Sixth grade was a heartache. When I passed the note to her in class, I didn’t know it would alter my life completely. I might as well have tried to lasso the moon. I was dirt and she was celestial.
My awkwardness as an adult, all the rejections from women could be chalked up to obliterated confidence from back then.
I should’ve known my place in the sixth-grade hierarchy.
Will you go with me?
She didn’t even answer. She just looked back and snickered.
I should get over it, but an old friend like sixth-grade heartache burrows deep.