This past spring, I met a guy on a Scout outing. We started talking and found out we had a heck of a lot in common, from future goals to past experiences to ideals to education. In spite of the fact that everyone thought he was flirting with me (I didn't see it at the time; now I think perhaps he was, but I'm no expert. He's sort of that way with everybody), we became friends, and pretty good ones at that. I've only had two people say something simultaneously without it being planned: my mother and he. We confided in each other, helped each other through a couple of emotional rough spots, and did a whole lot of laughing. I've never felt . . . safer, I suppose . . . with anyone except, again, my mother. We had our differences, religion being the major one, but though they caused a few incidents, we never let them stop us from being friends.

We discussed romance when I told him people were thinking he was flirting with me. He looked at me aghast and told me he didn't like me that way. That was a relief, I said, because I wasn't interested in dating and certainly would never date him because of the religious difference mentioned earlier. At the time I met him, he had a girlfriend, anyway. Then they broke up, and he started dating a girl I knew in his Scout unit. And that . . . that bothered me--bothers me--and I cannot for the life of me understand why. Whenever I'm reminded of them, I get this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and it makes me a little blue.

The rest of my brain unaffected by this strange malady remains oddly aloof, studying with detached fascination it illogical emotions of a young woman. My own curiousity and amazement at the fact that I cannot decipher my own emotions leaves me wondering if anyone else out there has ever felt like this and what they thought it meant. Part of me thinks maybe it's because I'm not so crazy about her (she's OK, just not the kind of girl I like to hang out with--all butterflies and glitter); part of me thinks it's because now he's so focused on her he hardly has time to talk to me; part of me thinks I've yet to figure it out.

Not that it matters much as far as the friendship goes as I doubt I'll ever see him again. He's LDS and leaving on his "mission" in less than a month. I've already decided that I cannot remain true to my own beliefs and write to him, thus implicitly condoning his actions. We said our official goodbyes last week. I was proud of myself for not crying. He was a decent human being, something all too rare in this world, and I will miss him.

La"Men are like shoes: made to confuse"Zorra