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ﾠﾠﾠMissed Connection: Teenage Daydream
Location:
A tiny, unknown town that no one knows. Strangely, you were born here. You knew everything about it–every teacher, every classmate. You knew about the morgue in the bottom floor of the demolished hospital; the one where, if you knelt down and peered through the gaps in the foundation, you could see the mortuary racks illuminated by your flashlight. You knew about the abandoned house that methheads lived in, with the pentagrams scrawled on the walls and floors. You knew that the old Baptist church left the doors to its basement unlocked on Wednesdays, a perfect place for us to satisfy our desire of feeling like we were breaking the rules.
If you want specifics, I think I started falling in love with you in gym class. Our shoes would squeak against the shiny hardwood floors as we did slow laps around the room. The air smelled like chalk and sweat. We all thought you were so cool because you were older than us–you had done everything I hadn’t, so I tried catching up, tried to even the playing field. We would sit on the bleachers, and I watched as another boy tried dragging you down them. You laughed and feigned panic. A girl I knew said that you had a “pretty scream.”
Later on, we sat in a circle on the football field, the turf prickling my ankles. You were sitting next to me, and I tried not to notice how your shoulders brushed against mine. When our friends dared me to kiss you, all I could do was laugh.
Description:
At the lake, I start to memorize every contour of your face. We float on the water, our heads tilted to the sky. I sneak glances at you when you’re oblivious, your limbs stretched out like a star, and I watch your mouth, the corners curled in the slightest smile. I cannot be caught looking–the act of viewing is so physical, an admission of infatuation. I love the angular curve of your jaw, the stubble that creeps across your chin when you forget to shave, the dark hair curling at your temples. You insist that your eyes are gray, but to me they look light-blue. Afterwards, as we’re drying off, I watch tiny droplets of water slide down your collarbone. There is more, too. I know all your quirks and mannerisms–how you talk with your hands, how your voice lilts upwards when asking a question, how your glasses slide down your nose when you sweat. When someone asks me what my “type” is, I have to restrain myself from listing off an exact description of you.
The Connection:
Do you remember this? You were seventeen, I was sixteen, and our friend’s dad bought us all a bottle of cheap vodka. We spent all day in our friend’s camper, playing drinking games before piling into his truck to get food. It’s a cliche to say alcohol makes you brave, but it does. I felt weightless, lying in the backseat, my head resting on your lap, my face flushed. You must’ve felt braver, too, because you finally leaned down
and kissed me. It was clumsy, of course. Our noses knocked together, our lips crushed into a single peck, your hair tickling my face–nothing about the moment was picturesque, but that didn’t matter to me. Ultimately, I was relieved. It felt like some invisible boundary had been crossed, and I began to see you as you were; just a kid, foolish and immature, like me.
As You Are:
I don’t think any of us are fully formed people when we’re seventeen. There is a foundation there that shapes how you act, feel, and behave. Everything is felt so sharply in adolescence. A crush feels exactly like what it’s named—a consuming power that weighs on your chest until you’re breathless. Betrayal is apocalyptic; jealousy seeps and oozes and controls. Love sinks its teeth into your flesh and tears. Feeling things so deeply, combined with the inevitable immaturity and mistakes of youth, make a lasting relationship almost impossible. You never really existed as I saw you–how could you have, when you still had not grown into yourself yet? We created fronts, invented facades to present to the outside world, and hoped no one could discern the truth. There is much to be lost by revealing yourself
We might’ve missed the mark then. Molting the shell of teenagehood is tumultuous, and we lacked the experiences to see each other as real people. Now I know someone different. You and I are still the same in some ways. Your kindness still does not discriminate between friends, strangers, and animals. There is love now–real, solid love, tested by sickness, boredom, change, arguments. It is more than infatuation.
I am glad we missed that connection the first time.
Where To Find Me:
You can find me beside you, our hips touching as we haphazardly throw together dinner in our apartment. The air smells like roasted garlic, cheese and noodles–our lazy meals we concoct when the days run long. I am beside you when we walk our dog near the duck pond, swatting bugs off each other and pointing at the roosters strutting across the yard. I am with you during birthdays, funerals, Thanksgivings, dinners, arguments–always willing to see you as you are.
Chloe Alvarez graduated from Sam Houston State University in 2025 after earning her B.A. in English. Her short story, “The Menagerie,” was published in her university’s student magazine, The Beacon. Chloe enjoys writing short stories, both fictional and non-fictional. She currently resides in Austin, Texas, with her fiancé and their two cats. You can find her on tumblr @chloebearwrites
