I remember the first time I saw you. I was sitting at the church balcony, facing the stage. It was only my second time in that place—your community, his family. I was there with the rest of the technical team because I volunteered to assist him by flashing the lyrics on the screen, while he sang. I learned to do it from my own community, and he thought it would be wonderful for me to demonstrate how it’s done. I was very proud, and happy, to support him.
I was setting up the laptop, with my hands cold, when you called my name. I looked up from where I was sitting and saw a girl in a navy blue knee-length dress and a grey cardigan. Your hair was twisted in a bun in an effort to moderate the frizz. Your face would have been really pretty, if it weren’t for those pimples that seemed to be taking their time to heal. “He’s looking for you downstairs,” you told me with a smile, your respect for him evident in your voice.
And then I saw you every Sunday after that, but we didn’t talk much. Maybe you thought we didn’t have much in common, that we didn’t have enough common ground to be friends. In your defense, I didn’t try to befriend you as well. I was there for, and because of him. I didn’t really have much time to think of anything else.
It was December when I began seeing the clues, at a Christmas party. Your hair was no longer frizzy and tied up, but was rather black and straight, flowing smoothly behind your back. The pimple marks were fading, and the denim shorts you’re wearing were too skimpy for my liking. I watched you smile, and I found you really pretty.
The group exchanged gifts, and I was lucky enough to receive the one you wrapped. It was a book, and I genuinely smiled. “I hope you read it,” you said. “I sure will,” I replied with another smile, saying how much I love books. And you said you do too. From the corner of my eye I saw him looking at us, watching the entire exchange.
The party ended and you walked me to the station with him. I got in the bus and waved goodbye, and the two of you waved back before turning around and walking back. And that’s when I saw it. It was in front of my face all those days. I felt my heart constrict. I found out the truth.
You were very much like me…
And he liked you.
Writing 101: A Character-Building Experience — Who’s the most interesting person (or people) You’ve met this year? Turn your post into a character study.