Wetting his lips Henry stared into his hands, clasped so tightly they had turned white, he looked to them for the answer.
Waiting for the proper words to form on his lips he stood in complete and utter despair hoping, wishing with the entirety of his being that he could come up with the right words to say.
Slowly raising his eyes to the memory that flashed before him, he spoke,
“My first memory of Anna was in kindergarten. I had never seen someone so beautiful, so…happy. She was laughing, laughing the kind of unrestrained, life filled, sheer, unadulterated, laugh of a child. It was the beginning of autumn and the fading light was filtering through the still-green trees. Her blond hair capturing the light; mussed, frizzy, and dirt filled it formed a halo surrounding her.
From that moment on I knew, I knew that this happy, laughing, angel was meant for me.”
“This knowledge quickly manifested itself into an obsession. She was all I thought of, waking up in the mornings I thought of her, at school I watched her, and at home, at nights I dreamed of her. For years this continued this watching and dreaming and then suddenly she was there, standing in front of me. ‘I know your watch me’ as a seventh grade boy I was so embarrassed. What did I say to the confident goddess standing in front of me daring me to answer her? I opted for the very smooth, classy response of ‘huh?’ Tossing her hair over her shoulder and looking me in the eye, a very intimidating thing for a prepubescent boy, she said ‘I’ve been watching you watch me for years now, what do you want from me?’ fortunately for me the bell rang at that moment, prompting my furious retreat in to Ms. Cho’s English class and away from the emotional turmoil and social demise that was sure to unveil itself had I been forced to craft a response. From then on I limited my attention to a solitary glance every now and then. But she knew, my clever beautiful Anna had wised up to my love for her and in the summer of my sophomore year approached me again. Her hair had darkened since that distant kindergarten afternoon and so distracted was I by the strands that were escaping the bonds of her ponytail that I nearly missed what she said all together; as it was I had to ask her to repeat herself because the words she were speaking were so entirely baffling, ‘I said, are you doing anything tonight?’