*crush* − 1 November, 1983
first i should start with some background information before i begin my story. in high school i had an enormous *crush* on this guy at a bike shop called *turin*. he was the bike manager. his name was mike and he was an undergrad at northwestern university. i'm not quite sure what it was about him that made me go *ga-ga.* maybe because he was older, mature, and the wired rimmed glasses made him look intellectual. i was 15 years old and everytime i had to get my bike tuned-up or buy an inner tube, i would get all flustered, my heart raced and i could barely talk, i just turned into puddy at the mere sight of him.
my *crush* continued through-out high school. then senior year in my drawing class i met this guy who worked at as a bike mechanic at *turin*. i had mention to him that i was thinking of going to the art institute of chicago once i had graduated. he goes, *really, i know someone who's going there. you may want to talk to him, he's getting his masters in painting.* *really, what's his name?* i asked curiously. *his name is mike and he's my manager,* he replied. oh my gawd, i thought to myself, this can't be the same *mike* i've had a major crush on for all these years.
i got mike's number. i called him. he agreed to talk to me. i invited him over to my house to check-out my portfolio. he critiqued my work. mike had no clue that i've had a crush on him since i was 15 years old. however, now i was much older, seventeen and much more mature but i was still *jail bait* and he was in grad school. my dreams were shattered. :-(
a year later, i found myself studying architecture at the art institute. then one day i saw mike in the hallway. he remembered me and my feelings towards him hadn't changed since i was fifteen. i asked him if he wanted to get together some time and we exchanged phone numbers.
i invited him to the chicago symphoy orchestra's performance of *das rheingold*. it was the 100th anniversary of his richard wagner's death. sir georg solti was conducting. we got nose-bleed seats. we met for dinner at the cafe next to the fine arts theatre . we talked about everything under the sun. the conversation flowed so easily. he studied philosophy at northwestern university. now he was working on his mfa in painting. he was a literally a poor artist. being young and idealist, the romanticized notion of being a poor artist just made me fall for him even more.
in my wildest dreams i had never imagine that years later i would be on a date with mike. the concert was really, really long but i enjoyed just being with him. then we took the train back home together and out of the blue he asked me, *i'm just curious. now i don't mean to be rude but i've been wondering this all evening. ummm...how old are you?* i giggled and said, *mike, didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to ask a woman her age* *well, that doesn't apply to you because your still young. really, how old are you?* he asked again. finally i just blurted-out, *i'm eighteen! an old soul trapped in a teenager's body* he turned completely pale, *omg! your sooo young. you're younger than my little brother! he's twenty!* with those words i was completely *crushed*.
after that i spoke to him once and never spoke to him again. i suppose some things just aren't meant to be.
my *crush* continued through-out high school. then senior year in my drawing class i met this guy who worked at as a bike mechanic at *turin*. i had mention to him that i was thinking of going to the art institute of chicago once i had graduated. he goes, *really, i know someone who's going there. you may want to talk to him, he's getting his masters in painting.* *really, what's his name?* i asked curiously. *his name is mike and he's my manager,* he replied. oh my gawd, i thought to myself, this can't be the same *mike* i've had a major crush on for all these years.
i got mike's number. i called him. he agreed to talk to me. i invited him over to my house to check-out my portfolio. he critiqued my work. mike had no clue that i've had a crush on him since i was 15 years old. however, now i was much older, seventeen and much more mature but i was still *jail bait* and he was in grad school. my dreams were shattered. :-(
a year later, i found myself studying architecture at the art institute. then one day i saw mike in the hallway. he remembered me and my feelings towards him hadn't changed since i was fifteen. i asked him if he wanted to get together some time and we exchanged phone numbers.
i invited him to the chicago symphoy orchestra's performance of *das rheingold*. it was the 100th anniversary of his richard wagner's death. sir georg solti was conducting. we got nose-bleed seats. we met for dinner at the cafe next to the fine arts theatre . we talked about everything under the sun. the conversation flowed so easily. he studied philosophy at northwestern university. now he was working on his mfa in painting. he was a literally a poor artist. being young and idealist, the romanticized notion of being a poor artist just made me fall for him even more.
in my wildest dreams i had never imagine that years later i would be on a date with mike. the concert was really, really long but i enjoyed just being with him. then we took the train back home together and out of the blue he asked me, *i'm just curious. now i don't mean to be rude but i've been wondering this all evening. ummm...how old are you?* i giggled and said, *mike, didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to ask a woman her age* *well, that doesn't apply to you because your still young. really, how old are you?* he asked again. finally i just blurted-out, *i'm eighteen! an old soul trapped in a teenager's body* he turned completely pale, *omg! your sooo young. you're younger than my little brother! he's twenty!* with those words i was completely *crushed*.
after that i spoke to him once and never spoke to him again. i suppose some things just aren't meant to be.
