When I was in middle school, my school sold these things called Candy Grams the week leading up to Valentine’s Day. For a dollar, a lollipop and a note would be delivered to the person of your choosing on February 14th. I was in luuurrrvvvve with this boy Jesse. He looked like a young Leonardo DiCaprio and his family owned an amusement park and because we did alphabetical seating, he sat behind me in every class. We kind of became friends, meaning he copied all my homework and cheated off of me on tests. Friendship! The only thing I wanted in the whole world was a Candy Gram from Jesse. A thank you for helping him pass 7th grade perhaps? An admission of his love for me? I stayed up every night that week imagining what my Candy Gram from him would say. February 14th came and went. No Candy Gram from Jesse. I got in the car at the end of the day and started to cry. My Grandpa picked me up from school every day. I was sulky and hormonal in that special 13-year-old kind of way and he would try to get me to laugh by pretending like I was on trial and he was presenting my case. I don’t know why exactly, but he was really into this game.
“Ladies and gentleman of the jury…” he would start. I would stare out the window with my arms crossed or roll my eyes. So, on Valentine’s Day, I got in the car and he started. “Ladies and gentleman of the jury, today we are here to determine why this beautiful young lady is crying…” Keep reading »
