Dear Sideways Hat Boy,
You: dangerous sixteen year old rebel with your jeans around your knees, a cigarette dangling from your lips and a devil-may-care attitude about how society perceives you and the company you keep in this, your thrilling thug lyfe.
Me: Hunching frumpmeister, gazing myopically at a computer screen in my green argyle sweater and brown glasses, occasionally pushing them up on the bridge of my nose as I speed towards my mid-twenties in my ergonomic rolling-chair.
Us: a romance that was never meant to be.
I heard you before I saw you, your clarion voice whooping triumphantly as you and your compatriots appreciated some sly joke between the four of you. I could hear wisdom in that voice, the impenetrable street sense that you have gained from your sixteen years in suburbia. I could hear heart-wrenching vulnerability in the way you laughed, your humor masking the pain you endured as the child of upper-middle class parents who could not, would not understand you. The way you yelled “baaaaallz”, so loudly, so confidently at the diners in Shari’s filled my soul with the same longing that the poetry of Will.I.Am or Ke$ha elicits in me. I loved you from the moment I heard you tell a passing bicyclist to ‘suck on it’.
But when I saw you, Sideways Hat Boy…!
My heart did a backflip as you passed into the frame of my office window. You were swaggering as though you owned the sidewalk (would that I could buy it for you, my love!), your thumbs on the screen of your IPhone. Your friends were attempting to shove each other into traffic, but you were above their play. You wiped your nose on the sleeve of your Ed Hardy hoodie, and dropped your IPhone into your pocket, and then you turned towards me.
We locked eyes for the briefest moment before I, overcome by shyness, turned back towards the computer, but you had already seen. You had already gazed deep into my soul, and I had gazed deep into yours, and we had conferred in our wheezing soul-language to each other through the thick glass of the window, and come to a natural understanding of one another.
You began to romance me, as your companions shouted encouragement. Fiercely, you pantomimed the act of making love to a woman from behind, displaying your prowess as you vigorously slapped your imaginary lady love’s imaginary buttock. You cupped your hands around your chest as though you had grown an impressively large bosom (if you were a woman, my love, you would have the finest double D’s in the land!), and proceeded to lick the air with the sensual air of a devoted paramour. It was as though your sweet gestures wove a delicate love song, and I, as I pretended carefully not to see you, felt my own heart responding with the elegant harmony of love’s duet.
As you pretended to jerk off on the side of our office building, I realized that I could never love another man as much as I loved you. Your display had won me completely, and without you, life would be gray and colorless.
Your friends, impressed with the sensitive side you had displayed, cheered wildly from behind you. You pulled out your IPhone to check your texts (word from one of your other darlings, my dearest?) and hitched up the baggy jeans that pooled around your sneakers. With that, you picked up a handful of bark dust and threw it at my window.
You were so desperate for any sign that I might return your affection, but alas, my love. Alas alack, we live worlds apart, and we can never be together. You must return to your life, a life lived between the stereo speakers of your used Kia Sorento, and I must finish editing this ad copy before noon.
I will remember our brief flirtation until the end of my days, and as I lie upon my death bed, a single rose clutched in my gnarled hands, I will gasp out my only admission of our love.
“‘Dat ass…” I will murmur, and pass quietly into the realm of heaven, where I hope I may see you again.