Before Michael, there was another blond haired, greenish blue eyed, big nosed (sorry baby, your nose isn’t as big as his, ok?!), sexy legged, big brained guy that I lusted after. His name was Eric. God, how I loved him. I spent my entire high school career crushing on him. And in a big way, too.

It was purely luck that we had, at least, three classes a semester together. Every time semester changed I would pray, in church on Sunday, that Eric would be in one, more, or all of my classes. Jesus really loves me, ya know!

We always had French together. I would think, me-oh-my, how totally romantical is this, that we have FRENCH class together. I’m sure that a lot of my high school daydreams were filled with doing “French” things to Eric. Oh la la! Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir?

Eric made it really hard for me to have this crush, too, because he acted like he liked me. Problem was, I was “Plain Jane Mishi” and he was “Popular Prep Eric”. While I was friends with everyone, I didn’t run in his direct circle.

I mean, come on, he even had a special nickname for me that was a play on my last name. He sat with me at lunch time our whole senior year and I swore to Sweet Baby Jesus that I would tell him that I loved him, but I never could muster up the courage to. I guess I was just trying to get whatever I could, at the time. Even if it was only giving a little French tutoring, dammit I was going to take it.

At our high school, there were times where you could send carnations to your friends. Finally, I got the courage to send one to him. Stupidly, I filled out the message in French. Like, how would he not think it wasn’t from me? His best pal swung by my locker the next morning:

“Nasoak, that was a sweet message you sent Eric.”

“Huh?”, I said with my best dumb brunette look.

“The carnation you sent Nole. It was nice. He liked it.”, and he walked away.

I was mortified. HOW COULD HE KNOW? Oh. no. Mishelle. The FRENCH MESSAGE didn’t give it away. Duh. Ya dork!

He had to know that I loved him. He had to. That year, on my birthday, at my house party, my “friends” called him and told him that it was my birthday. I was outside and had no idea as to what was going on. The phone rang, my mom answered:

“MISHI, telephone for you!”

“Who is it, Ma?”

“Sounds like a guy.”

I ran inside, “Hello?”

“Nasoak! I hear it’s your birth….”

{click}

My face went bright red and my girlfriends were all like ‘oh my God, why did you hang up’?

I looked around at the girls. “Who. Called. Eric?”

“Mishelle, he called you.”

“No, who called friggin Eric?”

I was mortified. What could I do? I just hung up on the guy that I loved with all my teenage-angst-ridden heart. Oh my God in dear heaven, what was I going to do. I picked up the phone and called him back. Uhhh… I mean, I *69′d him. Yeah, I didn’t have his phone number memorized or anything.. No… No way….

“Hi Eric, it’s Mishelle.”

“Oh hey Nasoak! So, today’s your birthday?”

“Yes, it is and I’m having a party and I guess one of my friends thought it would be cute to get you to call me. I don’t know why?”

My mom calls from behind me, “Hey Miss, why not Eric come over for some cake?”

I motion to her to shut. the. eff. up.

“Uhhh.. Hey Eric, if you want, you are more than welcome to stop by for some cake.”

“Thanks Nasoak but I am going out to dinner with my family tonight. If I can I will, but it might be late, and I wouldn’t want to come over late.”

“Hey, no problem. Look, thanks for calling to wish me a Happy Birthday. It was sweet.”

With that, we said goodbye and hung up.

You know, he never acted weird about it at all. I loved him, man.

Prom came and I went with this drop dead gorgeous guy (so what if my Grandfather set me up). Eric was there with some waifish blonde but that didn’t stop him from asking me to dance one time. Seriously, this guy acted like he liked me, don’t you think? I did look hot, though.

Graduation came and went, and I’ve not seen Eric since our grad ceremony. I heard that he lives out west in San Francisco or Seattle or some where equally cool. I often wonder…what if I told him how I felt about him. Would we be married with or without children, out west, biking everywhere? Who knows?

Michael always says one thing’s for certain. If Eric acted like he liked me and never acted on it, there was only one reason for it.

Eric must’ve been gay.

Who knows if he is/was/still is/whatever?

***sigh***

I’ll always have a soft spot for him, though. Gay or not gay. But, I’m content. I got my very own Eric, in Michael…blond hair, greenish blue eyes, big nose, sexy legs, big brain, and all…

The. End.

This entry was posted on Sunday, September 23rd, 2007 at 5:55 pm and is filed under Soap Opera Sunday. You can follow any comments to this post through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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