Non Compos Mentis

Non compos mentis is technically Latin for "not having control of one's mind." When we say it in English, we basically mean "bat shit crazy."

 

Sometimes, liking Jordan so much makes me feel like that. Exactly like that.

 

Yesterday was the start of the second semester, and one of my new electives is a beginner's shop class, the kind that's completely based on problem-solving that you take when you don't want to use the scary saws. During that class today, I heard tools clanging around out in the shop, machines whirring. I knew it was him. I could feel it, the butterflies standing at attention, waiting for their cue to go insane inside my stomach.

After the teacher finished his lecture for the day, I asked politely if I could go to the bathroom. I slipped out into the shop and caught sight of that skull-print sweatshirt that I couldn't help but want to snuggle up inside of. It was him, all right. I whisked out of the room quietly, the only thing on my mind being the moment I came back. Before leaving the bathroom, I fluffed up my hair and smiled at my reflection. I hadn’t seen him yet that morning, so I was excited. Weirdly, insanely excited. I yanked open the shop door and walked down the small staircase. 
 

And there he was. His hands stopped working on whatever he was doing and his eyes watched me, a slight smile on his face. I smiled back and waved. He waved back. That was it. 
 

But just the way he stopped to look at me, that almost smile on his face that made all of my sanity fall to pieces, the way his fingers fluttered a little when he waved kind of made my day. Isn't that ridiculous?
 

At the end of class, I meant to say something. I really did. I meant to ask him if his bus had come in late. I meant to tell him I missed him at breakfast this morning. But I didn’t. I wondered if he was waiting for me to. 

That smile was simply enough. 

We didn’t talk for the rest of the day. But I didn't mind. Just one smile. That's enough to give a dreamer hope.
 

I want him to feel the same way.

A few months back, maybe over the summer, I remember making a list of all of the qualities I wanted in the guy of my dreams. Which is kind of weird and little-girlish, but just bear with me, guys. I had written the list after getting over Light, while I was blissfully waiting for someone better to come along. I wrote it in my diary, but I had erased it and revised it, because I thought the traits were too specific. But I remember some of them. I wrote that the boy of my dreams plays guitar. I wrote that he can always make me laugh, hilarious but not obnoxious. I wrote that he is the one who always gives me butterflies. He is the one who I love for more than just how “hot” he is. 

He is Jordan.

We’d be perfect for each other (I think), with our matching black plastic rim glasses and our matching awkwardness. I’ll write words, he can write music. He can make my life a love song even sweeter than the eight I wrote just for him. I can wear that sweatshirt. We can hold hands in the hallways. I can sit by his side and listen to him play guitar, because I love to hear it. It’s always the same story of what we could be that I talk about so much. We could be everything. Everything my mind has decided that "love" is.

Will I ever be able to make that story come true?

That question is driving me insane.