C is for Crush

Continuing the Alpha(Bet) males - The life in my men in my life - July challenge,


How lucky was I?
This car overtook me on the A 23 on the way to Brighton.

It's just a little Crush

C is for A Tale of two Chrises

During the final year of primary school it was the law that you had to love either Philip N or Brian B. They were the alpha males. Brian was sporty and going out with Rosemary, who was a bit of a Tom Boy, and Philip was going out with Lucy, they were probably the two brightest kids in the class. There were even ' mock weddings ' in the woods that summer between these two adored couples. Other girls would rush up you in the playground and demand " Do you love Philip, or Brian?" I would vary my response, but in truth I was head over heels with a new boy to the school, (First cardinal sin: don't speak to new kids, unless you're a drip.) in the year below (second cardinal sin don't speak to anyone from years lower than your own)
He had white blond hair that stuck out in all directions, eyes the colour of cornflowers and freckles!
Kiss chase, at playtime gave me the only opportunity for any interaction without getting beaten up by my classmates.
"Girls after boys" the cry would go up, and I would pretend to chase another, in order to get closer to him, and then make a dash towards him. He was a fast runner but I had stamina, and he usually gave up in the end - I hoped it was because he wanted to be caught!
"Boys after Girls" someone shouted and we ran like hell, giggling and screaming, more in fear that nobody would chase us, or worse still, it would be Kevin with warts on his hands. Occasionally 'He' would chase me, but not as often as I wanted.

I moved on to secondary school, leaving him behind. Sometimes I would see him walking his dog past my house. I don't ever remember talking to him.
A year later, when he moved to secondary school, he would catch the same bus home as me. He had to catch a connecting bus, which if late, meant he missed the bus I was on. Sometimes I would see him sprinting to catch the bus, and ask the driver to wait. Other times, if he was not at the bus stop I would get off my bus and wait the 40 minutes for the next bus, with him, I was happy to put up with my mum screaming and shouting at me for being late home.

Then, tragedy struck his family, when several members were killed in a horrendous motor accident within a hundred yards of my house. At thirteen years old, I had no idea how to say anything to him, sometimes I saw him walking his dog past my house and said hello, but that was all. Shortly after, Christopher moved to Australia with his one remaining sister and his Dad, the only survivors of his large, vibrant family.

A few years ago, I went to Albania to work, for a short while, with a therapy team in a Children's Centre, it was part of a reciprocal visit, where we had hosted workers who shadowed us over here, and we went there to see how they were implementing some of our methodology.

When we arrived at the airport, there were several scruffy boys offering to carry our luggage. One lad caught my eye amongst the dark haired, olive skinned boys, as he had white blond hair that stuck out in all directions, eyes the colour of cornflowers and freckles! I stopped in my tracks and gasped.

"Hello, bonjour, guten tag" he said to me.

"I carry your bag?"

"Thank you" I replied looking at his tattered clothes and worn out shoes with no laces.

"What is your name?" I asked.

"Christoph."

It's just a little crush