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Romance in School |
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YOUNG CHEMISTRY Submitted by: Cindy Duhe Fifteen years old, one doesn't think much of romanticism. The night sky was adorned with beautiful red hues that not a child on their bikes would notice; not until much later in their lives, when soft, fleshy hands interlock, replacing the cold steel of their handle bars. Surprisingly, though, there is always one child to break whatever mold has been set. Eric was a fine example of that. We had known each other for a few, brief years of saying "hello", while passing, from lockers to classroom. Dignified, yet juvenile, he made his way through the temptingly rigid hallways of our junior high. We were always seated next to one another, by fate, as our last names were alphabetically close. At times, this got on my nerves since we were still at that age when a boy, no matter how mature, could be caught in the trap of acting his age, on occasion. At any rate, after months and years of knowing each other, rumours of his affinity for me started to fly and race right past my own sense of reality. I had no clue what I should do, if anything, at all, so, in typical girl fashion, I sat and waited. And, the waiting was no picnic. I couldn't decide what to do; should I circle the 'yes' or the 'no' when the fateful moment should occur?. In junior high, one has to remember that economics and reliability in the system of notebook "I love you's" is a lot cheaper than flowers or box candy. Not to mention the fact that it was simple, straight, and to the point; definitely not a trend to go out of style, anytime soon. Well, finally, the morning came, as I got off of the school bus, that Eric stood, with a note in hand. This was the moment that I had awaited, ever since the first whisperings of hearsay. My heart pounded and ideas swam in my head. Both 'yes' and 'no' would be equally difficult choices; this was a matter not to be taken lightly. With the ramifications of each option, roaring at my side, I opened the crinkly notebook paper and proceeded to read: Dear Cindy, I have a word puzzle. See if this tells you who I like. I didn't understand. Perhaps my connection to the junketed market of gossip mongering was wrong. Inside sources can be inaccurate, after all. I read on. It went on to list some numbers: 39, 8, 92. Nothing more, just numbers. I stood, confused. The ringing bell sounded and it was time to get to class. With that, Eric had been swept away by the dashing crowd, and I was left to face this challenge, by myself. The day drug on and, while coming closer to a halt, I finally resigned to the fact that I would never crack the code of this hellascious game. With that, I drudged onward, to the science lab, where we were to study the periodic table of elements. This was not my favourite subject, but it was something with which Eric was a keen student. The teacher proclaimed that the element number of oxygen was eight. Eight, I thought. Reminded me of one of the numbers in Eric's code. At that moment, it hit me; he had used his periodic chart to spell out the initials. I looked at the table. The first number in the game, 39, was a 'y' for Yttrium. Perhaps this was it... Oxygen, as the teacher stated, was number eight, the second letter. The third, and final letter that would bring it all into perspective, was the letter 'u' for Uranium. Y-O-U. It was me. Me. This was one clever boy! He was the type to notice every line, every detail, every pore. When I realized the magic of that moment, before writing my subscribing reply, I wanted to go home, scrub my face, and make sure that each detail would be just as perfect as the moment that shall live on in my heart for as long as I live. |