I have caught myself thinking of my childhood lately; actually just a specific moment.

It happened in late elementary school, when I was eight years old. We needed to put on a play based on a classic fairy tale. The class voted, and we ultimately performed Red Riding Hood.

Being the only canine in my grade, of course the role of the Big Bad Wolf fell on me. I had no interest in theater at the time, so I resisted the part. My opinion lost in the end as it soon dawned on us no one else fit the bit better.

Though dull, rehearsals set the seed of appreciation for the acting craft. The other students also treated me differently from before. As a child of wolfish features and shyness, I had trouble making friends. But on stage, everything faded away, and I became a normal kid.

There was another student--a brash bear cub--who struggled with connections. When we played our parts, the other kids didn't care that he was often difficult to deal with because of his ego and air headedness. Everyone just marveled at his performance, even knowing his unending excitement had propelled him into the lead role in the first place.

Unlike the other youngsters, coexistence didn't warm me up to his traits. I wonder whether I would have treated the bear differently if I had known he would affect my life forever.

The night of the presentation came, and we were all in position just as practiced. Nervousness didn't hit me until the last few minutes before the play, but when it did, I couldn't keep myself calm.

Our teacher, whom we were required to refer to as "director" that evening, had made it crystal clear that we should bring any such issues to his attention. But, as my little mind reasoned, a main character shouldn't act like that. As a result, I opted to push my "weakness" down. Of course, that only meant disaster.

The play started as usual. Red Riding Hood received a letter from her grandma and frolicked in the woods. Before I knew it, the time for me to leap out of the bushes arrived.

Weeks of practice would have prepared me for that simple part, but my nervous self simply couldn't push it down any further.

When I jumped out from behind the cardboard foliage, the growl of a hungry wolf came out as a feeble yelp of a feral dog.

Took all my strength to fight the urge to crumble to the ground when the pathetic noise reached my ears. Not even the sound of awkward laughter followed from the audience; in my mind, time froze out of sheer cringe.

I was about to cry when something else filled the agonizing silence. A lovely voice, kind and cunning.

"Oh, my. Mister wolf, are you sick?" said none other than Red Riding Hood himself.

I had no immediate reply to give, but that certainly shook me off my paralysis.

"You poor thing," he continued. "Come with me, grandma will fix you right up!"

His hand suddenly pulled mine into the stage, breaking whatever barrier fixed me in place. We had broken the script, but I remained too stunned to care.

We spent a couple of minutes pretend-walking across the stage as the rest of the class worked around our changes. That cub switched between humming, prancing and making small talk; he did his best for sure. 

But, I didn't see it that way. In my mind, I had ruined the play and his clowning only worsened the situation. It came to a point where I stopped going along with his ideas and stood still.

"Is something wrong?" said Red Riding Hood.

"C'mon," I replied with a pouting tone, "don't you know how the story goes? I'm supposed to be your enemy."

"What do you mean?"

"Like, you know what's gonna happen. You have to hate me for that."

My lowered head drew murmurs from the audience, but at that point, any kind of scrutiny served me better, I had reasoned. Part of me expected the director to come out and cancel the catastrophe, but that same voice broke the silence once more.

"And who says that!" he said in a brash tone.

"Uh?"

"Is there really someone here to tell us who to be? I don't think I should hate you. Do you think I should hate you?"

"But-"

"We are who we choose to be. And... I want to be your friend." He extended his white hand towards me. "Do you want to be mine?"

Cynicism inside me wanted simply to point out to him we were characters in a play and that it meant nothing. But, in his sincerity, everything he did had the highest significance. He left me wordless then, but now I see that behavior shifted the course of my life.

So, even if I was quiet and annoyed, I put my palm on his. "I do!"

The rest of the show became the class' joke. We invented crazy lines and situations, building up plotlines on the spot. To save Grandma and the Wolf from the true enemy, the Huntsman, Red Riding Hood had to sacrifice herself. I still remember that chaotic and entertaining evening.

After that, we grew close. We would spend after school time at each other's houses, but our friend groups differed too much to go beyond that. Even so, my heart had developed a crush on him the night of the performance.

I went through the usual stages of finding out about myself and concluded it would be better to not hide anything from him. Alas, fate had other plans.

The day I would tell him my feelings, he announced he would move across the country. Though gloom permeated his voice, his unusually stoic face lingered. Seeing his usual bright smile gone, I spared him of further sadness. And after a week, his waving hand outside his family's car was the last I saw of him. 

Or so I thought.

I am a 22-year-old dog now. That day had changed me enough for me to fall into a pipeline that led to me deciding to become a professional actor. I still have my shyness and a tinge of stoicism, but my skills on stage have caught the eyes of many instructors and talent agents.

I've done a few successful TV gigs since high school, but I became bored with the whole affair and pursued theatrical acting. So I took a vacation from performing to... get a bachelor's degree in drama and stagecraft.

That may sound strange, but as I transitioned from television to an actual theater, I realized my lack of certain requirements. Then, a year ago, at the recommendation of one of my trainers, I enrolled in the theatrics course.

Entering with my grades and school history would be a challenge, but ultimately--and I'm not proud of it--my fame opened the way. Classes are tougher than I thought, but it's still a struggle I embrace.

Last week, as I studied for my finals, my ears caught a recognizable voice. Who I saw had completely changed into a grown, glass-wearing grizzly bear, but that familiar soft radiance remained.

My social ineptitude prevented me from making the opening move, but he--as usual--proved ready to pick up the slack. Dreadfully awkward at first, our conversation quickly gained flow as we found ourselves in a natural progression of catch-up questions.

Of all things, he decided to study architecture, which surprised me based on the fact he struggled with math as a child; he promised he has grown more skillful since then. It saddened me a bit to hear he had been slacking and failed a handful of subjects; enough for him to be late on graduating.

We kept on chatting, through good and bad topics. When I realized, we had once more become those children talking after school and spending time at each other's homes. It was just me and him again.

Buried feelings also crept up on me. As a kid, that cub infatuated me with his personality and mannerisms, but now I see a more developed bear, beautiful in body and soul. A little on the chubby side, yes, but nothing to raise worry or display negligence.

I might have been checking him out for too long, because he himself called me out on it. Blushing, my words meandered and my thoughts thrashed. So much so, as he laughed at my incompetence, an earnest request escaped my lips.

Unlike the unstable noises from earlier, the wish came like a "straight" jet. My desire translated into equilibrium of phrasing and emotions. Fear of rejection took over me as that four letter word steamed the air. And yet, before I could despair.

"Okay, I'll go on a date with you."

His words still echo inside the halls of my mind even as I wait for him across the subway station today. 

Actually, this entire flashback helped to ease my emotions. Where once fear and yearning ruled, now only excitement remains.

Oh, that's him now. I get up from my seat and wave at his goofy smile. After our greetings, I can think of a thousand words to start this meeting, but just one line feels proper.

"Hey," I say with a hand on his shoulder. "Do you remember that time we performed Red Riding Hood in elementary school?"