The Green Lights

She had the most captivating green eyes. Everyone complimented them constantly; girls, guys, people of all ages. They were practically an emerald color, and combined with her fiery red curls they were even more gorgeous. She was gorgeous, in both a conventional and unconventional sense. Not only was she the most lovely being I had ever set eyes on, but she was kind and caring to boot. And I was beyond madly in love with her.

…okay, so I just admired her from afar. But she was popular and I was the weird kid with the skateboard and beat-up Vans, so I didn’t have a shot. But hey, a guy can dream.

You would think I would have gotten my act together and at least said hello to her, but no. We grew up next door, sharing the awkward plot of no-man’s land grass between our houses, and had still never talked. A smile here and there at the mailbox or if we locked eyes through our opposite-facing second floor windows, but no actual words. I was too shy, and she was too cool.

And of course she had a boyfriend who was always all over her, so it’s not like I could start a conversation at school either. This guy was the head jock (shocker, I know); I would get beaten to a pulp if I even looked at her the wrong way. So I just existed in this glum singlehood of skating to school, doodling through my classes, selling shoes at the local Journeys, then skating home to listen to music and contemplate how much of an idiot I am for not having the guts to talk to the most beautiful girl on the face of the earth. Sometimes I would glance out the window and see her with the drapes open, sitting on her bed doing homework or plucking her guitar strings; on more than one occasion I caught myself staring a little too long and had to quickly look away when she noticed.

But one night the drapes were closed and there was a lot of yelling next door. I even heard the front door slam from my second floor bedroom…whatever happened must have been bad. The rumor mill at school started immediately the next day, spinning stories about what happened leading to the slammed door, but the ending was always the same: they had broken up. The next time I saw her, those emerald green eyes had lost their sparkle and instead glistened with tears waiting to fall at any moment. As thrilled as I was that she was now single, I truly felt terrible to see her so distraught.

I got the strangest idea the next week to trade in my characteristic black zip-up hoodie for a bright green one. Green notebooks for class, green backpack, even green wheels for my skateboard. Green everything just to match her eyes. The stupidest, subtlest, least suggestive way to possibly maybe indicate I was thinking of her, but only if she really thought hard about it. It was ridiculous, but I could always make the excuse that green was my favorite color if anyone ever asked. But no one ever did, not even her.

Then I had a crazy thought. Not crazy enough to spray paint her name on a water tower or anything, but just crazy enough that maybe she would notice. I found these green light bulbs at the hardware store, then replaced all of my regular lights with them. They gave off the same glow as Dr. Banner’s gamma rays just before he became The Hulk; it was honestly pretty cool looking. My mom thought it was weird of course, but adults think everything us teenage boys do is weird.

Every time I saw the drapes open next door, I switched on the green lights in a very reverse-Gatsby fashion. Sometimes she would look over, and I would wave when she noticed me looking back. She would smile, and sometimes wave herself. But still no words, not even at school.

I kept the green lights up for nearly a month. Then, one day, there was a knock at my front door. Upon opening it, I was greeted by the most captivating of emerald green eyes.

“Hi, I’m Daisy,” she said. “I live next door. I just wanted to tell you I really love the lights you have on upstairs.”