If X = Y

I have this fantasy in my head where I marry my childhood sweetheart. 

We met when we were 12. Still had the baby fat in our cheeks and the twinkle of innocence in our eyes. We were forced to sit next to each other in Maths. I was more annoyed than he was, I think. It was the last class before lunch, so I wanted to be next to my best friend. Make the class an early start to our lunchtime chat sessions. But alas. The teacher put me next to him. Neither of us were Maths whizzes. But we both got by.

Things went on like that for a few months. Then one day, I was stumped. Cursed algebra had reared its horned head, and I just couldn’t wrap my fairytale-filled brain around it. I was an anxious kid, so I just sat there. Stared at the blue-lined paper, sure inspiration would strike me at any moment. Twirled my pencil. Did a sweep of the room to gauge everyone else’s progress. Then, I gradually became aware of his pencil slowing. He seemed to pause. Hesitate over something. I could feel his quiet energy radiating beside me. 

The moment seemed to drag. 

I’d had enough. Knew he wanted to say something. So, I looked him square in the eye and said, ‘What? Care to gloat or something?’ I had seen that he was seven questions ahead. 

He kept my eye for a moment and just smirked. Then he reached over and, using his pencil, started showing me his working out. 

‘Took me a minute too.’ He said. 

I knew it hadn’t. Algebra weirdly sat well with him. But for whatever reason, shock, embarrassment or plain old tween angst, I let it slide. 

After he showed me his method and sat back as I worked out the next one on my own, he went back to his work and carried on.

And that was it. 

It was like nothing had happened. Like in those superhero movies when the superhero freezes time, fixes the problem, defeats the enemy, and then restarts time again. Around us, nothing had happened. But between us, there was this connection. A light that had been turned on in a room neither of us knew existed. 

I have this reality in my life where I’m single in my twenties. I never had a childhood sweetheart, so I guess that means I can’t marry him either. I never experienced the teen romance of the ’90s movies. No sneaky kisses shared behind bike sheds. 

But he lives in the background. He comes with me whenever I meet someone new. Sizes them up, makes sure they’re suitable. Worthy of me. 

He lives in dreams. An arm in a suit. A hand stretching in nervous anticipation. His face always in shadow. 

I have this in between in my mind where he’s going to appear. 

We’ll bump trolleys in the supermarket. Reminisce of old times. We’ll wonder where the time’s gone and how we got so old so fast. We’ll exchange numbers and agree to catch up over coffee and cake sometime. I’ll go home and call my best friend. Tell her it’s him. The one from maths that I knew was my someone. 

She’ll swoon and say it was fate. I’ll say it was all just a maths problem we took forever to solve. 

We’ll meet for coffee and recap the last decade. He’ll insist on paying. Joke that the maths would be too complicated for me anyway. I’ll shove him in the arm and we’ll walk side by side.

And in the space behind us, there’ll be two little 12-year-olds. Forced to sit side by side. In a Maths class just before lunch. Teaching each other what it means if x = y.