Will Mitchell reads his essay Girls
“Cupid casually fumbled through his quiver, pulled back his bow, and plunged an arrow deep into my soul with deadly accuracy in fourth grade.”

Listen to Will Mitchell read his essay:

Listen to Will Mitchell read his essay and follow along below:

At this time in my youth, girls were still off limits. Fenced off by a strict quarantine – one that was really beginning to grow on me. In fourth grade I was keeping up with daily cooties shots – a vaccination that was always in high demand especially in the month of February. But, in fourth grade, I was in love.

Girls weren’t slimy. They didn’t have gill slits on their necks or miss a step in the evolutionary process. In fact, they were kind of fantastic. Of course, this was information that could never be shared with my closest comrades, but I never really had a problem with “the enemy.” They were friendly, they smelled nice, and they had remarkable penmanship – all characteristics I once found myself striving for in my elementary education (except for smelling nice. We didn’t really care about that one.) so, to put it plainly, they were a step ahead of us in the fragile game of “life as a student,” and they knew it. They knew that they were superior and no matter how many rocks we threw at them in fourth grade, our lives would soon become devoted to gaining their attention and eventually consumed by commitment. What I believe drove us boys into denial and eventual rebellion was this exact realization.

In late January of fourth grade, our class had become segregated. Fraternizing with girls was never looked down upon, as long as it remained on a non-physical basis. But, come early February, approaching them was strictly taboo. Now, I’m not going to say that I was the “outgoing” type, but I feel that I put out a definite effort when it came to girls. I knew a few of their names, and for me, that was solid. I wouldn’t sit next to them, wave to them, or acknowledge their existence in passing. Hell, I was ten years old. My reputation was as brittle as an old person at such an age, and the last thing I needed was a bad rap throughout my grade school, let alone with the ladies. People say, “Love always has a funny way of showing itself.” Well, on Valentine’s Day of fourth grade, I gave that expression an entirely new meaning.

I never truly grasped the concept of art, but tried to after discovering that my lady of interest was in my class. February is placed decently far into the school year and I probably should have noticed her before that. Too bad I sat in the front row with all the desks facing the same direction and I was the first person in the class room every day, thus making activity taking place behind me a complete mystery. Anyways, her name was Camilla and she shared a class with me since kindergarten. Unfortunately I got the feeling that between the two of us, I was the only one aware of this. But that didn’t matter. It was Valentine’s Day and I was on a mission. I remained at my seat, inches away from the chalk board in the front and slowly turned my head to glance over my shoulder. There she was, huddled over her white paper, not paying attention to her friends. Not caring what others had to say to her or about her. Her focus was never broken. I couldn’t hear a word they were saying and had to nearly squint to get a clear visual. “I’ll wait,” I told myself. “No worries.” And so I did. I remained slumped over the table drawing over the same oval until it looked like it was done in Sharpie marker.

I lacked motivation and professing your love was no easy task. It takes time, concentration and confidence. The class was 40 minutes long, I had been staring at shapes for half of that time, and thinking about it triggered my gag reflex. Perfect. I clenched my pencil and swallowed hard, standing up to make my way to the back room. I had worn it almost down to the eraser and I needed a new one when stopped mid-thought and step. She had moved. She was no longer stationed at her desk. My eyes widened, fixing a gaze on my untied shoes. Did she leave class? Did she go to the rest room? Was she thinking the same thoughts as I for the entire time and keeled over right there due to heart failure? Anything was a possibility. Anyways, I kept my head down almost forcing myself to find a new pencil. I found the drawer, pulling out a ruler and a compass. Forgetting my original intentions for standing up, I began moving back to my desk.

Do you ever get that feeling when you see someone and your heart just kind of……..sinks? For whatever reason? Well that happened at 10:36 on the morning of Valentine’s Day in fourth grade. It sunk and almost fell though the bottoms of my feet. Camilla was there, sharpening her colored pencils, and I was going to walk past her. My legs turned to noodles and my palms got all sweaty. I slowly glided over next to her and stood there. Not sharpening anything, looking for anything, or speaking. Nope, nothing at all. I frantically began searching through my head for reasons to talk to her. “Okay,” I thought. “You know her name, you’ve been school with her since kindergarten, and you both like to draw.” Then I paused in thought, realizing that none of those were mutual. Bummer. This was rather discouraging but clearly was not enough to stop my heart from nearly pounding through my t-shirt. I clenched my fists, breathed in heavily, and resorted to the most practical expression a star-struck ten-year-old boy could do; tame violence.

In one swift motion I thrust my compass right into her arm. The look of her sheer pain and anguish that she expressed at that point was enough to make me second guess myself, but also smile a little. I had found a woman who I truly cared about, and I stabbed her. Rational? Not especially. Romantic? Absolutely.

On Valentine’s Day of fourth grade, I woke up with a mission. I was going to tell Camilla how I truly felt – my honest inner feelings. But I didn’t. I never told her anything. My actions were smooth and done without speech. I didn’t break her heart. No, I feel that I accomplished something far greater than that. I broke the skin.