Inspiration

I really don't believe in random things. Our thoughts stem off of another thought, and our dreams are depictions of events happening in real life. Hence, this blog did not come out of thin air. A fashion blogger I'm partial to, Tavi, posted about her friend who had created a zine (I know what you're thinking, those things still exist?!) called First Kiss. Elizabeth and Maria asked for people to contribute unique stories for them to add to the zine and then produce (http://firstkisszine.tumblr.com/). I was lucky enough to have read it (thanks to a kind friend who had purchased it), and that became the inspiration for this blog (although I was reminded of this idea by another friend; must give credit where credit is due!). See? One idea derived from another. That's life.

Anonymous-2/6/11

We both liked the same toppings on our pizza. Pineapple and pepperoni. And our middle names started with the same letter. And my address was his address backwards. And I stared at him everyday in English class for the full 45 minutes. I was sure we were meant to be.

I could blame the cheesy pop songs every middle school girl listens to. Or all the happily-ever-after movies I watched. But of course, at the time, I blamed love.

We had a school dance at the end of the year where the 6th graders get all dolled-up. Girls in their finest Limited Too party dresses and make-up from their mothers' bathrooms. The boys wearing button-downs, pulled out the back of their closets, hidden by a mass of t-shirts. I followed suit. My friends and I munched on Dominoes before my mother was to drive us to the dance. They said that my anonymous lover and I would make a cute couple, and this was my last chance to do anything about that until next year. We would look cute together, I thought, and decided that making a move was definitely in the cards.

An hour had passed and he had still not asked me to dance. We were meant to be, and he was supposed to ask me to dance. I felt more and more inclined towards tears as I watched him ask girl after girl to sway with him to the slow songs. That feeling of rejection didn't last long, as I soon was just enraged. I was going to make him mine.

According to my friends, I committed social suicide that night: I asked him to dance. A girl asking a guy was nearly unheard of in our school (and don't get me started on the intense patriarchy of this country..). He said yes, though his eyes made me believe unwillingly, and we swayed, 2 feet of space between us. Ringing through my head were my friends' voices reminding me this was my last chance until next year. Peer pressure makes you do rash things. I inched closer.

I quickly glanced to make sure none of the chaperones were in my sightline, and gave him a quick peck straight on the lips. He dropped his hands from around my waist, eyes wide in terror, and ran to the boys' restroom.

1/30/11: Anonymous

I used to hide behind my hair. I was the shy kid, the girl that had only a handful of friends and was always too paranoid to spend the night at their houses. So I hid. I suppose my hair just naturally falls in my face now because of all that hiding. But I never expected that it would serve me well.

It was the first time we had been together outside of the crummy old classroom where he would kick my chair for 45 minutes and then I wouldn't see him for the rest of the day. We had spent long hours talking via the computer, but technology only takes you so far. So I asked him out. Although he has his own excuse for why this happened.

Anyway, I chose Chinese, we dined, and our fortune cookies had one number that matched: 13. I definitely did not know what to make of that. He asked me what I wanted to do next, yet literally the only thing I could think of at that moment was Ikea. Not a park, not dessert, not a movie. He obviously frazzled me a lot because no one in their right mind chooses Ikea.

It was probably the best place I could have picked. We tested out couches, flopped on beds, threw stuffed animals at each other's faces. We left moments before they closed the store, but I would have loved to be locked in there for the night.

I played all my favorite songs for him on my ipod as he drove back to my house. I was hoping that merely listening to them would give him some insight to my thoughts, maybe even make him telepathic somehow. That's too dreamy an idea, I know.

We reached my house and he put the car in park. You always remember the click of the gear shift. It's the signal sound. We chatted for a while, somehow coming upon the topic of zombie movies. He said there was one movie cliche he's always wanted to try. I asked what it was, and he moved a piece of hair from in front of my face behind my ear. To keep me from hiding. But it caught me off-guard, and he read my puzzled look well. "You know, that cliche were the guy puts the girls hair behind her ear and then kisses her? they do it in zombie movies all the time."

I told him we better finish the cliche. And we did.

1/23/11: Anonymous

I gave him my sticker collection. The whole dang thing. We were waiting in the carpool line after school, and, for some reason, I thought his faux-hawk was irresistibly cool, so all my stickers left in his Power Rangers backpack.

My mom knew they were gone by that evening because I habitually counted my stickers every night.

"Hey, pumpkin, where'd all your stickers go?"

I started tearing up. And then I told her about the faux-hawk.

"Boys are no good when you're in 1st grade. I promise, you'll have plenty of time for them later."

He approached me the next day at recess and told me had a secret to tell me. I knew I should've run in the other direction, but I couldn't resist. He took me behind a tree (I should have smacked him for being so cliche) and his puckered lips started moving towards my face. They hit right in between my nose and mouth. Nice aim, dude.

He then proceeded to ask me if I had any more stickers at home, and if I could bring them for him tomorrow. And what do you know. I did. After I handed over the rest of my stickers, I don't think I talked to that kid for 3 more years.

So, if this story were to have a moral, it would be to be careful of thieving little boys because they will most likely be the maniac who steals your T.V. when you accidently leave the front door unlocked. Even though the latter has not happened, I thought it best to make it apart of the moral for the readers' safety. And, faux-hawk kid, don't you even try. My front door is always locked.