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Dear Erik,
Today I see you for the first time. You stand out among the others. Why? I’m not sure. You are quiet except for the casual, sarcastic marks whispered to your friends behind me. I don’t listen.

Dear Erik,
Today you knock over a kid’s desk and scream at him. The kid laughs and tries to make a joke out of it, but I can see he is scared and embarrassed. I’m scared too. I and a few other girls exchange glances as if to say “that’s someone to avoid.” It makes me think why do you have such a temper? The principle carts you off. I don’t make eye contact but stare at your back instead.

Dear Erik,
Now you sit behind me. We don’t exchange a word. You push my seat with your foot and I jerk forward. I ignore it but it happens again. And again. I finally turn around and tell you to stop but you just smile and the hair on the back of my head stand up. I turn around and say nothing else. You kick my seat again. I want to kill you. I don’t like being pushed around. A girl advises me at the end of the class: “Just ignore him.” You leave with your friends.

Dear Erik,
I didn’t notice it before but you appear in another room with me. Another class. Like before you sit and whisper. Maybe trying to find out the teacher’s limits. My eyes ignore you but my mind will not.

Dear Erik,
The teacher foolishly asks you to pass back tests. You have mine in your hand. You look around uncertainly. You don’t know my name. I reach out to tap you and my hand freezes as it touches your shirt, but not your skin. You turn and mumble “Oh of course.” The paper has a 92 on it. I am labeled as the smart girl by you from now on.

Dear Erik,
I can see your true colors now. You are loud, obnoxious, and blue-eyed. You where Abercrombie designating your popularity and talk to the pretty girls with ease. You smile a lot. Your eyes crinkle up and your grin stretches wide and takes up most of your face. It is almost frightening. I don’t like when you smile. You smile usually when your friends make sarcastic remarks that make the teacher angry or make other students flush with embarrassment. But when you smile, I feel the corners of my mouth twitching too.

Dear Erik,
You look better when you pay attention to lesson, which are rare times. Your lips part and your eyes glaze over. I count the freckles and birth marks that trail down on your face and neck. Why? I tell myself I’m bored, but then why don’t I count my own? I see “I love someone” written on your arm in red pen. My blood burns and I wonder, vaguely, who it is.

Dear Erik,
I pay attention in those two classes more than you do. I get better grades, and I know I’m more intelligent. When I lose interest I look at you. People say it is possible to feel a person’s gaze. You have a gift for that. Many times you turn and return my gaze brown eyes to blue eyes. My heart skips a beat and I blink and look at something behind you. Do you suspect something? Do I want you too? My pencil stands up on the desk and doodles hearts on my paper.

Dear Erik,
I hate you. I have to. It is almost like an obligation. I was taught never to be walked on, never to let anyone take advantage of me. Whenever you speak to me, which is not often, it is unkind words. I reply with equally cold ones. You have no problem looking me in the eye, but I can’t look into yours. Only quick furtive glances are the ones I can manage. They are the windows to the soul. To yours and to mine. What would happen is you looked too deeply?

Dear Erik,
Blue eyes are a symbol of innocence. You hover by my desk talking to another girl. I keep my head down and try to concentrate on my work but I cannot. You are copying her answers. I gave her those answers. I find it hard to breathe, and you look over at me and whisper, “freak.” For the first time I speak with, a shaky voice to you. “You think I’m a freak?” And you smile that smile, the one that hurts so many others, the smile that drips with sarcasm and malice. Heat rushes to my face and I turn away.

Dear Erik,
I want this obsession to end, this sickly disease, this carnivorous infatuation. You are standing with your friends, and I am standing with mine. Only a few inches separate our arms. Slowly, I lean towards you just so that the transparent hair of your arm tickles mine. Either you don’t notice it or permit it.

I love you. I hate you. And for once in my life I find an difficult time separating the two powerful forces that govern and intertwine our lives.

Description
Dear Erik,
Today I see you for the first time. You stand out among the others. Why? I’m not sure. You are quiet except for the casual, sarcastic marks whispered to your friends behind me. I don’t listen.

Dear Erik,
Today you knock over a kid’s desk and scream at him. The kid laughs and tries to make a joke out of it, but I can see he is scared and embarrassed. I’m scared too. I and a few other girls exchange glances as if to say “that’s someone to avoid.” It makes me think why do you have such a temper? The principle carts you off. I don’t make eye contact but stare at your back instead.

Dear Erik,
Now you sit behind me. We don’t exchange a word. You push my seat with your foot and I jerk forward. I ignore it but it happens again. And again. I finally turn around and tell you to stop but you just smile and the hair on the back of my head stand up. I turn around and say nothing else. You kick my seat again. I want to kill you. I don’t like being pushed around. A girl advises me at the end of the class: “Just ignore him.” You leave with your friends.

Dear Erik,
I didn’t notice it before but you appear in another room with me. Another class. Like before you sit and whisper. Maybe trying to find out the teacher’s limits. My eyes ignore you but my mind will not.

Dear Erik,
The teacher foolishly asks you to pass back tests. You have mine in your hand. You look around uncertainly. You don’t know my name. I reach out to tap you and my hand freezes as it touches your shirt, but not your skin. You turn and mumble “Oh of course.” The paper has a 92 on it. I am labeled as the smart girl by you from now on.

Dear Erik,
I can see your true colors now. You are loud, obnoxious, and blue-eyed. You where Abercrombie designating your popularity and talk to the pretty girls with ease. You smile a lot. Your eyes crinkle up and your grin stretches wide and takes up most of your face. It is almost frightening. I don’t like when you smile. You smile usually when your friends make sarcastic remarks that make the teacher angry or make other students flush with embarrassment. But when you smile, I feel the corners of my mouth twitching too.

Dear Erik,
You look better when you pay attention to lesson, which are rare times. Your lips part and your eyes glaze over. I count the freckles and birth marks that trail down on your face and neck. Why? I tell myself I’m bored, but then why don’t I count my own? I see “I love someone” written on your arm in red pen. My blood burns and I wonder, vaguely, who it is.

Dear Erik,
I pay attention in those two classes more than you do. I get better grades, and I know I’m more intelligent. When I lose interest I look at you. People say it is possible to feel a person’s gaze. You have a gift for that. Many times you turn and return my gaze brown eyes to blue eyes. My heart skips a beat and I blink and look at something behind you. Do you suspect something? Do I want you too? My pencil stands up on the desk and doodles hearts on my paper.

Dear Erik,
I hate you. I have to. It is almost like an obligation. I was taught never to be walked on, never to let anyone take advantage of me. Whenever you speak to me, which is not often, it is unkind words. I reply with equally cold ones. You have no problem looking me in the eye, but I can’t look into yours. Only quick furtive glances are the ones I can manage. They are the windows to the soul. To yours and to mine. What would happen is you looked too deeply?

Dear Erik,
Blue eyes are a symbol of innocence. You hover by my desk talking to another girl. I keep my head down and try to concentrate on my work but I cannot. You are copying her answers. I gave her those answers. I find it hard to breathe, and you look over at me and whisper, “freak.” For the first time I speak with, a shaky voice to you. “You think I’m a freak?” And you smile that smile, the one that hurts so many others, the smile that drips with sarcasm and malice. Heat rushes to my face and I turn away.

Dear Erik,
I want this obsession to end, this sickly disease, this carnivorous infatuation. You are standing with your friends, and I am standing with mine. Only a few inches separate our arms. Slowly, I lean towards you just so that the transparent hair of your arm tickles mine. Either you don’t notice it or permit it.

I love you. I hate you. And for once in my life I find an difficult time separating the two powerful forces that govern and intertwine our lives.