Never Too Late

She was so cute. She stood out. She was cheering and giving 120%. There were taller girls; some would have thought prettier girls, but all I saw was her. I talked to her from time to time, and she was always so happy and nice, which made her all the sexier to me. But she was a cheerleader and popular. Being far from athletic, I was artsy. I sang in chorus, went to all-state, and was the #1 tenor in the state. I participated in the school musicals. The jocks picked on and called every ugly name in the book. I knew I didn’t have a real chance in hell with her. I stayed in my circle and figured she would stay in hers.

 

It was the beginning of the year, and I was looking forward to my last class of the day. Theater class. I knew that I was at least going to shine in that class. I walked in, and there she was. Crossing the barrier between jocks and art She was talking to someone when I came into the room, and I must have caught her eye in her peripheral, because she turned and smiled and said hi. I said hi to her and smiled back, and she told me that there was a seat close to her, so I went and sat down.

 

I felt that she could be a friend. I know that she was still a part of the jock world, but she was also kind and at peace with herself. I don’t know, but I felt that she might be more like me than I thought. I was an outsider, someone who never really fit in. I caught glimpses of that from her. I knew she was wrong. Everyone liked her. She was part of every world. The kind of person who would succeed no matter what And I believed that she was my friend. As much as I didn’t believe it could be true, I started to think that perhaps I could ask her out. I spoke with my best friend, and he was against it. Hindsight being 20/20, I knew deep down he also felt an attraction to her. But I listened and didn’t press it.

 

We became good friends, but I never pressed it. I wanted so badly to ask her out. I fantasized about being with her and making love to her. To share life with her. But I couldn’t get past the fear. Through the years, she always came to mind from time to time. I thought about her. I fantasized about her and spent many lonely nights taking care of myself with her as the focus.

 

Then, almost 30 years later, I had an opportunity to see her again. I had followed her and saw on her social media that she lived in a popular city where I would be going for a business conference. I reached out with little hope that she would reply. Yet she responded in her kind way. I told her that I could call her when I came to her town, and she seemed eager to connect when I got there.

 

I asked her to meet me for dinner, and she accepted. I couldn’t believe it. I was ecstatic. We were both married, but to get the opportunity to have dinner and catch up was too exciting for words. I didn’t know what I was going to say or do. All I knew was that she would be there that evening and we would be having dinner, and I felt like that nervous boy from high school.

 

I saw her across the way. I knew it was her the moment I laid eyes on her. She had aged way better than I had. But she saw me and smiled. It grabbed my heart, and I smiled back. I want more than anything for time to stand still. She came to me, and we hugged, and I kissed her gently on the cheek, and we sat down and ate and talked about everything under the sun—what we had been doing since we last spoke. We caught up and laughed about the times we had.

 

I then decided in my mind that I was going to put my true feelings and heart on the line. “You know, I had a major crush on you back then? I wanted to ask you out so badly. I have regretted that every day of my life since then.” I will never forget the look on her face, the smile, and how she blushed. Very coy and sweet. My heart leaped, and I knew then that the feeling of regret was so true. Then she said, “I wish you had. I would have said yes. I hoped that you would, but you never did.”

 

I was shocked. We talked about how we both crushed on each other and wanted something to happen. We both laughed and blushed as we talked about the lost chance we had with each other. I paused a moment, and then I told her that was the biggest mistake of my life. And there was nothing more painful than knowing that I could have fulfilled the greatest desire in my life but failed. I then remembered the skit we took to state competition. Too late for happiness from The Good Doctor, by Paul Simon It came to me like a lightning bolt.

 

I looked her in the eyes and said, “You know, Neil Simon was wrong.” She looked back at me with a questioning In our scene, we took it to completion.”It is never too late for happiness.” Puzzled for a moment, she looked into my eyes as I willed her to understand and then put the pieces together.