posted on 27-Nov-2002 1:30:38 PM by lorastar
by: Lorastar
Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated to Roswell. All I own are...never mind...too dorky!

A/N: I hope this seems really realistic, like the thoughts and feelings are truthful. I also hope everyone reading it will enjoy it!


Part One

It seems the more I think about my past, the worse it is. There were the good times, sure, but the overall feeling of depressions, or more likely just sadness and self-pity, always seemed to be there.

I don’t know if everything used to be this confusing. I don’t know what to think of him. I don’t know what’s real anymore. He makes me feel this way. It’s not like I don’t know what way is up, or what way is down, it’s none of that poetic crap. It’s real life, real confusion, not some fake stuff a writer comes up with, trying to pretend that s/he can relate to their readers. Like I said, this is real.

It all started in sixth grade. It started when I met him. I’m not a character in a story, I don’t remember the exact moment I met him. I didn’t develop a sudden, instantaneous, wild crush on him. I liked the guy who sat behind me in English and history. All he was was competition for me. Someone to try to be smarter than.

I can still remember that day in math, when someone had a question. Someone else told that person to go ask him, that *he’s * smart. I thought to myself, ‘What about me? I’m smart too.’ I was, I still am. Maybe I’m not the 4.5 GPA overachiever like he is, but I do well, I’m smart no matter how I act.

He was in all my classes except for one. I took band; he took something else. He was my competition. I fought to be as smart as him. And I was. In our history class, everyone wanted to work with me because they wanted to get the answers right.

I was never alone with him. There was reason to. What would we talk about? The math problems our math teacher gave us? The spelling bee? How I should’ve done better? How I could’ve beaten that dumb eighth grader? Because, honestly, third place in the school really isn’t good enough.

I had no friends that year. Everyone else had someone else. He had that one guy. They’re still friends. I see them talking. But, I don’t really care. I used to sit alone, in the dirt, and wish that I had friends, someone to laugh with. I did, at the end of the year, but not at the beginning. He and his friend would come and talk to me sometimes. I made a bad impression. I carried band-aids with me. They came in handy sometimes, but most of the time, they made me the brunt of jokes,

We had some of the same friends. We would study for the spelling quiz in the same group outside the classroom. But he was the popular one, even with the side-parted-slicked-to-the-side hair, his squeaky voice, and his glasses. He asked all the girls in the class out once, me too, I never answered, I just turned away.

Sometime in the sixth grade, I started to like him. I can never remember exactly when. I can never curse the exact moment. I can’t even curse the month. I just know, I eventually began to like him. The school year ended and the next one began.

For the next two years, I never really talked to him. I didn’t have any classes with him. I asked him to sign my petition stating that my English teacher gave our class too much work. He signed it, even though his friends didn’t know that he knew me. He did, and he didn’t forget. I never turned the petition in. We all survived the teacher anyway.

Then we went to high school. He was in two of my classes: biology and P.E. What a great mix. I saw him everyday, and I still had a crush on him. Another one of our common friends from sixth grade was in biology with us. I would talk to her everyday and pass her notes during class.

I made a fool of myself in that class. I did some things I can’t even find it in myself to recall. The pain is still there, fresh as I delve into the truths and experiences from two years ago that I tried to hide, that I still try to hide. He had the same English teacher as me. We would trade books for class when one of us forgot our book. But we never talked about anything real.

P.E. was a waste of time. Running around in circles. What does that really teach? Follow the leader? I thought we learned that in kindergarten. We were in the same group, him, his best friend, me, and my best friend. Those ditzy blonds once thought one of us had to be dating him or he wouldn’t hang out with us. I don’t know why. Maybe because by that time he had learned about bleach and how to spike hair, as well as discovering a deeper voice, the miracle of not wearing glasses, and, well…the overall illusion of being hot.

We had to sit in alphabetical order. A friend of the ditzy blonds conveniently sat in front of me. I learned about their plans to run up and pretend to run into him so they could touch his butt. I told him. Apparently I never outgrew being a dork He didn’t care though.

He never cared about me. Some girl tripped me once when we were running, and I fell down on the rocks and dirt. I got all scratched up and our teacher had to help me walk to the nurse’s office. I can still remember that day. I remember how the skin was torn off my hand, how the rocks and dirt were embedded so painfully into it. I remember how I was so worried about that palm that I didn’t even notice the blood pouring out a wound on my other hand. I remember how I tried to cry, but the stubborn tears resisted, choking me, until I couldn’t even breathe normally. I remember the stinging pain that the peroxide made when I poured it over my arms and legs. I remember going back to the dressing room and having the only other girl ask me what was wrong with my back. I remember the long scar on my back. I remember not going home because I had a drama thing after school. I remember that he didn’t even care. He was flippant.

We were in the same activity. We both did drama. You would think I would be forced to forge a relationship because we saw each other so much. But we didn’t.

Can you blame me for never thinking that he cared? That I might mean something to him? I never thought that. I never even allowed that thought to breeze through my mind.

We had a few good times. Like that time in biology. Our teacher brought in two life size skeletons, and labels. He fashioned a game for us. He expected us to be in groups of two, actually run from one side of the room to the skeletons and label them properly as fast as we could. No one cared about it. We put in our time, labeled the skeletons haphazardly, and went back to our main activity, talking and laughing. Two of my friends and I played Go Fish. He came over and played with us for a little, but then got bored. It was good, I guess.

I remember one funny moment. My friend and I were talking at drama one night, when I made a rude comment. My friend kicked me and stormed off. I went to find her, and found her talking to this guy we met at drama. ‘He’ came up and asked what happened. I told him my friend kicked me, and he went up to her and called her a little biyotch. Our friend from drama got in his face and told him not to talk to my friend like that. They started fighting ‘like real men’ as they claimed. They were playing Rock, Paper, Scissors. ‘He’ lost. But it didn’t really matter because he had stood up for me. My friend and I had been standing next to each other and laughing as they fought, our fight completely forgotten.

There were times I thought he was the biggest jerk. I wrote him a note, telling him I had a crush on this guy, and asking him what I should do about it. He figured it out that I had a crush on him. The next day I saw him, and covered my face, telling him I couldn’t even stand to look at him anymore. He made a point to talk to me and say hi. I couldn’t believe that he would do that.

For some reason I still liked him. I would talk to him about A Tale of Two Cities, and we would discuss how the doctor was an arrogant jerk. My friend told me that other girls were jealous that I was spending time with him, but they were relieved when they found out we were just doing homework. My friend told me they said that nothing would happen between him and me.

I honestly can’t understand why it is exactly that I was ever confused by him. His actions seemed pretty straightforward that he didn’t like me, that he didn’t even want to be my friend. We spent time around each other, but we were never friends. I asked him what we were, and he simply said we were “Acquaintances.” It seemed like that’s all we could ever be…all we would ever be.

Freshmen year simply ended, a curse that I couldn’t shake. Sophomore year began and I was still stuck with him in a class. We always worked together. Every group assignment, we always had the same group. One assignment our wills completely clashed. It almost ended by me pulling his head off. We were supposed to teach this other girl something, but then I found out there was a drama meeting I had to be at. We both missed the girl, and he got mad at me. He was supposed to give me a ride home, but he refused because apparently the whole thing was all my fault. Too bad my mother was out of state at the time, and I lived ten miles away from the school. That’s when my parents decided they didn’t like him.

My parents met him once. He came over to my house to work on a project, once. My dad embarrassed me, after I had told him that I was glad I didn’t have parents that embarrassed me. He did it on purpose. Everyone laughed about it. Everyone but me. I ran to my room and hid until I could face the world, and then dished out ice cream. Oh, how brave I can be.

We were talking once with one of our friends, while waiting for the bell to ring. I made a comment about how I used to hate him. He looked at our friend and replied, “I still hate her.” That hurt me more than he will ever know. I asked why he hated me, and he replied, simply because I’m me. What a wonderful thing to say to a girl who has a self-esteem problem.

I’m not proud of the way I’ve acted towards him. I have been out right brutal, but I thought he hated me. We would talk about little things. But when we were actually having a somewhat good conversation, someone else would always come and start talking to one of us. We’ve never really had a full conversation.

I reiterate: why am I confused? He has never given me anything to be confused about. I take everything and make it complicated in my own brain. It’s like that thing I read: “How am I supposed to know which cards to fold, if I don’t know what game we’re playing, or if we’re even playing at all.” I don’t know if we’re playing. I don’t know the rules. I don’t even know if I could follow them if I knew what they were.

Sophomore year could have been a time to start over. And we did. We both agreed to forget about everything that had happened between us. Did it make everything all better? Of course not. After everything we’ve been through, all the conflicting messages we’ve sent each other, it’s hard to start over.

Sophomore year is over. I could’ve put everything behind me, forgotten all about him. And I tried. I only saw him a few times, and honestly, I didn’t care. He ignored me. I ignored him. It was a logical cycle.

It’s Junior Year now. And he’s not around me anymore. I’m not around him. I try to fill my life with meaningful relationships. I’d like to think I’ve succeeded. I stopped caring about him, and I know he never cared about me. But now…things have happened. Life just won’t let me forget about him. I learned that he doesn’t hate me, that he told my friend the truth. Sometimes the truth is brutal. But sometimes the truth is just plain confusing. Sometimes the truth just leaves me confused.

[ edited 2 time(s), last at 1-Dec-2002 1:16:28 PM ]
posted on 1-Dec-2002 1:12:07 PM by lorastar
anonymousarfan- thanks for the fb! Here’s more…I hope you like it!

Ripley- Hey! Thanks for the fb and kind words! I’m glad you agree with her. How could he say he hated her? Well…it’s confusing…but I think I’ll try to eventually explain it…when I find out myself. Nope…he doesn’t love her. How could he? She’s annoying! Here’s the next part, hope you like it!

Alex Balex- Thanks for the fb and kind words! Here’s the next part, hope you like it!

LizHalliwell- Thanks for the fb and kind word. Here’s the next part, hope you like it!

Lana Lane- Thanks for the fb and kind words! That was exactly what I was trying for! I’m glad you like the banner! Here’s the next part. I hope you like it.

frenchkiss70- Thanks for the fb and kind words. Here’s the next part, I hopeyou like it! Hehe…it’s only been four days! Anew record for me! yay!

AlienDreamer101- Thanks for the fb and kind words! Here’ the next part, I hope you like it!

Care Beas- Thanks for the fb and kind words, as well as for the bump! Here’s the next part, hope you like it!

Paula- Thanks for the fb, the bumps, and the kind words! Here’s the next part, I hope you like it!

roswellluver- Thanks for the fb. Thanks for reading! Here’s the next part, I hope you’ll like it.

Everyone, thank you for reading. I hope you’ll all like this next part. Why do I feel like one of those speakers at the microphone at a conference or something? Enjoy! Oh, btw, I love feedback!

Part 2

My friends always tell me I’m obsessive. I’ve always agreed with them. I used to be obsessive about him, about trying to make him like me, but this year stopped that. I don’t care anymore. Then why am I still thinking about him? Well…right now, I’m obsessed with what he thinks about me.

Honestly, I did stop liking him. Honestly, I don’t like him anymore. It’s just something it took me five years to mature enough to get over. But it happened…I matured and got over him.

Then the past three weeks happened. I guess the confusion started these past three weeks. What could have possible have happened to make me start thinking about him again? Three simple words: My Traitorous Friends. There. I said it. Hehe…that makes me feel better.

For the longest time, I really thought I hated him. I never did, but I thought I did. Retracing my steps through my journal, I realize it’s time for this whole stupid thing to end. My journal constantly says: “Why does he hate me?” or “I hate him.” Was I confused then? Maybe…but probably not. I mean, I never thought there was some underlying reason as to why he pinched my butt that time at lunch, I know there wasn’t. It wasn’t because he liked me, it was because his friend was sitting next to him. I learned a lesson from that day though, never sit next to him. Shudder hmm…do I make it sound like I hated that? I didn’t….

But back to my traitorous friends…. Why do I call them traitorous? Settle back, this story may take a while. Last year I made a new friend, her name is Tess. Nobody could ever understand why I would be friends with her, after all, she seems to be a complete opposite of me. She’s not, and I get to show different facets of my personality around her.

I used to complain to her about him. How we could never get along, but that I still liked him. She used to tease me about how could I ever possible like him. I used to ask myself the exact same question. I stopped asking that one, now. Now I ask if I was out of mind to ever like him. I’m leaning towards yes. Signs point to yes. Reply hazy, try again in five minutes. I love Magic 8 balls. Tess used to tell me that he was so insignificant that he couldn’t make a difference to the world and that it was pointless to think about him. I finally listened, considering how I don’t like him anymore.

Why do I feel it necessary to say that so many times? I don’t like him anymore, I don’t like him anymore, I don’t like him anymore, I don’t like him anymore, I don’t like him anymore, I don’t like him anymore. There, I think I finally got it out of my system.

Tess is one of my traitorous friends. After telling me all this last year, after all her lectures about how he’s a dork, and she can’t understand why I would be around him, she meets him. She tells me her goal for the year is to become his friend. Tess said she wouldn’t tell him who they knew in common, but that she was pretty sure he knew it was me. She told me that she was going to be his friend and tell him stories about me. Too bad she doesn’t really have any good ones, unless you consider our fight in the middle of Rite-Aid a good story.

I wrote to my best friend, Maria, and told her the story. I asked her why it was so easy for him to hate me? What could possibly induce people to hate me? I told her that I still care about him. I do. He’s a part of me that I will never outgrow. I will always care about him and hope that he finds happiness in his life, wherever it takes him, no matter how many thousands of miles are between us, I’ll always think back of him…or so I think. I’m only a junior, I don’t know what will happen after we graduate.

Maria talked to him. Apparently he sits two seats behind her in the same English class. How convenient. She talked to him about how I felt. She shared my inner thoughts that I would never share with him. It was hard enough to even tell her. It’s hard enough just to come clean with myself. She wrote me a letter back and gave it to me that day.

I read it in my class, after I had dragged Maria back to it with me. She said that he doesn’t hate me. That he’s responding in the only way he knows how- ignoring me, keeping his distance. That he thinks I hate him. Hmm…never really saw that one coming.

I don’t hate him. I never have. Is it just me, or do I seem to be repeating the same words over and over again?

I wrote him back a letter, telling him how I feel. Well…more like the very most outer-layer of my feelings. Am I supposed to delve deep into my feelings and tell this guy who I’ve thought hated me everything, just like I am now? I can’t. I told him the truth though. I told him that I don’t hate him, that I never have, that things between the two of us have been really strained for the past five years, and that maybe we could start over as friends. I am a dork and I know it. I continued on to quote Everwood. You know that scene where Ephram is talking to Amy and he tells her that she’s in his head? Well…I quoted that. I told him that he’s in my head. I told him that when he’s nice to me, I feel like I can do anything, and that when he’s mad at me, I feel like I can do nothing. I told him that he confuses me, that I don’t know what to do when I’m around him. I gave her the note to give to him.

Is this the point where I say he got the note, forgave me, that we fell in love, and have had months of blissful happiness? I can’t. It’s not true.

Do you want to know what really happened?


Absolutely nothing.

He wasn’t there the next day for Maria to give him the note. I saw him after that class, walking from the opposite direction, so I knew it before she told me. Well…why couldn’t she give it to him the next day? She went to the east coast to check out colleges. And then we all went to Thanksgiving break. It’s been a week and he still doesn’t know,

Oh well…gives me time to think about the better things in life. Like…The Great Gatsby or friends, or That 70’s show. Yeah…the better things in life. Well…seems like there’s nothing to write about after all. No great love story. Just me…at the end of the day…I’m all I have. I’m my worst enemy. This is the spot that if I was on drugs, I would start singing. But I’m too innocent to inject illegal substances. So I’ll sing anyway…. “Don’t let me get me!”