I sit in class and watch her, everyday. I see her raise her hand and get the answer right every time. I watcher her move to her usual lunch table all the time, purple lunch bag in tow. I see her from my spot on the bus everyday as she gets into her mom’s white minivan. I know that I love her. I’ve memorized everything about her. Rose Isla Stephens. She wears her hair in a ponytail with her bangs swept to the left on mondays and Thursdays. Her favorite color is purple and her favorite pattern is stripes. Her favorite subject is English because she aspires to become a writer. She hates dresses and skirts but will wear one if her friends are. Everyday in Social Studies she sits in the 3rd row from the back, in the 7th desk from the left. Her best friends are Bridgit and Kathy. She has a crush on Jonathan Abernathy, the biggest douche ever. For that, I don’t know why.
But I do know that I love her. She is beautiful, smart, caring, empathetic, has a beautiful voice and a sharp sense of rhythm. Although I love her more than I love God, more than I love my own life, I know the only place I could call her mine, is in my head. She looks at me everyday with that beautiful smile of hers and a sympathetic tint in her eyes. I’m different than everyone else and I know she doesn’t love me. She never will until I become normal. It pains me to know this. She will never know how much I love her. My name is Mason Overberry. She will never look at me the way I look at her. She will never dance with me or even give me a kiss on the cheek. All because she can’t look through my costume called cerebral palsy.