despite the bad hair.

My old boyfriend returned from Europe a few weeks ago, and we met up to grab a drink. By "old" boyfriend, I mean high school old. Ten-years-ago old. A-different-world-ago old. OLD old.

He was the cool kid in high school--intense, focused, fun--the guy who planned spirit week, wore a kilt to prom, and made the state championships in swimming. Me? Well, I was the editor of the yearbook.

The senior class voted him: "Most Flirtatious."
I was voted: "Biggest Nerd." (Okay, it was actually something like "Most Intellectual"--but you get the idea.)

So you can see how it was.

I worshiped him in high school. I was seriously in AWE. For the two years we dated, I had no idea why he wanted to go out with me, and wasn't about to ask. In fact, I think I tried to speak as little as possible. Lest I accidentally reveal what a complete dork I was. It was nerdy little me with the braces and the bad bangs, and superstar jock him, and I went to school every day and held his hand in the hall and pinched myself a little.

Sitting across from him ten years later, I'm happy to see him, but the old sense of awe is gone. Like meeting the lead singer of the band you've followed for years, and thinking, "Oh, is that it?"

We sipped $2 cape cods at this divey orange wood-paneled bar, and chatted for several hours.

"I don't think you were like this in high school," he said.
"Like what?"
"There was always so much of you that seemed to hold back. Like you were afraid, or nervous. It made me sort of sad," he said. "You seem less afraid now. It's nice."

I am. And it is.

If I could write a letter now, to that former Miwa, it would say something like, "Stop pinching yourself, nerdo. " He went out with you because he wanted to go out with the school's Biggest Nerd. Because he found her worthwhile.

Ten years later, I find myself wishing I had, a little more, too.

And former Miwa, while we're talking? Lose the bangs. Seriously. Yeesh.