After third grade I made a point of sitting in back of the class. I had difficulty grasping arbitrary teaching points. So, with respect to being called on to answer questions, I figured it was best to be out of sight and out of mind. Besides, from that location, nobody knew where all the spitballs were coming from. I was having a blast. And I was only made to wear the Dunce hat and sit in the corner once. Or twice, tops.

Only one thing held my attention long enough to warrant serious study. Kimberly Lucas. Undoubtedly one of the prettiest girls in school, she was already a maneater at eight. One day, a folded-up piece of paper made its way to my desk. During its travels, I had been in the principal’s office under intense examination. When I got back to my desk, there was the note. It brightened my day making all the trouble I was in worth it.

I knew it was from a girl. Most boys didn’t pass notes to one another. I wondered who it was from. The suspense was nearly palpable as I unfolded the paper. My heartbeat stepped up its game. Against all probability, I hoped it was from Kimberly Lucas. How thrilling that would be if it was in fact from her, of all people. Precisely because I was too young to have been disappointed more than once or twice in life, the magical laws of coming of age prevailed. The note was from Kimberly.

“Will you be there?” That’s all she wrote. The question could be interpreted a zillion ways. I was inspired to consider the implications of being directly contacted by an angel. For the rest of the day, I fantasized about Kimberly and me. I saw us holding hands, bashfully pecking each other on the cheek, even the lips, embracing, laughing, spending our summer vacation together, spending the night together . . . One thing I had going for me was my imagination. The possibilities were endless.

I peeped at the back of Kimberly’s head. Enchanted by the soft, lavish blond hair flowing down her back, I decided she was the one for me. But I had to respond to her question, “will you be there?” The problem was I didn’t have the faintest idea of what the hell she was talking about. Would I be where? The only response I could give was derived from situations I had seen on television. I eagerly responded, “I’ll always be there.” It was certainly contrived. And definitely thoughtless in that I didn’t realize the assignment I had taken on.

When the bell sounded at three o’clock, I went over and lightly tapped her on the shoulder. When she looked at me and smiled my mind and belly dissolved into a runny mental and emotional jelly. I gave her the note with my response and headed for the door as fast as I could.

In due time I learned what Kimberly meant by asking “will you be there?” It was about the day of a class trip to the Museum of Natural History. She wanted to know if I would be going on the trip. As usual I was in trouble and not allowed to take part in the outing. So I wasn’t there. Kimberly showed up that day in a gorgeous dress, her face glowing, her hair flowing. My friends told me later that she had been asking about me. While my friends had a great time and Kimberly was disappointed I spent the day languishing in the principal’s office. I felt sick.

Weeks later, school ended. Summer vacation began. I thought about Kimberly that whole summer. I wondered if she was thinking about me. I was determined that the next year I would be available and prepared for our next class trip. But Kimberly was placed in advanced classes. Sadly, I didn’t see much of her anymore. Other girls came into the picture for me. Other boys for her. My life went one way, hers another. The next time I saw her face it was in a photograph from her wedding. She looked brilliant in her gown, her face beaming as she posed with her husband. He looked like a weirdo. It was painful to be honest. I felt like that man standing next to her should have been, or at least could have been me.

Years rolled along. I heard from others that Kimberly was stuck in a so-so marriage with children involved. She asked about me often. But I went on to suffer from a mental illness. I was unable to communicate effectively and deliberately avoided her for as long as I could. I hoped I would become well again in due time. Then maybe we could talk. Many nights for many years I tossed and turned struggling with fears and anxieties. Many were warranted. Others, not so much. But Kimberly was always in my heart. The more the distance between us grew, the more vivid was the memory of her in my mind. And the more important she was to me.

Gradually, I came around to functioning again. My goals, responsibilities and relationships were aligned. I became someone people could rely on. I created my own opportunities. I was charmed by the possibilities in life and all that lay ahead of me. But I also thought of the treasures that had once slipped through my fingers. Whenever I woke up in the middle of the night, I still thought of Kimberly Lucas. What if she and I could somehow get together? Imagine that. But surely we would seem at least a little different to one another now. Our paths had diverged so sharply. So much time had passed. So much had gone into making her who she was now, and me who I was.

My purpose and modest rectitude was deeply rooted in my hard-won resiliency. That in turn was born from my former isolation from everyone and everything. Always being on the outside looking in. During that time I gathered intelligence on social norms. So, I had learned a few facts about the state of things. And I was devoted to learning and committed to those truths.

Though mutual friends kept telling me to reach out to her, Kimberly was married. Happily or not. I couldn’t mess with that. But oh man was the temptation compelling. Loyalty, romance, intimacy, nights together. . . I was confident that if I pursued it these things would almost undoubtedly happen. But I knew better than to get involved with a married woman. I had a duty to myself now. And it was to adhere to my principles. They were in fact all that kept me centered when so much of my personality was prone to dissociation.

For the longest, other intimate relationships suffered. For me, they all fell short of a standard crystallized in my mind over the years as inspired by Kimberly Lucas. So because I couldn’t have her, I quietly fell out of love with love. I went about the business of making myself my one and only true love. Desperate and wise people seem equally complicit in this. I ascribed to myself and delighted in all the benefits contracted from a true life partner. I felt solid. Even unshakable.

Then one night I was on social media for the first time in a while. Kimberly Lucas promptly sent me a message. It seemed both an invitation to revisit the past and to reimagine the future. I was at a loss. I wasn’t sure what to do. But the message was clear: “We should meet.” That’s all she wrote.

If you need help getting through a difficult time, consider calling the Mental Health Hotline at 866-903-3787. Or call 988.