A Highschool Love Not Forgotten

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When they saw him walking across our high school campus, most students couldn't help but notice Harry. Tall and lanky, he resembled a bit of James Dean, except his brown hair flipped back above his forehead, and his eyebrows always cocked upward when he was in deep conversation. He was tender, thoughtful and profound. He would never hurt anyone.
I was scared of him.
I was just breaking up with my not-so-smart boyfriend, the one you stayed with and went back to 30 times out of havit, when Harry headed me off at a campus pass one morning to walk with me. He helped me carry my books and made me laugh a dozen times with gidiness. i liked him. i really liked him.
He scared me because he was brilliant. But in the end, i realized i was more scared of myself than of him.
We started to walk together more at school. I would peer up at him from my stuffed locker, my heart beating rapidly, wondering if he would ever kiss me. We'd been seeing eachother for several weeks and he still hadn't tried to kiss me.
Instead, he'd hold my hand, put his arm around me and send me off with one of my books to class. When i opened it, a handwritten note in his highly stylized writing would be there, speaking of love and passion in a deeper sense than i could understand at 17.
He would send me books, cards, notes, and would sit with me at my house for hours listening to music. He especially liked me to listen to the song "You Brought Some Joy Inside My Tears," by Stevie Wonder.
At work one day i recieved a card from him that said, "I miss you when i'm sad. I miss you when i'm lonely. But most of all, i miss you when im happy."
I remember walking down the street of our small village, cars honking, the warm lights from stores beckoning strollers to come in from the cold, and all i could think about was, "Harry misses me most when he's happy. What a strange thing."
I felt deeply uncomfortable to have such a romantic spirit by my side, a boy- really a man at 17- who thought his words out wisely, listened to every side of an argument, read poetry deep into the night and weighed his decisions carefully. I sensed a deep sadness in him but couldn't understand it. Looking back now, i think the sadness stemmed from being a person who didn't really fit into the high school plan.
Our relationship was so different from the one i'd had with my prior boyfriend. Our lives had been mostly movies and popcorn and gossip. We broke up routinely and dated other people. At times, it seemed like the whole campus was focused on the drama of our breakups, which were always intense and grand entertainment for our friends to discuss. A good soap opera.
I talked to Harry about these things and with each story he'd respond by putting his arm around me and telling me he'd wait while i sorted things out. And then he would read to me. He gave me the book, "The Little Prince" with the words underlined, "It's only in thy minds eye that one can see rightly."
In response-the only way i knew how- i wrote passionate letters of love and poetry to him with an intensity i never knew before. But still, i kept my walls up, keeping him at bay because i was always afraid that he'd discover i was fake, not nearly as i telligent or as deep a thinker as i found him to be.
I wanted the old habits of popcorn, movies and gossip back. It was so much easier. I remember well the day when Harry and I stood outside in the cold and i told him i was going back to my old boyfriend. (he needs me more), i said in my girlish voice. (old habits die hard) Harry looked at me with sadness, more for me than himself. He knew then, and i knew then, that i was making a mistake.
Years went by. Harry went off to college first; then did i. Everytime i came home for Christmas, i looked him up and went over for a visit with him and his family. I always loved his family- the warm greetings they gave me when they ushered me into their house, always happy to see me. I knew just by the way his family behaved that Harry had forgiven me for my mistake.
One Christmas, Harry said to me; "You were always a good writer. You were so good."
"Yes." His mother nodded in agreement. "You wrote beautifully. I hope you'll never give up your writing."
"But how do you know my writing?" I ask his mom.
"Oh, Harry shared all the letters you wrote him with me." she said "He and i could never get over how beautiful you wrote."
Then i saw his fathers head nod too. I sank back in my chair and blushed deeply. What exactly had i written in those letters? I never knew Harry had admired my writing as i had his intelligence.
Over the years, we lost touch. The last i heard from his father, Harry had gone off to San Fransisco and was thinking about becoming a baker. I went through dozens of bad relationships until i finally married a wonderful man, also very smart. I was more mature by then and could handle my husband's intelligence- especially when he'd remind me i had my own.
Theres not one other boyfriend i ever think about with any interest, except for Harry. Most of all, i hope he is happy. He deserves it. In many ways, i think he helped shape me, helped me learn how to accept the side of myself i refused to see amid movies, popcorn and gossip. He taught me how to see my spirit and my writer inside.

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