A/N: It’s dedicated to you. Yeah, you. You know who you are. ;) (Partially because you’ll never read this. Ever.)

This is just a huge rant, actually, ‘cause you’ve been spinning ‘round my head for the past few days, and, quite frankly, it’s getting really annoying. So, get the hell out.

Songs alluded to (which I know totally go against the ToS, so please don’t shoot me):
A Twist in My Story – Secondhand Serenade
I’m Yours – Jason Mraz

My editor’s FFN link is on my page.

i.

He was the kind of person to always smile. No matter what, he’d be smiling.

When I first met him, he was really quiet. He was always the kind of person to be silent around people he didn’t know, unless spoken to. But, when he was spoken to, he’d always answer with one of his brilliant smiles.

They were always different. His smiles, I mean. There were sheepish ones, amused ones, embarrassed ones, I can’t believe you did that ones, and even fake ones—though I could never detect those.

I don’t know what made him smile. Maybe it was all he knew how to do. But, no matter what, they were contagious.

At least, they were to me.

ii.

He was a really good person. He’d always help whenever he could. Even when he didn’t want to. And, it was always really obvious when he didn’t want to.

(Either that, or he sincerely forgot to call to tell me what our Math homework was.)

iii.

I remember. He had a girlfriend. It made me sort of jealous.

I was always the one spending more time with him, because of our classes. I was always sitting near him, because of the alphabetically ordered seating plan.

I was mandatory. He’d talk to me, and he’d smile at me, and I’d smile back, and he’d help me with work, even when he really didn’t want to. He’d listened to me when I bothered him, and he’d tolerate my fist playfully connecting with his side in English class every five minutes.

But, his girlfriend was optional. He had no classes with her.

And, yet, he would always leave me after class to go see her.

iv.

He was really talented.

At least, I thought so. He was particularly good at the guitar. And, the first time I heard him sing, loud and real, I thought I would cry.

I can still remember the words. But, I won’t hesitate no more, no more. This cannot wait; I’m yours. The best thing was, I wasn’t thinking about how the lyrics weren’t directed at me, but, in reality, just how honest and amazing he was as a person.

He was really modest, too. He never showed off. Never.

There was one time he commended my writing skills, as well. I didn’t believe him. He was always one to sugar-coat words, although he was terrible at lying.

But, he insisted. He read the short story I wrote as a personal response for our English midterm exam. He said it was good.

So, I believed him.

v.

He had a lot of quirks.

He had crooked teeth. But it never ruined the natural beauty to his face. I didn’t think he was particularly good-looking when I first met him, but the more I got to know him as a person, he just got more beautiful. I never really believed in that inner beauty crap until I met him.

He was like any other teenager. Pimples dotted his face, but they were never serious. In fact, I usually forgot they were there.

For some odd reason, the skin on his arms was flawless. Not a single scar or blemish. It was soft. It was smooth. His hands, though, were always cold. Sometimes, sweaty. The skin on his hands was sometimes not well-kept.

He was a thin boy. The only muscles in him were in his biceps—but it made up for everything else. They were very…well, developed, to say the least.

Oh, and he had a very weak bladder. He’d go to the washroom at least four times a day. I’d always insist on waiting outside for him like a loser every time. It was always worth it.

He did a lot of funny things. Even when the situation was completely serious, he’d do something that was so him that it wouldn’t matter. And I’d always smile at that.

He wasn’t perfect. But, I think, he was pretty damn close in my eyes.

vi.

There was this one day, I remember, when his skin wasn’t as well-kept.

The skin on his face.

Just because his arms were absolutely beautiful didn’t mean that every other part of him was. His face was dry. The skin was flaking. I pointed it out to him. He asked me for some lotion—because, God knew, I always had some with me.

“Where is it?” he asked me, taking the small bottle from my hands.

I sighed. “Here, I’ll just put it on for you.” Dabbing some lotion onto my pinky, I spread it across the dry part of his cheek.

We made eye contact awkwardly.

“Yeah, thanks, Mom.”

It made me happy.

vii.

Our conversations usually went like this.

“Hey, did you do your Social homework?”

“No!” He would always sound regretful and somewhat whiney. “I was doing it and I accidentally fell asleep.”

“What time were you up to?”

“One-thirty.”

During class, sometimes, it’d go like this.

“Mom, I have to pee.”

“Just wait until the bell rings. I’ll wait for you.”

“But, I really have to go.”

“It’s just five minutes!”

Or, maybe, “Can I drink the rest of this?”

And I’d look at him, knowing full well that the last quarter of my VitaminWater would be all gone, so I’d have to take one last, fortifying sip before he chugged the rest.

Actually, now that I think back on it, it kind of sucked.

And, of course, at the end of the day, it’d be like this:

“Will you serenade Mommy tonight?”

“No!” (Insert embarrassed-slash-sheepish-slash-I-cannot-believe-you-just-said-that smile here.)

Strangely, even though those parts of our conversations were the ones that repeated, they were always my favorite.

viii.

I think he’s one of the most innocent people I knew. Ever.

He never swore. The worst I’d hear him say was probably “What the fudge!” which I considered quite a feat, considering some of the people he hung out with.

What’s funny is, I probably went farther with him than he had with his girlfriend. So, maybe, him drinking my VitaminWater, or me drinking his water wasn’t too bad, if I think about it that way. Although, I knew I shouldn’t. Indirect kisses didn’t mean anything, anyway.

He was adorable, in his own six-year-old in a sixteen-year-old body’s way. My mind was more than occasionally in the gutter, and that I can’t believe you just said that smile as he said “Ew…” was always priceless. I swear.

I loved it when he said my name. It was rare, because he’d often tap me on the shoulder, or call me “Mom”, but when he did, it was the best thing ever.

It was just this thing between us.

Between us, and no one else.

ix.

He was Christian. Maybe that somehow influenced how he acted.

He never looked down on anyone. Ever. He was such an overall good person—open and willing to talk to anyone, even if he never talked first—and, he might have even hated me, for all I know. I bothered him until he was at the edge of his sanity.

What I find the most amusing is, even though he was such an important person to me, without even trying, he made me feel important, too. Even though I wasn’t a big part of his life.

In fact, now that I look back at it, I’m incredibly envious of that girlfriend he always went to see after class. She must have been just as amazing, if not more even more, to have captured his heart.

I still think about him. And I still remember his voice, and his guitar playing.

But, I won’t hesitate no more, no more. This cannot wait; I’m yours.