February 29, 1996
You are completely oblivious to my existence. But somehow, even though we don't know each other, I'm fascinated by everything about you.
Writing an anonymous note is such a cop-out. I know. But I'm too much of a chicken shit to tell you these things in person. Anyway, you'd probably look at me like I was crazy and run in the other direction. I'm not. Crazy, I mean.
The first time I saw you, I was hiding out in Alice Brandon's car. She had something to give you (I don't remember what), and we stopped by your house on the way to somewhere else. The other thing I don't remember was what my first thought was when I saw you step out onto your front porch. I just know that I was instantly and secretly enamored. But that's not why I'm writing this.
I'm writing because I think you're special. God, that sounds stupid. But hear me out. At the risk of sounding like a stalker, I've been watching you. Not in a creepy way. I've just seen you around school, and I've…paid attention, I guess. You hang out with the slacker kids, and I've watched you goof off with them at lunch period, playing Hacky Sack and sneaking off to the parking lot with your skateboards. But I sense that you're a world apart from the rest of your crowd. There's something different about you. Something more.
The thing is that I get it. I feel invisible sometimes, partly due to my own design and partly because I'm so incredibly...unremarkable. Maybe even misunderstood. But I sort of like it that way. So if I had to name whatever it is about you that leaves me so intrigued, I guess I'd call it something like similitude. Like that line from "1979": No apologies ever need be made, I know you better than you fake it…
Please understand that this isn't a plea to meet. Even though I'd love to know you, I'm afraid that I'm building this version of you in my head that's all wrong. I'm afraid that it's something you can't or won't measure up to. My only aim in writing this letter is to tell you that I see you. You might think you're invisible. That you simply blend. To me, you don't. I'm utterly captivated by what I see.
I just thought you should know.
It's just a piece of plain notebook paper, college ruled, folded into a neat square, but it's so much more than that. The words are black ink and girly cursive. First, they piqued my curiosity. Then they put me on edge. You're right. I was oblivious to your existence. But then you sent me this letter.
I've received my fair share of notes from girls. Most of them were written in brightly colored, scented markers from girls looking to live their Breakfast Club fantasies, slumming it with the grunge kid. The slacker. Your letter isn't like that. It's nondescript, something I'm thankful for, because if it had been another chemically scented note, it probably would've gone right into the trash can like the other girls' notes.
I get the feeling you're not one of those girls.
The words you wrote are so purposeful. They seem so carefully thought out. Insightful. There's no way you're like them.
I want to ask you…why me? Why do you think I'm so different? Aren't most of us just stumbling through high school with a hundred different personalities under our skin, struggling to find out which one is the real thing? I wonder what yours are.
In my head, you're shy. Quiet. Smart. Bookish, maybe. You like good music, because you quoted the Pumpkins in your letter. Or maybe I'm completely wrong. Maybe you are one of those girls whose notes I usually toss.
In my head, you're not.
In my head, you're perfect.
A/N: Thanks to my RachelFish for the advice and her huge love for 90s-ward. I love her something fierce. These chapters will be shortish (usually a good bit longer than this first one), but there will be frequent updates, which means at least once a day. Thanks for reading. :)