When I was in the fourth grade I had a huge crush on a popular boy in my class who already had a girlfriend.
We were nine.
Still, his girlfriend's name was Rose. She was a lot taller than me, and in a different class. She came by my table at lunch one day so she could talk to some of the other girls. I sat with some girly girls who all talked about boys and clothes and what movies they were going to see. My mom wouldn't let me watch half of the stuff they always talked about. And she still laid out my clothes sometimes.
"Hey Rose, aren't you going to say Hi to Danny?" "Yeah, isn't he your boyfriend?" Rose ran one hand through her perfectly poufy hair and let out an upward breath so that her equally poufy bangs danced in the air before coming to rest, perfectly, yet again, against her forehead.
"He IS my boyfriend," Rose said, smiling. "I'll say Hi later, after school." And she walked off, back to her own class's cafeteria table.
Ooooh, I hated her so much right then. She had two little moles on the side of her face, and I stared at them from across the room and imagined burning them off, and what she would look like without them. I stared at Danny, too. He was drinking two cartons of milk and belching the ABC's with his buddies to see how far they could go without almost puking.
When the lunch lady waved my table toward the clean-up station, I made sure I took an extra long time throwing my paper bag lunch away. I threw away the plastic fork, the empty jello cup, the wrapper from my fudge round, and the sandwich bag, all separately. By the time I was finished, the boys would end up right behind me in the line. I stood close to Danny and listened to his voice. I watched the way his mouth crinkled in the corners of his smiles. I watched his eyes light up at funny jokes, all warm and brown.
By the end of the year, Danny was my imaginary boyfriend. I hated Rose, but she wasn't around that much. Our class was together all the time, and Rose wasn't in it. I reasoned with myself that I was actually with Danny for a significantly longer time than Rose EVER was. Even if she knew him from before, or from church or something. And Danny was my imaginary boyfriend. When my mom took me grocery shopping with her, I walked around with my right hand in a fist. I did this because I was holding Danny's hand. When we sat down for story time at the end of the day, sometimes, I pictured his arm around me, and I tilted my head to the side. It was resting on his shoulder.
"Mom, Dad, I want to go to a magnet school." It was May, and Danny had raised his hand when Ms. Moore asked us if anyone wanted a Magnet School packet so they could be put in the lottery for admissions.
"I want to go here." I handed over the packet I'd picked up thirty seconds after Danny raised his hand.
But I didn't go to magnet school. I don't really remember why. I think it was too far away, or maybe the reasons I gave weren't convincing. I didn't care about going to a magnet school anymore than I cared about who won the mid-term elections. I cared about Danny. He was the first person I'd ever loved.
A song came out the next year, when I was in fifth grade. It was called Miss You, and I can't remember who sang it. But the chorus repeated "Like the deserts miss the rain," over and over. Sometimes at night, when I was laying in bed, listening to my clock radio I'd gotten for my eighth birthday, I would stick my hands in the air, above me, and stretch them out toward the popcorn ceiling. It's actually kinda funny when I think about it now, but I'd stick them up so they looked like the were touching the ceiling, and I'd sing the song with my radio and think of Danny. And I pretended I could push the ceiling away, and he'd be right there, waiting for me somewhere. Like if I could just conquer something, whatever it was, I could have him the way I wanted him.
Sometimes to this day, I'm like that. Like I just need to get past something, and everything I want will be staring me in the face again.
We were nine.
Still, his girlfriend's name was Rose. She was a lot taller than me, and in a different class. She came by my table at lunch one day so she could talk to some of the other girls. I sat with some girly girls who all talked about boys and clothes and what movies they were going to see. My mom wouldn't let me watch half of the stuff they always talked about. And she still laid out my clothes sometimes.
"Hey Rose, aren't you going to say Hi to Danny?" "Yeah, isn't he your boyfriend?" Rose ran one hand through her perfectly poufy hair and let out an upward breath so that her equally poufy bangs danced in the air before coming to rest, perfectly, yet again, against her forehead.
"He IS my boyfriend," Rose said, smiling. "I'll say Hi later, after school." And she walked off, back to her own class's cafeteria table.
Ooooh, I hated her so much right then. She had two little moles on the side of her face, and I stared at them from across the room and imagined burning them off, and what she would look like without them. I stared at Danny, too. He was drinking two cartons of milk and belching the ABC's with his buddies to see how far they could go without almost puking.
When the lunch lady waved my table toward the clean-up station, I made sure I took an extra long time throwing my paper bag lunch away. I threw away the plastic fork, the empty jello cup, the wrapper from my fudge round, and the sandwich bag, all separately. By the time I was finished, the boys would end up right behind me in the line. I stood close to Danny and listened to his voice. I watched the way his mouth crinkled in the corners of his smiles. I watched his eyes light up at funny jokes, all warm and brown.
By the end of the year, Danny was my imaginary boyfriend. I hated Rose, but she wasn't around that much. Our class was together all the time, and Rose wasn't in it. I reasoned with myself that I was actually with Danny for a significantly longer time than Rose EVER was. Even if she knew him from before, or from church or something. And Danny was my imaginary boyfriend. When my mom took me grocery shopping with her, I walked around with my right hand in a fist. I did this because I was holding Danny's hand. When we sat down for story time at the end of the day, sometimes, I pictured his arm around me, and I tilted my head to the side. It was resting on his shoulder.
"Mom, Dad, I want to go to a magnet school." It was May, and Danny had raised his hand when Ms. Moore asked us if anyone wanted a Magnet School packet so they could be put in the lottery for admissions.
"I want to go here." I handed over the packet I'd picked up thirty seconds after Danny raised his hand.
But I didn't go to magnet school. I don't really remember why. I think it was too far away, or maybe the reasons I gave weren't convincing. I didn't care about going to a magnet school anymore than I cared about who won the mid-term elections. I cared about Danny. He was the first person I'd ever loved.
A song came out the next year, when I was in fifth grade. It was called Miss You, and I can't remember who sang it. But the chorus repeated "Like the deserts miss the rain," over and over. Sometimes at night, when I was laying in bed, listening to my clock radio I'd gotten for my eighth birthday, I would stick my hands in the air, above me, and stretch them out toward the popcorn ceiling. It's actually kinda funny when I think about it now, but I'd stick them up so they looked like the were touching the ceiling, and I'd sing the song with my radio and think of Danny. And I pretended I could push the ceiling away, and he'd be right there, waiting for me somewhere. Like if I could just conquer something, whatever it was, I could have him the way I wanted him.
Sometimes to this day, I'm like that. Like I just need to get past something, and everything I want will be staring me in the face again.
"Come back." I would plead to my bedroom ceiling. "Come back. Oh, please, come back."
3 comments:
The song is by Everything But The Girl... Things will be ok J. <3
actually. I did some looking and Sade did the original before Everything But the Girl techno-ed it up.
favorite.
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