His Name Was Juan

His name was Juan.

We met when I was seventeen in English class.

I was a junior, he was a sophomore.

He spoke broken English, but that didn't matter to me.

He didn't have many friends, only two or three at most.

I'd like to think I was one of them.

His name was Juan.

He struggled in school, especially algebra.

I was more than happy to try to help him.

I tutored him during study hall.

It seemed our friendship was growing.

One of your friends, though, didn't seem happy about that.

His name was Juan.

A few months later, we became great friends.

Walking together to classes was what we did.

We'd walk together to classes whenever we could.

They were the best times.

His name was Juan.

An eczema breakout caused me to be insecure one day.

I knew you never cared, but I did.

I told you not to look at me.

I shouldn't have done that.

His name was Juan.

Things were fine between us for a while.

I had even indirectly told you how I felt about you.

Summer break.

His name was Juan.

We were able to reconnect after the new school year pretty quickly.

I was a senior, he was a junior.

Except things weren't quite the same.

You had made a few new friends.

They weren't too fond of my friends and I.

We tried to ignore it, though.

His name was Juan.

Despite your friends not being fond of me, we still walked together to classes.

Your friends just walked behind you.

A few times, I was tempted to grab your hand to see their reaction.

I often wonder how they'd react if I did.

I also wondered how you would've reacted.

His name was Juan.

We almost had that chick-flick school locker kiss moment.

Almost.

Almost is never enough, though.

His name was Juan.

As you gained popularity, we began losing touch.

More and more of your friends didn't like me or my friends.

My friends and I didn't like your friends.

What we had was falling apart.

His name was Juan.

I would watch from a distance as you ate lunch.

You were sat between all your friends, yet you seemed so alone.

I wanted to say something.

Do something.

I wanted to save what we had.

I didn't.

His name was Juan.

You had an ingrown toenail.

You were in the nurse's office when I came in for some reason.

One of your friends was sat next to you.

The friend who didn't like me the most.

All we did was look at each other for a split second.

You looked away first.

That hurt.

Graduation.

I went off to college.

About a year later, I went to visit the high school again with my friend.

I asked the school nurse if she heard anything from you.

She said she that you had moved back to Colombia with your father.

His name was Juan.

I consider him my first real love.

His name was Juan.

He was the one that got away.