My first crush,
the one with butterflies
and innocent fantasies,
was for my science and math teacher.

His kindness and patience with me
made me feel so loved
that I couldn’t help but dream
of it being only he and I—
safe and warm.

Back then,
my fantasies were sweet
and gentle
and harmless.

I can’t say
I am as softly impacted now.

A male teacher later
crossed lines
and wiped the innocence
of crushing on older men
from me.

I felt the danger
in his long looks,
in the questions he asked
about my boyfriends
and how far we had gone.

There was a small thrill
in being noticed,
but now I know
he understood
that was my weakness.

Quiet girls
who keep to themselves
and write poetry
in the background
rarely get attention
until someone wants something.

Another teacher
I respected deeply,
though I never had feelings for him,
taught me something different.

One day
on the bus between high schools,
it was just he and I
in the parking lot.

He called the office
and asked for a student
to come with us.

I asked him why.
His arms locked,
his fingers went white
on the steering wheel,
and he stared straight ahead.

“My wife told me,” he said,
“never to be alone
with a female student.”

I felt his shame
and my own,
and for a moment
I felt powerful.

“Smart woman,” I said.
He relaxed,
and so did I.
“Yes,” he said,
“she is the smartest woman
I know.”

That was when I learned
it is not a game.
Attraction
versus action
can wound.

My innocent crush
had grown into a young woman
who knew pain
before she understood consequence.

Had he not responded
as he did,
I still wonder
if I would have read things
the way I did
and known how to diffuse it.

I have always had angels
watching over me,
even when I haven’t.

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