Dear Tyler,

Dear Tyler,


I know I've apologized to you about this dozens of times, and I know you've given me the typical male responses of "it's ok," "I get it," and "don't worry about it," just as many times. What bugs me is that I  haven't heard a plain, simple, "I forgive you."

We met this past summer at the local campground. Well local for me, three hours away for you. Our short friendship began the way I have learned to meet awesome people while camping- on the swings. Swingsets seem to be a mutually agreed upon gathering site pyros, nerds, and dorks- my favorite crowds.

I'd been swimming, and, bored, walked down to the playground to dry off. You were there with your older brother, Joey, and your little cousin, DJ. Eventually, we all ended up on the swings, and soon enough Joey mentioned something to me.
I must admit ,at 17, with blue eyes, dark hair, and a tan complexion, I found him quite attractive. SO the two of us talked a while, and then I ended up on the swing between you and him, and then he gave in to DJ's whining and went to the store with him to buy ice cream.
Things were a tad awkward with just the two of us. We talked a while, and I found out that you were going into sophomore year, like me, although you were actually a year younger.
You have serious balls, dude. About ten minutes into the conversation, you found a way to slip in that you liked me. Now, you're not ugly by any means, but I simply was not attracted to you in any way. I said so, and pointed out that we lived over 3 hours apart and would only be spending four days camping together at best. You said you understood, and after an awkward pause the conversation flowed once more.

Soon, Joey and DJ were back, and over the next two days the three of us (and sometimes DJ) spent countless hours together. We caught fish with a tree branch and broken fishing line. We ate ice cream. We got lose in a cornfield. We laughed, and went to get more ice cream.

On the third day, I woke up around 5:30. Bored with nothing to do, I showered and reveled in the mist silence. An hour later, you climbed from your tent as I watched from a nearby swing.
Both still in our PJs, we talked for I don't know how long. We were sitting on the dewy morning grass, surrounded by fog and the smell of woods and the creek and cows. My hair was still wet, hardly brushed but scrunched to suggest I didn't completely not care, and I had no makeup on. Still, when you told me I was beautiful, I saw sincerity in your plain brown eyes.
I'll never forget it.

Thank you for giving me a parameter with which to compare guys who compliment me. Thanks to you, I know what truthful admiration looks like, even if I didn't reciprocate your feelings.

Later, the four of us went swimming. Id tried to hide it out of tact, but you'd noticed, and you asked me straight up, even though you already knew the answer.
"Do you like Joey?" I didn't fake my reply. I knew you knew, even if I felt bad about it. But I was aware that he had a girlfriend, and one of the reasons I liked him was because he was too honest a person to be unfaithful to her. You went on to confirm that the glances I swore I saw, before he reverted his gaze in honesty, were real. He liked me as well.

I went home that night, and came back the day after. I couldn't find you, Joey, or DJ anywhere, so, a bit depressed, I took to sitting by the creek.
Somewhere around half an hour later, you and Joey pulled up in a canoe. I gladly hopped on board, although there wasn't an extra life jacket. I knew this stretch of water well, and it was notoriously slow and shallow.
To my dismay, you were a terribly incompetent paddler. About 5 minutes went by before I took up a paddle in exasperation at your lack of ability to provide power for the canoe.
We'd paddle upstream as far as the limits of the campground, then float back down the creek for miles, it seemed. You were generally silent (and, I think, confused) as Joey and I discussed politics, God, and the human condition in relation to philosophy.
That was an epic conversation.

I really do wish I'd felt something for you like you did for me. Maybe next year. Maybe by then you will have moved closer, matured past the faults I know I couldn't stand in you.

Maybe.


Sincerely,
Bridget