Change painted the air with brush strokes so insubstantial I didn’t even see it coming. It sped toward me on a humming bird’s blurry wings, out of focus and out of reach. I couldn’t see it, but I felt its manifestations during those final hot iridescent days of August. Perhaps it was the alteration in the songs sung by crickets, or maybe it was the poignant stories told by long summer grasses whose green slender stems were now brown and drooped with heavy seedpods.
Sometimes my skin prickled with vibrations that seemed to be trying to reveal a secret. But it was a secret I couldn’t yet grasp. As the days progressed I would find myself stopping in mid-step to listen to the world around me breathe. I’d stand still, perhaps hoping that someone would run up and whisper a revelation into my ears.
I was twelve going on thirteen and I still rode my bike through shimmering mirages created by heat waves that quivered over baked asphalt roads, then was disappointed when no water splashed beneath my tires. I still ran through sprinklers and watched as the sun fashioned glittering diamonds out of the water droplets. More often than not my hands were sticky from the sap of the trees I still climbed pretending to be Tarzan.
All summer – time had oozed like the soft tacky tar we pulled from the cracks in the roads. But now? Now it was as if someone had boosted the world’s tempo and each day was a tiny bit faster than the last.
School was starting in a week and I knew that the season was withering behind me like the shed skin of a garter snake. Word that the class lists had been posted whizzed around the neighbourhood and suddenly everyone who was making the transition to high school could be found clustered in groups and acting as if we had all become infused with a maturity serum.
We talked about clothes (which I had no interest in). Makeup (which I had zero knowledge about). And hair (which to me was as if they wanted to talk about laundry). But I made the appropriate noises and imitated others as we chattered away. I was excited about the new school, and a little scared.
“I sure hope I don’t get Mr. Ames,” Annette intoned. Her lips pulled tight. A perfect imitation of her mother. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “My brother says that he’s a Statistician.”
Everyone looked shocked and heads popped up out of our circle looking for eavesdroppers. I acted as shocked as everyone else even though I had no idea what a Statistician was, but it sounded horrifying. I realized that I had to mine my older brothers for information about this whole high school business.
The first few weeks of school went by in a blur of exhilaration. It was a new place inhabited by new teachers, and some new students. The buses were only available to the primary schools but I eagerly took my place amongst the grown-up students who all had to walk to school. It felt like freedom.
I did not end up with the Statistician for a homeroom teacher. But homeroom turned out to be “no big deal.” All it really meant was a place we had to show up to first thing in the morning and then right after lunch so we could be accounted for. It was setup in rows and we sat in alphabetical order. Andrew, a tall boy with dark hair and blue eyes, sat ahead of me. I ignored him like I did every other creature of that ilk. Who had time for boys? I had to put up with four of them at home and I had no intention of spending any of my precious time on a strange one.
But Andrew was persistent. He kept smiling at me, and then he started to pass me notes. Notes,that I treated as if they were infected with the bubonic plague, then let fall on the floor unread. One day, Patty, the girl who sat directly across from me, handed me a note. “Do you want to eat lunch with me?” signed Andrew.
Thus began my first romance.
Andrew insisted on walking me home every day, a practice which mortified me. I was worried that my mother would find out that I had a B.O.Y.F.R.I.E.N.D. She’d swoon with delight, most especially because he was tall, dark, and handsome. The worst cliché in the world.
Andrew insisted on carrying my books for me. That irritated me to no end. But it was better than having no books at all because then he demanded we hold hands. The thought of his warm, clammy palm in mine had me squirming in my shoes. One day into the relationship and I knew that I wasn’t cut out to be girlfriend material. But how to end it? I didn’t even know how it had begun.
Two weeks later, on the last Saturday of September, while the sun shone in a bright cloudless brilliant sky we decided to ride our bikes out of town to the highway and back. My mother was all in a flutter having discovered my dismal secret. She packed us a light lunch and waved enthusiastically as we hopped on our bikes and began peddling to the ends of the earth. The trip was a testament to how excited she was about my foray into the uncharted waters of girlie-ness. Had I suggested taking this trip with a girlfriend she probably would have gone into apoplectic seizures. After all, the highway turn-off was a whole three kilometers out of town.
Half way to the junction Andrew suggested we stop and rest on a rocky outcrop up the side of a small hill. The dry grass crunched under our feet and hands as we scrambled up the side of the bluff. We sat with our backs to a big pine tree and basked in the warmth of the Indian Summer day. Knowing that at any time the chill of winter could swoop down and freeze-lock the landscape I savoured the glorious sunshine. That was when Andrew struck.
He leaned over, smiled and then kissed me. Kissed me right on the lips. He tasted like a ham sandwich and bad breath. His wet, warm lips slobbered all over mine. I was horrified. Repulsed. Revolted.
I scrambled over the edge of the embankment and slithered down the rocky surface as its jagged edges cut my hands and knees. Andrew called out as I jumped on my bike and headed home. “Stay away from me,” were my parting words.
Then there it was. The secret change. Suddenly I knew that I was standing on the precipice of adulthood. And I didn’t like it.
“That was a fast trip,” Mom said. “Where’s Andrew?”
“We broke up,” I said then headed for my bedroom. I leaned against the door and replayed the afternoon’s drama in my mind. Then I smiled. It was over. I had walked through fire and had made it out the other side. Ah, how sweet was this new found freedom.
Image Credit
“tomboy in pink” by stupidmommy. www.flickr.com. Some rights reserved.
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