Emily
Here's another old writing I found in the closet about a girl I liked once. I've edited it a bit for grammar and the like. It's fitting I've found this now seeing as how similar feelings for a girl at work are rearing up- something I swore I wouldn't let an Oklahoma girl do! Great, another broken promise... enjoy!
I remember not really liking Dana Simpson much back in the second grade. She was a small, bossy little girl sporting pony tails and barrettes. She had thick eye brows which scrunched together when wrinkling her forehead. And wrinkled it stayed, along with nose held high in seeming disapproval of all the things the rest of us wore or did on the playground. I quietly named her the Queen of Hearts while she publicly dubbed me her friend by inviting only me to her house to play or watch T.V. This delighted Andy, Nathan and Matt who during recess made much of my apparent marriage. What did they know? Dana's parents had a VCR, I could watch "The Never Ending Story" over and over again while Mrs. Simpson stood at the ready with popcorn, candy, and soda.
"More M&M's, dear?" Yes ma'am!
If this was marriage, my parents were going about it the wrong way! Besides, what was all the excitement about? I know reports of these visits with her majesty made Elizabeth Whats-her-name act funny in class; she liked to hit me for seemingly no reason at all. As an eight year old, Dana came across as nothing more than a strange little boy with long hair, an unhealthy appetite for frilly things, and liked giving me food. What was the fuss?
The answer came late in the sixth grade. Puberty was in full swing and I was handling the changes with all the grace and style a twelve year old Air Force kid could muster. My hair was a wiry mess, but looked good under a black polyester yarn cap. Bumping desks, busting pant seams and hiding bad breath wrestled for a spot of normalcy in my daily routine. The sweating is what really bothered me though- even snow days failed to keep the pit puddles away. But the school year was almost over, only one month left and then came glorious Rocky Mountain freedom, with camping, hiking, and road trips a plenty. Nothing could spoil the anticipation. Nothing could make autumn seem so far off nor speed up the first day of school in seventh grade. Nothing, except the memory of a girl.
Emily was a tomboy who had a twin brother named Joe. She had long brown hair down to her shoulders, usually tucked behind her ears and brown eyes to match; Joe had short blond hair and blue eyes. They both liked soccer and she was good at the game. Secretly, she was the driving reason for my wanting to be the best center fullback the Lowry Lancers ever had. We had the same phys ed class and all the guys seemed to like her. After all, she was cute and when it came to dodge ball, 'Em' could do more than hold her own. She took a hit in the face once, bloodied her nose. She punched the guy that did it in the mouth. Strangely, this act of violence led to my spending the summer- and the next two years of my life!- in a strange, dreamy state. The rest of that month found me mute when trying to talk to her. Indeed, when I finally asked her to sign my yearbook, she simply wrote "Have fun, Emily Hencmann". Such a simple, non-committal statement, yet nothing had ever made my head swim like that. Paying attention in other classes felt like forced labor. The bus was far too slow in getting us to school, too quick to get us home at the end of the day. My friend Kevin took home a nicely colored bruise for having made fun of Em's new braces, in front of her no less; it was the least I could do.
I spent the rest of my time in Denver wondering why I felt this way about her and trying to deal with it. The emotion was something so pure and right; it had nothing to do with "The Talk" my father gave me in the upstairs bedroom far from the tender ears of my younger brothers. No, that was a mechanical, sweaty feeling which leaves one coated in hot-blooded embarrassment. This feeling was electric, teaming with the very excitement of life. I could never get enough! She sparked it - this was the answer, THIS was the 'fuss'.
I often wonder what I would tell Emily if we met today after all these years. My heart guards against the true possibilites of such a thing; time has a marring effect on reality. I also wonder whether or not I will ever feel like that again about anyone. Truth be told, similar feelings have come and gone since then; the chemical and hormonal imbalances of any eighteen year old male can induce such a state. High school and college held many of their own adventures in love, but nothing compares to that first time, not so far.
I remember not really liking Dana Simpson much back in the second grade. She was a small, bossy little girl sporting pony tails and barrettes. She had thick eye brows which scrunched together when wrinkling her forehead. And wrinkled it stayed, along with nose held high in seeming disapproval of all the things the rest of us wore or did on the playground. I quietly named her the Queen of Hearts while she publicly dubbed me her friend by inviting only me to her house to play or watch T.V. This delighted Andy, Nathan and Matt who during recess made much of my apparent marriage. What did they know? Dana's parents had a VCR, I could watch "The Never Ending Story" over and over again while Mrs. Simpson stood at the ready with popcorn, candy, and soda.
"More M&M's, dear?" Yes ma'am!
If this was marriage, my parents were going about it the wrong way! Besides, what was all the excitement about? I know reports of these visits with her majesty made Elizabeth Whats-her-name act funny in class; she liked to hit me for seemingly no reason at all. As an eight year old, Dana came across as nothing more than a strange little boy with long hair, an unhealthy appetite for frilly things, and liked giving me food. What was the fuss?
The answer came late in the sixth grade. Puberty was in full swing and I was handling the changes with all the grace and style a twelve year old Air Force kid could muster. My hair was a wiry mess, but looked good under a black polyester yarn cap. Bumping desks, busting pant seams and hiding bad breath wrestled for a spot of normalcy in my daily routine. The sweating is what really bothered me though- even snow days failed to keep the pit puddles away. But the school year was almost over, only one month left and then came glorious Rocky Mountain freedom, with camping, hiking, and road trips a plenty. Nothing could spoil the anticipation. Nothing could make autumn seem so far off nor speed up the first day of school in seventh grade. Nothing, except the memory of a girl.
Emily was a tomboy who had a twin brother named Joe. She had long brown hair down to her shoulders, usually tucked behind her ears and brown eyes to match; Joe had short blond hair and blue eyes. They both liked soccer and she was good at the game. Secretly, she was the driving reason for my wanting to be the best center fullback the Lowry Lancers ever had. We had the same phys ed class and all the guys seemed to like her. After all, she was cute and when it came to dodge ball, 'Em' could do more than hold her own. She took a hit in the face once, bloodied her nose. She punched the guy that did it in the mouth. Strangely, this act of violence led to my spending the summer- and the next two years of my life!- in a strange, dreamy state. The rest of that month found me mute when trying to talk to her. Indeed, when I finally asked her to sign my yearbook, she simply wrote "Have fun, Emily Hencmann". Such a simple, non-committal statement, yet nothing had ever made my head swim like that. Paying attention in other classes felt like forced labor. The bus was far too slow in getting us to school, too quick to get us home at the end of the day. My friend Kevin took home a nicely colored bruise for having made fun of Em's new braces, in front of her no less; it was the least I could do.
I spent the rest of my time in Denver wondering why I felt this way about her and trying to deal with it. The emotion was something so pure and right; it had nothing to do with "The Talk" my father gave me in the upstairs bedroom far from the tender ears of my younger brothers. No, that was a mechanical, sweaty feeling which leaves one coated in hot-blooded embarrassment. This feeling was electric, teaming with the very excitement of life. I could never get enough! She sparked it - this was the answer, THIS was the 'fuss'.
I often wonder what I would tell Emily if we met today after all these years. My heart guards against the true possibilites of such a thing; time has a marring effect on reality. I also wonder whether or not I will ever feel like that again about anyone. Truth be told, similar feelings have come and gone since then; the chemical and hormonal imbalances of any eighteen year old male can induce such a state. High school and college held many of their own adventures in love, but nothing compares to that first time, not so far.
posted by BigDan67 | 10:38 PM
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