Reader, I loved him. It was a Thursday morning when I first met upon him. Algebra 2 Trigonometry, Period 2.
He sat right next to me with a stoic Vulcan face. A firm square jaw, unforgettable broad shoulders. I do not quite recall the details, but I remember blushing hesitantly and Ms. W. shooting questionable glances at my direction. Nonetheless, I felt a sudden palpation against my chest, unquenchably desiring to be nursed.
I sighed deeply and proceeded forthwith with a gentle tap on his shoulder. Two, three, and finally five more taps. Oh reader, I could not help the passionate emotions that aroused in my pale human soul.
I waited patiently. It was only a few seconds before he finally gave a low grunt, in which I perceived as a well-received first encounter and response. From then on, I continued to eagerly follow his heed. Tapping his shoulders and arms, inquiring even the least of my arithmetic problems.
During the course of my first year of arithmetic, I grew very dependent on him. Not to mention hostile to anyone who touched my precious. Gentle reader, I do profess I occasionally sneered at a girl or two, maybe even a boy once, who asked him to help with their Pythagorean mathematics or sketch a cosine graph. The very thought of others seeing a flash of his abs made me puke and the frame of my flesh convulse.
Over the four years, I was incredibly happy to find myself in the same math and science classes as he was in. I never truly conversed with him about my love for him, yet I find myself staring at him every day.
But hitherto, my master and I are happy.
Isn’t that right, my Ti-84?
Postscript: remember the old times? 😉
Categories: Creative Writing