I remember him very clearly. He had bright blue eyes. Behind these eyes, you could see, he was a smarty. He had thick brown hair and funny glasses. He wasn't the funniest or the coolest, but he was a pretty cute six-year-old.
We were in the same finger-painting, kiddies-song-singing, family-trees-pets-drawing kindergarten class. Our teacher was the sweetest teacher I've had to date. She was very nurturing and quite maternal. While I was an easy to handle kid, I was send to the naughty corner only once (because I painted on another kid with my fingers instead of on the paper. Can't really remember why. It was probably just a slurp of the moment thing.) Anyway, kindergarten year was a pretty solid year altogether. It was also the year I had my first crush. His name was...Crush #1!
Crush #1 and I didn't last very long. I liked him all kindergarten year. We painted side by side for a whole year and that was about all the exchange we ever had (unfortunately, he wasn't the first boy who kissed me. Downer.) However, I forgot about him pretty quickly.
While that boy wasn't part of my daily routine anymore, Crush #1 didn't stop his existence even if I wasn't noticing him anymore. As a busy eight-year-old, I failed to noticed that Crush #1's life at our school was only getting harder and harder. Through the next couple of years, Crush #1 was that bullied kid every school's got. Sadly, I didn't noticed it, or heard about it, before hitting the eight grade. The kid was, yes, a little dorky and quirky, but, so was I (and still am, by the way.) The bottom line, Crush #1 was a sweet kid and didn't deserve any of it.
A couple of weeks ago, I saw a glimpse of him while I was out buying some low-cal-no-taste-junk. He was different. Taller. Older. Edgier. Still quirky and still cute.
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