When I was in 7th grade I was smitten by the cute girl who sat in the desk next to me in Home Room. Though it was 40-some years ago, I remember every single detail of the day that the girl seemed to take half an interest in me. She was pretty and smart and popular and I was a new kid in a new town and school.
I remember what the classroom looked like, how it smelled, where my desk was.
I remember our teacher was taking attendance and that the girl looked down at my feet and asked me: “Do you know you’re wearing one black sock and one blue sock?”
I do not remember how I reacted to learning that I was poorly dressed. Perhaps some experiences are so traumatic that the mind knows to erase them.
I had a newspaper route and I scraped together money to buy that girl a necklace.
This morning, 40 years after I gave the pretty, smart, popular girl the necklace, I saw that she’d gone to work without taking the bracelets I’ve bought for her more recently, so I took a photograph that’s got me thinking about the passage of time.
As an aside, you might also like to know that today I’m wearing socks that match.
