Right Here Waiting… for Humiliation
In sixth grade, I had a school-year-long crush on a boy. The kind of crush that felt all-consuming, where every interaction- no matter how mundane - carried cosmic significance. I spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about him, watching him across the room, and trying to sit near him without making it obvious. Actually, scratch that last part - there was no trying needed. Assigned seats meant we were next-desk neighbors.
One thing that drew me to him was that he played piano. We had a keyboarding class, and one day, he casually started playing Richard Marx’s “Right Here Waiting”. It was the most romantic thing my eleven-year-old heart could imagine. So, naturally, I went home and painstakingly finger-pecked the melody on my own keyboard, convinced that if I could play it too, maybe we would have something in common. Maybe he would notice me.
I wrote “I ❤️ SOVVVS” all over my canvas binder. That’s “Someone Very, Very, Very Special,” in case you didn’t crack the code. It wasn’t meant to be cryptic… more like a public declaration with plausible deniability. I wanted everyone to know I liked someone, just not who.
One day, he asked me what it meant. Cue full-body panic. I probably turned beet red and gave a non-answer, but even now I remember how much it rattled me. I had hoped he’d notice me, but I hadn’t expected him to ask.
By the end of the school year, I found out I was moving away. It was devastating, but in my preteen melodramatic way, I decided it was also freeing. What did I have to lose? This was my chance. I wrote him a note confessing my feelings and gave it to him.
He threw it away.
Someone else fished it out of the trash and passed it around the class. I don’t know how many people read it, but in my memory, it felt like the entire sixth grade knew. I was mortified. To make things worse, I think there was an after-school dance that day. I have a distinct memory of standing in the gym, hearing Sweet Sensation’s “If Wishes Came True” playing, and then running to the bathroom to cry my eleven-year-old heart out.
After the note incident, our teacher - who was only about 23 herself - quietly moved our assigned seats so that we were no longer sitting next to each other. Maybe she thought it would help me save face. Maybe she just didn’t want the drama. Either way, I appreciated it in hindsight. I even wrote to her a few times after I moved, though I lost touch eventually. I wonder how she’s doing these days.
Years later, during one of those inevitable nostalgic Facebook searches, I tried to find out what happened to him. And I think I did. And I think… he’s a Republican. Possibly MAGA. I haven’t checked too deeply because I don’t want to know for sure. Some things are better left in the haze of childhood memories, before reality crashes in to remind you that time changes everything, including the people we once thought were perfect.
But I still remember the way my heart fluttered when he played “Right Here Waiting.” And I guess, in some small, ridiculous way, a tiny part of me always will.
Tell me your cringe stories. Misery loves company, and I have a lifetime supply!