Page 24 of Ancient History

It was like some messed-up version of foreplay. How long could we go without having a real conversation? It pulled me back to my high school days when I would gaze at Hutch from afar.

Currently, he was at his most devastatingly handsome. He wore South Rock branded polos and shorts that stretched across his chest and ass, respectively. And on cooler days, since we were still in the quixotic throws of spring, he wore cute crew-neck sweaters and jeans which also stretched across his chest and ass. They were the same outfits he wore in high school! Way to be economical, but also…it was a key bump of nostalgia that scrambled my brain.

And that trademarked Hutch smile and laugh were still on display. But with other people, joking around with students. He was their new favorite teacher.

How did I wind up in a situation where I was quasi-pining for a guy I’d instructed not to talk to me? As I left school on Thursday, passing Hutch for the umpteenth time that week, I was left with another question: why was it so easy for him to keep his distance?

There was a part of me that hoped this would be torture for him, as it was for me. But he handled it just fine. Whatever torch I secretly wished Hutch carried for me had long been extinguished. When he dumped me all those years ago, he meant it.

I treated myself to an adult-sized glass of wine and graded tests Thursday night. Judging from the answers, it seemed several of my students were as distracted as me. The red pen would get an active workout tonight.

After an hour, I took a break through watching the thing that always lifted my spirits: videos of cats and dogs being friends. One of the great ironies of my life was that I knew a ton about cats, and gave off Crazy Cat Lady energy, but I was allergic to felines.

A tabby cat and pitbull mix conspired to break into their owner’s treat drawer. Consider my heart melted.

I limited the number of videos I watched so that I didn’t run out. My thoughts returned to Hutch. This would not do.

I hadn’t had much luck on Milkman, but I decided to fire it up. Hope springs eternal and all that. There had to be a guy on there who could keep me from thinking of the past. I refused to believe in soulmates. There was only one person out there? Sure, but what if they didn’t want to be with me? What then?

I scrolled through profiles of indistinctive six pack shots and pics of underwear bulges and guys proclaiming that even though they were on a gay hookup app, they didn’t want anyone who acted gay.

And then, perhaps my brain broke because I imagined I saw a profile for Hutch.

Wait. It was a profile for Hutch.

Hutch was on Milkman?

Throwing a guy like Hutch on a dating app was like throwing an opened can of tuna into a room of cats.

Hutch’s profile was oddly wholesome. The carousel of pictures were ones a parent would pick out to brag about their child, not ones used for attracting sexual partners: Hutch and his dad posing over a grill. Hutch playing soccer. Hutch visiting The Gateway Arch in St. Louis. Hutch as a ten-year-old holding up a fish.

SoccerStar was his profile name, something so basic it sounded like something my mom would choose. The profile was dorky and cool at the same time, confident in its earnestness.

I’m Hutch. I love playing and coaching soccer, spending time with my family, and outdoors activities including any and all water sports.

Huh?

The Hutch I knew got pee shy in public restrooms.

For purely anthropological reasons, I messaged him on the app.

Mr. Brightside: Hey, you might want to remove the part in your profile about water sports. Unless you’re into that.

I left my phone on the couch cushion and retreated to the kitchen to make a bag of microwave popcorn, my go-to wine snack. Two minutes and twenty seconds later, I returned to the couch to find a Milkman notification on my home screen.

Breathe, Amos. It could just be a dick pic from a random guy.

My phone buzzed and slid off the couch. I picked it up and despite my better judgment, cracked a smile.

SoccerStar: Hey.

SoccerStar: I like water skiing and water polo, so…

Mr. Brightside: Go to Urban Dictionary and look up the definition for Water Sports.

SoccerStar: Oh shit!

SoccerStar: I meant water skiing and water polo.

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