Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Doodoodoo... something weird. I wrote it using the picture above. I didn't actually feel this way for Ms. Emily... whom I've known for a couple of years now. This isn't a diary entry, it's a story, just so you know.
The park was filled with hugs and laughter and cheerful shouting and greeting by long-time friends and new campers. We gathered near the yellow school buses waiting eagerly to get on and drive away to a destination so remote yet so friendly, welcoming, uniting, and safe. The large group separated themselves between the buses and began boarding quickly, single file through the narrow walkway between grey, leather-like seats. Whether it was real leather or not, I couldn’t tell - but if they can afford real leather on school buses, surely they can afford new textbooks and other school materials. In any case, it was the kind of upholstery your legs get stuck to when you don’t wear long pants. Lucky for me, I chose capris.
Without too much delay, we were on our way to Myrtle Creek. There was such excitement in the packed bus; so much chattering, so much giggling. I had my camera with me and was taking pictures of everyone I could, trying to capture as much of the activity as possible. I loved scanning the faces of people I knew and people I had yet to meet.
I was talking to a few people on the seats around me when I, for some reason, felt compelled to leave the conversation by turning away to look towards the back of the bus. Amidst the campers and their ecstatic voices and elaborate hand gestures, was a girl. A beautiful, sweet, redhead with pigtails and the most amazing, caring blue eyes was looking my way. Was she looking at me? I hadn’t met her yet. I looked around to see if there was someone else she might be looking at but there was no one who seemed to be looking back in her direction; no one but me. I realized that since I looked away she probably would not be looking at me anymore, but to my surprise, she was. She smiled, and I smiled back. God, she was pretty. She looked like the nicest girl you could ever hope to meet. The freckles on her cheeks and nose, without a doubt, added to her sweetness. Her smile came easily and her eyes were bright. Her deep-red hair contrasted with her smooth, pale skin, although somehow the two complimented each other so nicely. Perhaps it was the red blushing of her cheeks.
I broke the deafening, smiling stare, which was as loud as it was inaudible, by bringing my digital camera to my face and taking a picture of her. I got it just in time, for the friends around her started talking to her once more and she turned away. The camper sounds turned back to their normal audio level and I faced the front of the bus again. I smiled, thinking about her. I decided I wanted to see her face again but when I looked back, too many heads and bodies blocked my view. But I had that picture. Thank goodness for digital cameras, I thought, as I reviewed the photo of her. I decided I needed to get to know her. I needed to know who she was, what she was all about, what she likes, what she hates, what she loves, what she wants, what she does, where she wants to go, what she wants to be, wants to see, and really find out how she... is she. I’ve never wanted to get to know someone so bad in my life, never mind meet them! I couldn’t wait until we got to camp.
Soon after, I began analysing the situation.
I’m a girl, and she’s a girl, yet I seem to be so interested in her. I’m outrageously intrigued to the point of running up to her to ask her... ask her what? How she’s doing? What her name is? Where she’s from? These questions are so microscopic and superficial compared to the depth of my desire to know her. I don’t know her name and she doesn’t know mine. Oh, I wonder what her name is. How I would love to know what her name is. Julia. Elizabeth. Catherine. Belle. Melissa.
I wish I wasn’t so shy. I just want to talk to her, but I can barely hear my friend next to me speak and if I want a real conversation, I’ll have to wait. Why am I so eager to know her? Why do I feel so flustered? She’s just a girl. She’s probably a very nice girl, but I’m sure there are other nice girls right here as well! Why her? What made her stand out? What makes her special? Why was she looking at me? With all these cute boys around... not that I’d... I wonder if she feels like this about me.
What am I really feeling now anyway? I’m probably getting overexcited about something insignificant. She probably won’t even like me. Look at me. I’m not as good looking as she is. Nowhere near, in fact. Every facial feature is exactly how it should be on her– eyes not too far apart, nose not too big, lips not too thick or thin. Her skin is so flawless and smooth-looking; I would love to feel it. Her freckled cheeks and nose, her long neck, her collar bone...
And then it came to me: She wasn’t just a girl. She was something special. Something happened in that moment and I need to find out what that was. If it means stepping out of my comfort zone, so be it. If it means going out of my way for her, so be it. If it means putting my presumed heterosexuality on the limb, so be it.
I’ve only seen her face for a moment, but it’s clear to me, even if I don’t know why or how, but I’ve got to follow my gut on this one; I now know what I want and what I want... is her.
The only thing is, will she want me too?