She stands at the door, waiting for him to come out

She stands at the door, waiting for him to come out. He’s been her neighbor for seventeen years, and they’ve followed this routine ever since the first day of kindergarten. Many things have changed since – for instance, she didn’t barf on her shoes a single time since that day – but they are still the same. She can predict him, and he can predict her. It’s almost as though they are on person, molded into two.

He comes out the simple, white door. At his full height, he is around six feet, much taller than she will ever be. He is muscular and friendly – and terribly beautiful. High cheekbones, a strong jaw, a perfect nose, and a mop of ruffled, dark brown hair. Blue eyes that pierce like a knife, and big, rough hands connected to muscled arms. Long legs, dirty sneakers, his bag hanging loosely from one arm.

She has observed him for so long.

She has memorized him. She knows how to predict his feelings, mood, even his next move. She can tell what he will say before the words come out of his mouth. She knows exactly how to comfort him, because she understands.

And she loves him.

She has loved him since their days in the hot sun, with lollipop remains on their hands, him chasing her to use her as a towel.

But she’d only realized recently.

And she hadn’t acted on it, so now he had a girlfriend. A blond, pretty, popular one. And she would only ever be the friend.

They begin walking, and like so many days before, she notices how their footsteps seem to be coordinated.

Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot.

She gets a tingly feeling from his elbow brushing against hers while they walk.

Butterflies are in her stomach as she hears his voice. He is talking about school, about their teachers. She isn’t paying attention, but instead trying to memorize the sound of his tone.

He notices her lack of attention, and cracks a joke. He continues teasing her, and even with her self-control, she ends up blushing. The conversation swerves to college, reminding her how little time they have left together.

Even though they are not together. Even though he has a girlfriend.

They continue talking and walking. She tries to memorize every detail, so she can reminisce about it on those lonely nights when he is out with friends, but she is alone with only Ben and Jerry and some sad CDs to keep her company.

They near the school. She notices the stares they get. It seems weird, someone so popular like him walking with some so…well, nerdy, like her. She ignores the stares, just like she has every day before.

Yet she cannot help but realize that this is exactly why they cannot be together. Two people like that do not belong.

Still, she cannot help but dream.

They walk to the lockers, and she knows they must part soon. Classes will begin, and they are not together in any. He walks her to her locker. She smiles at him, but as he is about to leave, she grabs his elbow by instinct. He looks down at her, and catches her gaze. They stare for a long long time, a meaningful look. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the blond bimbo coming. She lets go of his arm and snaps out of it. She turns away from him, and eventually hears his footsteps, walking away. A lone tear escapes her eye, and slides into her locker. She smiles sadly as she turns and watches him go off with the blonde. Those kind of people belonged together. She can’t believe she ever thought they could be a couple.

She turns back to her locker and gathers her books for her class.

At least there’s always tomorrow.

--­­­

As he walks away, he looks back at her standing at her locker. He can’t believe the moment they just shared, yet it’s everything that he’s ever dreamed of. She is perfect in every way.

He’s loved her since their days in the hot sun, with lollipop remains on their hands, him chasing her to use her as a towel. Early signs of flirting, early signs of love. He notices she is not looking at him as he casts the last stare. He looks for a long time, memorizing her face, her eyes, her hands and arms and shoulders and legs.

He feels a hint of sadness as he walks off with the blonde. He doesn’t love her, not like he loves the girl standing back at the lockers. It’s an illusion, maybe even something to create jealousy.

But it’s his life for now. Maybe someday she will love him. Maybe someday they will live together and raise a family. Maybe they will die together in the same retirement home, holding on to each other dearly before they drifted away.

He’s certain its love.

But he can’t act on it.

Not now.

But maybe someday.