I'm a girl. This journal is almost 10 years old, when I started it, I called it Almost 21. Before that, I had a journal called Soap on a domain that no longer exists. Some things have changed since then, some things haven't. I always wanted to be a writer. I live out that dream here.
I remember falling in love with Bernard from the second he walked into the miniature classroom. The only problem was, he was The One. So it wasn't just me that was in love with him, it was everyone, including my primary school best friend, Alexis. We stuck together as though we had been glued to one another back then, Alexis and I. It even went so far as me copping it with a metre stick on the palms of my hands for letting her copy my homework. But that was a friendship of long ago, one that we never quite revived in high school, but one that I think I will remember forever.
Thankfully, this was pre my extremely large, round, photochromic glasses days, but with that kind of pressure, I still didn't think I had a chance with Bernard. It broke my heart. While I carried my love for him quietly inside me like a burden, Alexis had no problems showing him just how much she cared. By grade three, everyone knew Alexis loved Bernard because she ripped his shirt during "Girls catch Boys" (a game I didn't partake in because I was far too innocent), and twisted his ear until he was red faced and teary during our reading group sessions.
I secretly looked forward to the reading group sessions, not because I enjoyed seeing Bernard cry, but because we were in the top reading group. This meant that we had the smallest group, of four, and Bernard was the only boy. It was the only time I could be close to him and talk to him without having to try and looking suspicious. Even those moments were few because I rarely got to sit next to him. Alexis and Moana would arrive early to fight for the seats on either side of him, and because I "didn't like" him, I got the remaining seat opposite him. They would bully him like there was no tomorrow, and I would laugh along with them, all the while wishing that I could put my hands on top of his wart prone fingers and give him a secret look of reassurance. Not just any plain old reassuring look, but one that he would fall in love with, enabling us to henceforth live happily ever after.
But of course, I never did anything of the sort. I never went so far as to even confessing my love for him. During certain lunch times, my friends would have secret girl meetings, or confessionals, in the sports cupboard. We would all climb into the cupboard, shut the white door and tell each other who we loved. Alexis and Moana would both say Bernard, and then have a catfight. It may have been the evident danger that lay in admitting this that deterred me, or the fact that they were two of the most could-be dangerous bullies in the class, but I never made a truthful confession.
I chose various random boys at these meetings. At one meeting, I remember choosing Garth because he was quiet and could draw sharks. And, I suspected he liked me because when it had been his turn to collect workbooks, he had gone around the class and if anyone had not finished, walked on by. But, when he came to me and I was not finished, he waited by me until I had so he could get my book. Alexis remembered this too, because she yelled with a very excited "I knew it!" when I made my false declaration. On another occasion, I chose Nicolas because he sat next to me in class. That was embarrassing, because I did not like Nicolas in that way at all. His mousy brown hair was far too greasy, and he always smelled like a urinal.
Through all this, there was perhaps a small inkling of hope at the bottom of my heart that Bernard did like me. It may have been all those pleading looks he gave me during his torture sessions in reading group, or all those times he sought me out to talk to me about something irrelevant. (I do note that "all those times" may not really have been all those times at all, and their number may have grown to something bigger than it actually was by the mere fact that I thrived on those moments when he would initiate conversations with me. Ah, those Southpark moments where I had to hold back my insides from surging out of my mouth.)
Just once, these inklings shone with a brighter ray of hope. It was in grade four, when Bernard was voted class captain, and I was voted the vice captain. Now, while I loved him, it was not all hearts and roses. He was smart. I was smart. In fact, I thought that I was smarter than him. But he was cute and our teachers were women, so I felt like there was a fair bit of injustice going on, and there was an edge of competitiveness between us. The edge being mostly on my side.
The day that the ray shone brighter than ever before was the day that the class captain announcement had been made, I left class earlier than Bernard to go home. There were some newsletters that we were supposed to take home that day, and I had picked one up on my way out. I was waiting in the bus line with my new best friend, Jennifer, when I saw Bernard moving through the crowd. My heart leaped at the mere sight of him, then began thundering when I realised that he was moving towards me! And then, I am sure my heart stopped, when Bernard stopped in front of me. He had two copies of the newsletter, and one of them was for me.
What did I do?
"Oh, I've already got one. " I stupidly said. He looked at me, embarrassed. I looked back, embarrassed.
"Oh, okay." He said. "See you tomorrow." And disappeared back into the crowd. And that was it. Nothing of the sort ever happened again, and I never forgave myself for my mindless reaction.
The next year, I learned that Bernard was leaving. I wasn't sure where he was going to, but I was devastated. I dreaded the last day of school, the day after which I knew that I would never see him again. Then, that day finally came and we sat on the floor while Mrs. Jepsen* read us Marice Gee's "Under the Mountain", and told us that Angel falls, as Bernard said, not Niagra were the highest waterfalls in the world. Okay, maybe he was smarter than me. I looked at him a lot, but did not speak to him. We collected our end of year prizes and tidbits. Then, the bell finally went and a bunch of happy kids ran out to get home as soon as possible, so they could hide their school uniforms for the next two months. Me, I left slowly with a heavy heart. I did not talk to him at all that day, I did not even say goodbye.
School life was never the same again. I forced myself to have crushes, but nobody came close to Bernard. Except for Andrew Leyes who smiled at me once for three seconds in the music room, and I'm not even sure that that was his name because I never saw him again and had to look him up in school magazines and take the name out of the most closely resembling photo. My heart, for the most part, remained empty for the remainder of those school years.
Ten years after he left, I used my superb internet stalking skills to look Bernard up, and I did find him. Turned out, he had moved to Australia. Turned out, he had gone to the same school as one of my best friends, one that I met five years after he left. We chatted for a while on ICQ. He contributed a little something to my website, I told him of my crush and accepted it graciously without telling me of his reciprocal to it. We even spoke on the phone once, because he didn't believe that I would call him.
No feelings were involved in these communications, mostly just fun and awe, him of having been found after so long, and me of finding him. For this reason, I wasn't really paying attention to most of the things that were said. I don't know what happened, I think he moved, again, but our communications ceased. But I thought about it the other day, while I was telling Gully the story of my first love in the shower, and it occurred to me that he just might have said that he was moving here. Because when we were chatting, I was not living here so it would not have meant anything to me. But the more I think about it, the more convinced I become that he definitely said he was moving to Melbourne.
I think, for curiosity's sake, I will have to look him up again.
* Actually, Ms. Brown was my teacher in grade five, not Mrs. Jepsen, she was my teacher in grade six, after Bernard had left. I'm confusing memories. Although, that is how I remember it. I'm not entirely sure now which teacher it was that read us that book, and whether it was in grade five or grade six. I did love the book, though.