Sunday Scribblings - Crush

This week's theme from Sunday Scribblings is "Crush".
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I would like to pretend, in my 50th year, that I am now above all that; that I am beyond the reach of those crushes that used to catch me unawares, draw me in, and spin a web of fantasy and daydream that would consume my every waking moment, fill my every dream. I had more than 20 years of immunity, safe in my marriage, when notions would be fleeting, and dismissed as quickly as they would arrive. They were never given time or space to settle in, and I had no reason to believe that I would ever again be struck by the sudden, heart-stopping realisation that HE was, – irrationally, without any shred of evidence to back up the conviction – he WAS the one.

So it took me by surprise, that day, idly musing my way through a fairly dull class, with a lecturer I’d known for years – a popular, kind, amusing man, running to a little bit more flesh than is attractive; wearing his hair a lot longer than suited him, when one moment I was noting his words with a weary knowledge that they might be useful in an exam at the end of term, and in the next moment, (no shaft of sunlight illuminated his face, in that windowless room; no violins played; outwardly everything stayed the same), across my mind flashed a thought: “I could fancy him!” I almost jumped up in my seat, shouting “Who said that?” I certainly blushed. I checked the idea out – preposterous as it sounded – for veracity. Could I? Could I really? Oh, my! It seemed I could.

Ooops. No! He was not married. And while technically, I still was, there was no-one who might have objected, but no, no, no. This was so sudden, so new, so TEENAGE! Dear reader, I avoided. I took to sitting in seats out of his line of sight. I chose a different coffee-spot than his accustomed place. But I stayed acutely attuned to the mention of his name, to the sight of his back as he did that two-steps-a-time dance up the stairs, to glimpses of female students entering or leaving his office. On the day of my graduation, there were all the lecturers who had seen me through my years of study, many offering a congratulatory kiss, but the one absent one, the one I’d been so looking forward to seeing, for some reason, wasn’t there.

It was a crush. It has passed. (OK. I would blush if I met him, so it’s not entirely gone). But it was wonderful. The paralysed heart came to life. Rational or irrational, something in me said “Yes, there could be another one. It might even be him!”

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Go to Sunday Scribblings to find more Crushes!