Letter One: Strawberry Shortcake

Dear Strawberry Shortcake,

I know your name- in fact, you're one of two whose name I remember vividly. It's because the last name's a big one in our town, and your first name is the same as my cousin. But you won't remember mine, and anyway I could never put this online if I made it clear exactly who you are. Plausible deniability, in a sense, for my fairly fragile ego. Yet I made your nickname an inside joke between us- I guess the masochist in me wishes you remembered.

You were-are- about three years older than me, and infinitely cooler. You work out, and it shows, a sporty dyke all the way. I don't remember you frowning often- smiles came easily and they made your eyes shine. You were easy to crush on, so easy. I can't believe you didn't have a parade of closeted lesbians following you at all times, though you might have. I was self-involved with confusion that year, a state I lapse into far too frequently. I don't think you were out, but looking back, I'm sure you knew. I wonder if you knew about me. For some reason I think you suspected but didn't push it, and I'm glad you didn't. I didn't know- well, I did, but I was trying to change.

I think you thought I was cute, but in the "Aw look at the baby little freshman, she's so awkward, it's adorable!" way. And jesus was I awkward. I was either not talking or saying the wrong thing. And when I saw you a couple of years ago at Wal-Mart (truly the classiest place to see people again), I said the wrong thing again and we walked away to never see each other again. Of course, I then came out- nine months after that, I remembered you suddenly. For the first time, I acknowledged how I felt about you, and part of me still is crushing. That part is why I found your Facebook, and keep wanting to add you, or send a message or something, but I know I won't. This is because I am a pussy, and because you won't know me. But the rest of me is writing this letter out of a different feeling- admiration, awe, and gratitude. I admire you because you were what I wanted to be, before I even realized why I wanted to be like you; I'm in awe because you're actually that attractive, and gratitude... I don't think either of us knew that your mere existence was opening up possibilities, but it was.

I might someday message you, whether that is tomorrow or two weeks from now, but I also might never message you. There's no harm- but you're older, prettier, and popular- and even though we're not in high school anymore, I still feel like there's a rule against the nerdy younger one reaching out to the older jock, even if it's not for romance, but just to say hi- just to reconnect for a second. And so you know- I still say "Strawberry Shortcake" in a funny way.

Thanks
Kathy- the stupid nerdy flute playing flaggot.