J Corridor

Not long ago, a friend of mine posted some of her gorgeous photography on Facebook. The photos were of an engagement shoot. As I admired her lovely work, I realized that I recognized the man in each shot. Vaguely. Then I saw his name.

I had the same locker throughout my entire high-school career. It was on J corridor, the perfect location for sprawling out on the floor and doing homework, and for hanging out with friends during lunch hour. It was a central location so loved by my friends that three of us ended up sharing my locker, leaving notes on my locker door about the genius of Heath Ledger and the swoon-worthiness of certain never-to-be-mentioned church boys.

The boy with the locker beside mine was quiet. Timid. At least around me. I always felt guilty, the way my social circle would take over the space in front of his locker. Almost every day I'd have to move just to give him access to his belongings. He never once complained. He didn't even make a face.

I liked him. Not a "like" like. Just a quiet respect for a quiet guy I knew absolutely nothing about.

But thanks to Facebook and my online stalking skills, I now know that he's getting married. And that his boyish grin matured into an unexpected handsomeness. And I'm oddly excited for him. For somehow rising above the adolescent shyness and becoming an almost-husband.

Congrats, my J corridor friend. I apologize for the four years of inconvenience. And for the show tunes I'd sing at lunch. I hope you at least appreciated my cockney accent.