Only You

the poem

I can't turn in the poem.

It's about her. 

She'll know right away. 

And then she'll know everything else, because that's how Ms. Blanchett is. She'll see something and see the miles and miles of unsaid, unseen things behind it. 

That evening in the library...it was a fragment of my imagination. The kiss on my forehead was a pity kiss. A kiss to make up for all the words the professional barrier wouldn't allow her to say, and all the words she wouldn't have said anyway. 

We met by chance on a midnight bus one time, so what?

She is the only person besides Arden I have ever cried in front of...so what?

I can't go near her anymore. I know this because now every time I enter her classroom I look at her and I don't see a teacher, I don't see Ms. Blanchett. I see Cate with red eyes and with strands of flyaway golden hair, the Cate who sat next to me on a near empty bus for reasons I will probably never know. I see Cate who listened to me like Arden did, Cate who touched my hands and my face with her slender fingers with the softness of rain whispering on the windows. 

And then two images will fly past my mind, one after the other, fleetingly yet painfully clear. The first one is of Cate's fingers in my hair, her lipstick smudging against my mouth. The second is of the cold gaze she gives sometimes when something displeases her, the proud tilt of her chin, her legs like golden pillars of a temple in Athens that make her tower so high above us. I can't even tell which hurts me more and angers me because I hate being hurt by something so beyond my control. I've never felt like this for a person since I was thirteen years old. I don't want to anymore.

My poem that is about Cate sits carefully folded in the glove compartment of my car. I have even put it in an envelope and sealed it. 

When school ends, I get in my car, take out the envelope. The poem sits like a thing on fire, steadily burning in my hands as I hold it. I read it over again, and certain lines catch my eye. Alabaster skin. Laughs like God. 

I know it's stupid, but when I read it again I suddenly feel she has to read it. She has to know what I feel for her, whether it kills me or redeems me. Whether she'll act on it or ignore it. I will give it to her, and because I'm too much of a coward to face the consequences, I'll avoid her after.

Clutching the envelope tightly, I get out of my car. I walk swiftly back into the school building and head for the English classroom. On the way there I pass the teacher's lounge, where I catch a glimpse of Ms. Blanchett sitting at the table, grading papers. She doesn't see me. A sweet, cold wave of relief splashes over me--I don't have to give it directly to her. 

I go into her English classroom, room 117. I place the envelope on her desk, then after a second's hesitation I grab a pen and write quickly, 

Sorry it's so late. -Jude

Then I leave and drive straight to Top Grocery. I ask Mr. Reed if I can work full time in the store from now on.

"What about school?" he asks.

"I feel like working here is more important for the time being," I say.