Tying the K(NOT)!

Abstract

Kelly was my first crush. An actress on the TV soap I rushed home from school to watch when I was fifteen, I'm not admitting to which. With her short-slicked haircut and her rakish swagger, she was the reason I rushed. The reason I watched. The reason I spent hours staring out of my bedroom window, sighing dramatically and unplucking the sixth 'love me not' petal in advance from unfortunate daisies, cheating at the odds. Like any true love, she was always 'the reason'. And so she also became the reason I came out. I first announced my love for her the day a 'Who's the hottest TV soap star?' student-made survey was passed around by gossip-giddy fifteen-year-olds with hysterical giggles in final period English at my nun-run Catholic ladies college. As Sister Leslie issued stern suppressing shushes and turned to the board, the portentous A4 confessional was paper-planed to my unshielded lap from behind upraised desk lids. I unfolded the list.