Average

Around the age of eight, a girl starts noticing boys. Around the age of eleven she will have her first crush. By the age of fifteen she will have her first relationship. By the age of sixteen, she will have already gone through her first heartbreak.

That's the average.

I've never been good with human emotions. I find them complicated, messy, and generally bothersome. My system rejects them like a virus, expulsing them before I can analyze them. I find things such as love and hate as overrated emotions that don't really exist. A blurry picture in the woods proves nothing.

Generally, I am glad I am the exception to the rule of attraction. But sometimes, when I lay down in bed, in the darkness of my own room, oh how I wish I was part of the crowd. Sometimes, when I am alone, I wish I was a tad more normal. Sometimes I just wish I was....

                                                                                                                                  Average.

I met Lucas during one of the few trips when I went by myself to the Supermarket. He was kind and nice and pretty smart for somebody our age. He always went to my house on the afternoons and didn't leave until I sent him away. He listened to me and rambled along with my idiosyncrasies. I didn't tell any of my friends about him, selfishly keeping him as my dirty little secret.

That day, Lucas was on the sofa, snickering and shaking his head at my antics. My brother was in his room, hiding from the heat, and my parents were working, so we were alone on the living room.

As I started complaining about the jerk that had rejected my friend, Lucas' laugh grew thinner and thinner. He stayed quiet for a while, the shirring sound of my fan being the only sound in the room.

"I don't think he was a jerk, Melissa" He said, his voice quiet as a mouse.

I frowned.

                   "He was insensible"

"How could he reject her otherwise?"

                  
                   "If he tried…”

"What? He'll fall in love with her?" He shocked his head “Love can’t be forced Mel."

I clicked my tongue, angry at his rebuttal.

                  “Speaking from experience, aren’t you?”

It was like dropping a bomb into a silent city. He quieted down. His whole demeanor got closed up, his chin tilting up, defiantly.

“I am. I am speaking with the experience of somebody in love with a person unable to love him”

My mouth, open for a quick comeback, closed with a loud pop.

              “You are in love?” I stuttered “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 “It does not matter, Mel. There is nothing you could do to help me”

            “Of course there is! You are wonderful person! Whoever that girl is, she is just a…”

“She is amazing. You don’t get to judge her”

              “L, I’m just trying to...”

“She can’t love me Mel.” He laughed, bitterly “You are not getting it are you?”

                   “What is there to get?”

He smiled, sadly at me.

"I'm in love with you, Melissa"

Silence.

                                                                                                               Panic.

"Stop.Its okay"

                                                                

                "Why didn't you say anything?"

“Listen, it’s okay. You are unable to love me, and that’s okay"

                     “I love you!"

"But not the way I want. Melissa...you can't love. And that's not bad. It’s just...not in your system. It’s just the way you are."

                                                                         "I'm sure that if I try..."

" You can't make yourself love me, Melissa. That's not how it works"

He stood up.

"I need to go"

                                                                            "But..."

"I .Need. To. Go”

He stopped at the door, his knuckles white as he tried to turn the knob.  He didn’t look at me.

“This…its okay. I am the problem. I just…need time. Okay? I’ll call you later.”

He left then, without waiting for an answer.

                                                                        He never called.

I still see him, and sometimes he’ll force a smile and chat a little. And sometimes, when I see him, I think of his words. About my inability to love him. ‘Maybe there is something terribly wrong with me’I think ‘Maybe the problem is not him, but me’. And every time I see him, I wish I was a little bit more….

                                                                                                                       .                                                                                                                                           Average