HOME | DD

Description
The first time I saw her outside of school, I almost didn't recognize her. She had a happiness about her that I had never seen before. But since people don't like the first part last, I won't talk about that yet. I'll talk about the first time I saw her, ever.

***

You can always tell when someone doesn't have friends, especially in a classroom. The first day, they don't even bother searching for familiar faces coming through the door, because they know none of the faces will be familiar to them. Also, they always have to be doing something else in that lull between classes- reading, or picking at their nails, or doing homework. It's like they need a reason to take up space.

Her choice was reading "Pride and Prejudice", but it didn't seem like she was just pretending to be busy. She seemed totally engrossed, her entire body still except when she had to turn a page, as if she was hoping that if she concentrated hard enough, she could sink into the story.

As soon as the bell rang, our teacher obliged us by standing up. He was an older man, gray hair sticking out in a ring around his bald crown.

"Now, listen," he barked, shuffling over to the blackboard. "My name is Mr. McGowan." He wrote his name out. "This class is Health and Nutrition." He copied down the class name. Oh, the suspense was terrible. What would he do next?

"Now listen, you little punks," he said more loudly, glaring at the guys in the back sniffing the newly painted black nails of their girlfriends. "This is my last year until my retirement, and you are not going to ruin it for me."

Apparently finished, he squeaked into his chair and opened his newspaper.

And that was that.

***

The designated skipping spots at my school were Pike Place Market, this music store a couple blocks down, the gas station that sold cigarettes to minors, and a McDonalds's one block down. I didn't really feel like seeing anyone at school that day, so I went to the zoo.

The polar bear and penguin exhibits were filled with kids from field trips, pushing each other and sliding their Smuckers sticky fingers on the glass, so I went to one of non-exotic animals. They were animals found in any national park: deer. I always had a soft spot for them because they seemed the most innocent out of all the animals.

And there she was, in a knit red hat that covered her ears. Her blonde hair was down, instead of tucked behind her ears and choked into a bun. She was leaning on the railing, as if waiting for someone. When she heard my footsteps she turned, face radiant and rosy, eyes bright instead of dulled like they were every time she walked into Health, every time she opened her locker, every time she dropped her books and no one picked them up. I always wanted to, but I was too shy, too hesitant, and she always scooped them up before I had a chance to. The part that broke my heart was that she never expected anyone to.

She started when she saw it was me, just another person that looked through her. She ran out of the exhibit. I followed her, yelling, "Leslie! WAIT!"

Her back stiffened and she turned around to face me, stance up, arms crossed. The freckles that dotted her face seemed to rise from the red in her cheeks.

"You know my name?"
"Of course."

Leslie walked closer to me and squinted, as if trying to decipher DNA patterns for an extremely important crime scene. When she raised her hand, and I thought for a moment that she was going to hit me, but instead she just rested it on the side of my face. She traced the faded scar by my temple.

"If you tell me where you got this, I might consider letting you come with me to get a hot chocolate."

"I landed horribly from a rope swing when I was thirteen. Partly because of whiskey, and partly my own stupidity. "

"What…no damsels in distress? No sharks? No scaling burning buildings?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Well," she said coyly, "at least you're honest."

And with that she took my cold hand in her warm gloved one. I followed her. I've been following her ever since.

***

It's been thirteen years since that day. My birthday, coincidentally. That one was the best birthday I ever had, but that doesn't mean I'm not in the mood for another.

My kids, Amy and Oliver, are curled up on the couch watching Loony Tunes. Both Amy and Oliver seem to have won in the genetic lottery(all Leslie's): corn silk hair, jewel blue eyes, and clear skin. They should be grateful, since I had acne as a teenager. I wouldn't wish that on anybody.

I'm sitting with my wife, parents we've met through our kids' preschool and their teenage daughter.

I expected a sullen brat, but Cara is anything but. She's sweet, sharp, and has kept up with us all in discussing politics, literature and (especially) bashing previous teachers. Apparently her parents appreciate her maturity, as they didn't blink and eye when she poured herself a glass of wine.

She's just finished laughing at my story of Mr. McGowan(which I've told her to make her feel better about her own slacker health teacher) when Leslie, tipsy and giggly, leans over and asks, "Soooo….do you have a boyfriend right now?"

"No," Cara replies, rolling her eyes and twisting a cloth napkin between her fingers.

"Well…you don't need them, anyway," Leslie amends, temporarily sobered.

"Yeah," says Cara, deadpan.

I want to tell her. I want to tell her that someone's noticed her. That he'll tell her soon enough. That she's special, just like Leslie was and is special.

Instead, I drink my beer with a smile. After all, it won't be as great for her if it's not unexpected. But with my eyes, I try to say "Wait. Just you wait."

Description
The first time I saw her outside of school, I almost didn't recognize her. She had a happiness about her that I had never seen before. But since people don't like the first part last, I won't talk about that yet. I'll talk about the first time I saw her, ever.

***

You can always tell when someone doesn't have friends, especially in a classroom. The first day, they don't even bother searching for familiar faces coming through the door, because they know none of the faces will be familiar to them. Also, they always have to be doing something else in that lull between classes- reading, or picking at their nails, or doing homework. It's like they need a reason to take up space.

Her choice was reading "Pride and Prejudice", but it didn't seem like she was just pretending to be busy. She seemed totally engrossed, her entire body still except when she had to turn a page, as if she was hoping that if she concentrated hard enough, she could sink into the story.

As soon as the bell rang, our teacher obliged us by standing up. He was an older man, gray hair sticking out in a ring around his bald crown.

"Now, listen," he barked, shuffling over to the blackboard. "My name is Mr. McGowan." He wrote his name out. "This class is Health and Nutrition." He copied down the class name. Oh, the suspense was terrible. What would he do next?

"Now listen, you little punks," he said more loudly, glaring at the guys in the back sniffing the newly painted black nails of their girlfriends. "This is my last year until my retirement, and you are not going to ruin it for me."

Apparently finished, he squeaked into his chair and opened his newspaper.

And that was that.

***

The designated skipping spots at my school were Pike Place Market, this music store a couple blocks down, the gas station that sold cigarettes to minors, and a McDonalds's one block down. I didn't really feel like seeing anyone at school that day, so I went to the zoo.

The polar bear and penguin exhibits were filled with kids from field trips, pushing each other and sliding their Smuckers sticky fingers on the glass, so I went to one of non-exotic animals. They were animals found in any national park: deer. I always had a soft spot for them because they seemed the most innocent out of all the animals.

And there she was, in a knit red hat that covered her ears. Her blonde hair was down, instead of tucked behind her ears and choked into a bun. She was leaning on the railing, as if waiting for someone. When she heard my footsteps she turned, face radiant and rosy, eyes bright instead of dulled like they were every time she walked into Health, every time she opened her locker, every time she dropped her books and no one picked them up. I always wanted to, but I was too shy, too hesitant, and she always scooped them up before I had a chance to. The part that broke my heart was that she never expected anyone to.

She started when she saw it was me, just another person that looked through her. She ran out of the exhibit. I followed her, yelling, "Leslie! WAIT!"

Her back stiffened and she turned around to face me, stance up, arms crossed. The freckles that dotted her face seemed to rise from the red in her cheeks.

"You know my name?"
"Of course."

Leslie walked closer to me and squinted, as if trying to decipher DNA patterns for an extremely important crime scene. When she raised her hand, and I thought for a moment that she was going to hit me, but instead she just rested it on the side of my face. She traced the faded scar by my temple.

"If you tell me where you got this, I might consider letting you come with me to get a hot chocolate."

"I landed horribly from a rope swing when I was thirteen. Partly because of whiskey, and partly my own stupidity. "

"What…no damsels in distress? No sharks? No scaling burning buildings?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Well," she said coyly, "at least you're honest."

And with that she took my cold hand in her warm gloved one. I followed her. I've been following her ever since.

***

It's been thirteen years since that day. My birthday, coincidentally. That one was the best birthday I ever had, but that doesn't mean I'm not in the mood for another.

My kids, Amy and Oliver, are curled up on the couch watching Loony Tunes. Both Amy and Oliver seem to have won in the genetic lottery(all Leslie's): corn silk hair, jewel blue eyes, and clear skin. They should be grateful, since I had acne as a teenager. I wouldn't wish that on anybody.

I'm sitting with my wife, parents we've met through our kids' preschool and their teenage daughter.

I expected a sullen brat, but Cara is anything but. She's sweet, sharp, and has kept up with us all in discussing politics, literature and (especially) bashing previous teachers. Apparently her parents appreciate her maturity, as they didn't blink and eye when she poured herself a glass of wine.

She's just finished laughing at my story of Mr. McGowan(which I've told her to make her feel better about her own slacker health teacher) when Leslie, tipsy and giggly, leans over and asks, "Soooo….do you have a boyfriend right now?"

"No," Cara replies, rolling her eyes and twisting a cloth napkin between her fingers.

"Well…you don't need them, anyway," Leslie amends, temporarily sobered.

"Yeah," says Cara, deadpan.

I want to tell her. I want to tell her that someone's noticed her. That he'll tell her soon enough. That she's special, just like Leslie was and is special.

Instead, I drink my beer with a smile. After all, it won't be as great for her if it's not unexpected. But with my eyes, I try to say "Wait. Just you wait."