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Squiggly-Lined Masterpieces
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| Squiggly-Lined Masterpieces |
| 04.05.04 (3:36 pm) [edit] |
[i]Someone once told me that life doesn’t really begin until the first time you fall in love. I laughed. Then I thought about Mary. [/i]
In the third grade, she and I were both in Mrs. Hanson’s class. I’m not sure if I knew her before then, but I really can’t say because I don’t remember any purposeful interaction I had before I was eight. Maybe that’s because they say life doesn’t really begin until the first time you fall in love.
Anyway, even then, Mary was perfect. She was quiet, smart and respectful, and she even had a principal role in the school’s ballet production of ‘The Nutcracker’. I’d watch her from across the room in class. I loved it when she doodled. She’d draw squiggly lines all over a sheet of notebook paper. Then she’d color in the enclosed areas with an assemblage of colors. Those drawings were masterpieces. Her technique was perfect and so was she.
Okay, okay, I was in love. But it was a different kind of love, better even. This was preadolescent love unobstructed by knowledge or experience.
Unfortunately, in those years I wasn’t as progressive or evolved as she was. Hanson was always asking me to sit back down or to stop yelling the answer out loud. Though she, like most of my teachers in those days, seemed to know I had the right intentions, she couldn’t figure out what to do with me. Back then, I figured others looked upon my outbursts with envy. I now know the truth: Mary thought I was a geek.
And who could blame her. I was only quiet when I watched her from across the room. But even then my mouth was open…. I was drooling.
I wanted her, I needed to get closer to her… but I knew it could never be.
I would have died if anyone found out. Eight-year old boys aren’t supposed to think about eight-year girls in that way. I was supposed to picking my nose, rubbing the remnants on her shirt, and winning the battle in the all-important war of boys against girls that was supposed to occupy so much of our time back then.
But I couldn’t think about buggers or anything else. I was alone and I didn’t want to be. I needed to sit next to her… her alone. But, after musing over my predicament for weeks, I concluded that it was impossible. It seemed only Mrs. Hanson could help me, and I had used up her goodwill long before with my classroom disturbances. We were destined to be separated by rows and rows of miniature table chairs.
But one morning on the playground, in a moment of pure stress and elation, I had an idea. It was an epiphany, really. In that second of realization, all things seemed to come together. Even now, many years later, I’m pretty sure that flash was as close to Nirvana or being saved or any of that shit as I’ll ever come. I knew I could make Mrs. Hanson move my seat next to Mary’s. I could practically ask for anything, and she’d give it to me… if I made a concession. At the end of class, I wrote a little note, and dropped it in my teacher’s “idea box”. The next day, without comment, she moved my seat next to Mary’s.
If you’re wondering, The note read, “I promis never to talk out in class or get up without asking permishun if you move my seet next to Marys. PEE.S. Please, for the life of god, dont tell ANYWON I wrote this. That has to be part of the deel.”
I was in bliss during class the rest of that year; and so was Mrs. Hanson. Looking back, I know that Mary never had a clue about my crush. And I can’t tell her now. That would ruin everything.
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posted by: Heather (reply)
post date: 04.06.04 (6:28 am)
So cute! Such talent. It makes me jealous boy.
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