Oh, Leo. I’m sad. I’m crying. I used to cry a lot when I was little. If I stepped on a bug I’d burst into tears. Funny thing — I was so busy crying for everything else I never cried for myself.
Now I cry for me.
And now I’m smiling through my tears. Remember the first time I saw you? In the lunchroom? I was walking toward your table. Your eyes — that’s what almost stopped me in my tracks. They boggled. I think it wasn’t just the sight of me — long frontier dress, ukelele sticking out of my sunflower shoulder sack — it was something else too. It was terror. You knew what was coming. You knew I was going to sing to someone and you were terrified it might be you. You quick looked away and I breezed on by and didn’t stop until I found Alan Ferko and sang “Happy Birthday” to him. But I felt your eyes on me the whole time, Leo. Oh yes! Every second. And with every note I sang to Alan Ferko, I thought: Someday I’m going to sing to that boy with terrified eyes. I never got to sing to you, Leo, not really. You, of all people. It’s my biggest regret… now, see, I’m sad again.