When I'd later befriend the red haired girl I told her about the event. I laughed off the experience but she stared at me with her rimmed glasses before saying "huh? I don't remember that."
And my stupid little obsessive self laughed off the embarrassment. If she didn't remember me, then why should have I put so much effort into my quest. Made it ingrained in my memory instead of tossing out the events like she had done. Even when she moved on from our conversation I still sat on the bus seat in the last row. Still stayed on even when my bus stop passed years ago.
