The Story of "Is There a Connection Between Maeda-kun and My Note?"

The third term of fifth grade.
A boy named "Maeda-kun" sat in the seat behind me.

Maeda-kun was taller than me, his bangs were long enough to cover his eyes, and he had a face that made it hard to tell where he was looking. Thinking back now, his voice must have been starting to change; it was deeper than the other boys' and sounded calm like an adult's, and he always carried himself with confidence.

And every single day, he would pull my hair from the seat behind me or hide my eraser.

I hated Maeda-kun.
And—I was scared of him.

Maeda-kun attended a large, well-known prep school in the area. He would boast, "I study at cram school until late at night." He was smart, could solve difficult problems with ease, and was even held in high regard by our homeroom teacher.

But the only things he would say to me every day were things like this:
"You don't even understand a problem like this?"
"I threw your eraser out the window."
"Stand over there."

He would say these things while grinning and pretending to throw a ball at me. Every single day, I was exposed to his "scary behavior" and "meanness." No matter how many times I told him to "stop," he just kept doing horrible things to me every day.

I really, truly hated him.

I once worked up the courage to write "Maeda-kun is being mean to me" in the homework diary I submitted every day. But the red-pen comment the teacher wrote back only said,
"All sorts of things happen at school!"
Seeing it dismissed as "all sorts of things," I gave up on everything.

I was the child of a "transfer family."
I attended three elementary schools and two junior high schools. Since I kept transferring every two or three years, I thought I would be saying goodbye to this school soon, too. So, I gave up on Maeda-kun in my heart as well.

As expected, I would be saying goodbye to this elementary school in two years.

The morning of the graduation ceremony.
There was a letter in my shoe locker.

"I liked you.
Please come to the monkey bars on your way home."

In that moment, the only thing that came to my mind was—"terror." My hands holding the letter trembled, my heart pounded, and I was so scared I felt like I might cry.

"Liked you"?

That’s just an "old-fashioned way of saying it" we had just learned in Japanese class the other day. There is no way he "liked" me. Why would he use a phrase like that? Is it because he’s smart? Why do you have to keep scaring me like this until the very end?

I really did hate Maeda-kun.

I hated the Maeda-kun who made going to school every day painful, who made me hold back tears time and time again, and who would grin while watching me silently pick up the eraser that had been wedged in the window frame. I really, truly hated him.

When the graduation ceremony ended, I left the classroom with my friends as usual. Maeda-kun was already gone. I made sure not to look at the monkey bars at the edge of the schoolyard and went home with my friends.

After I moved, I was invited to elementary school reunions a few times, but because of Maeda-kun, I never went. I was so scared of the letter I received that I tore it to shreds and threw it in the trash.

In the exchange of letters with a friend that continued for a while after that,
I read a story about how "the fact that Maeda-kun confessed to me spread to everyone, and I cried because I was teased."

But even after reading that, I felt nothing.

I learned this after becoming an adult:"Boys are mean to the girls they like, you know."I still don't like how that story is told as a joke, as if it's a common occurrence.

If the words in that letter weren't a prank but were the truth, then perhaps the Maeda-kun of that time just couldn't express himself well, or maybe he was embarrassed. As I am now, I can well understand the actions taken by an elementary school boy and the feelings behind them. If it were true, that is.

I understand, but
still, I was scared after all.

Even if someone told me, "I liked you," the feelings of "I didn't like it" and "I was scared" that piled up every day wouldn't just disappear with those words. Because the words and attitudes directed at me had hurt the 11-year-old me exactly as they were.

That is why I think this now.
Instead of saying, "I actually liked you," it ismuch better to say, "I like you now."Because I believe there are hearts that can be saved by those words.

The me of that time was full of "fear."
But the me of todaywants to properly convey when I think, "I like you."Because I hope that small step reaches someone's heart. I truly mean that.

So today, I tried writing these feelings in a note.

Because.

Today marks one month since I started writing notes.

To all the followers who always read my posts.
To all the wonderful people who have pressed the "Like" button until now.
To all the kind people who even took the time to leave comments.
To you, the fated reader who happened to read this by clicking by mistake.

If my clumsy traces left here have been able to connect with "you" in any way, even for just a moment, I would be happier than words can say.

When I think, "What a wonderful post," on a note, I reflexivelypress the "Like" button with all my might.I actually want to spam the "Like" button because I "love it," but it's frustrating that I can only press it once!

I wonder if there's a "Love it" button.

So let me say this.

If you think, "I like it," then "Like" it!

This is important, so I will say it again.

If you think, "I like it," then "Like" it!!

This is all I wanted to say today!
I look forward to your continued support, little by little, step by step.