The Men and the Boys: Gabriel

Gabriel, Gabriel, wherefore art thou, Gabriel?
Deny all others and embrace our flame
Cherish me over all others above
And I'll be yours forever

It didn't quite work out like that, did it?

We grew up together, you and I, seeing each other almost every day from senior kindergarten until the last hour of eighth grade. For most of that time I thought nothing more than, "Hey, Gabriel, or, "Look, there's Gabriel." You were a boy and I was a girl, but for the most part, that's all we ever were to each other. Kids.

Then it happened. Complete and utter metamorphosis, at least on your behalf. You'd spent the summer in Italy and entered the seventh grade two hours late, walking through the door not the scrawny boy of months before, but something else. You were a head taller, all shaggy hair and pouty lips, bedecked in a bomber jacket and Doc Marten boots. You brushed a rogue lock of hair off your forehead, and 16 girls collectively stopped breathing.

So cute. So, so cute. I fell for you like a ton of bricks. Along with everyone else.

Of course you paid me no attention, as you liked your girls small. I believe 5'3 was your cutoff? I didn't stand a chance. Tell that to a 12 year old hopeful though, who knew more about love through books and television, then through experience. I thought that if I stuck to my guns and showed you how great a person I was, you'd slowly start to realize that I was the one for you, fall desperately in love with me, and make me your girlfriend.

I believed and I hoped and even prayed so hard, that something wonderful actually happened. I won the needy girl jackpot when our class seating arrangement was scrambled up, and you wound up next to me. I think the teacher thought I'd be a good influence on you and your lacking GPA.

I was elated, and positive that sooner or later, you'd like me. And indeed you did. Especially when I let you copy my homework, test answers, or do your assignments at the last minute.

"C'mon, " you would say to me, "I really need your help. Please."

"I don't know, Gabriel. I really shouldn't."

"Call me Gabe," you'd say, and flash me a brilliant smile, brushing aside that hair again, that perfect, shiny, "don't hate me because I'm beautiful" hair. And I did it. I did your assignments, your book reports, and even covered for you when you were late, because I liked you that much.

I was such a dumbass. But through it all, I held on to the steadfast hope that everything I was doing would put you on the path to a golden, happy us. True love conquers all.

We all have to have our fairytales shattered sometime, right? You were it, the harbinger of doom, smashing away at my flossy convictions when, after everything I'd done, you played such a cruel practical joke on me that I ended up crying.

It was a long time ago and I regret to say I don't remember what the joke was. But I do remember sitting next to you during math, hiding my face and the tears, wondering, why? How could you? While all you did was snicker.

Bastard. Cold, sly, heartless bastard with the face of an angel. Our relationship wasn't totally with its lessons, though, and here is what I learned with you:

1) Don't judge a book by its cover. Something that looks so good on the outside, isn't necessarily all beautiful on the inside.

2) Love by service isn't love at all.

3) Revenge is a dish best served cold. I still let you copy off my tests, but made sure you had all the wrong answers.

Sucked to be you.