Ill-Gotten Memories

21. Lovesick

November, 1959.

I stood in the mirror over the bathroom sink with a blade angled against my jaw, cutting away the last semblance of a beard. Mother hated facial hair on me; said it made me look "too old," even though I was already eighteen and would soon be graduating high school. She couldn't handle the fact that I wasn't her little boy anymore. But she didn't seem to mind all the man hours I put in helping her run Dad's grocery store after school. Funny where the lines were drawn.

At least it put bread on the table.

I finished shaving and got dressed. I had to wear a button-down and a neck-tie because it was picture day. Or in other words, torture. They were taking our yearbook photos and I couldn't be less enthused. I never felt handsome enough to sit in front of a camera and have my picture taken.

The girls were always cruel in some way—every year they'd try to throw stuff at me to stain my clothes, and sneer. And the guys weren't much nicer; they'd make any attempt possible to mess up my hair or crease my suit. No matter how good I looked, I ended up feeling worse about myself than before. The constant teasing, bullying, and hushed remarks was a real confidence killer.

I hated picture day. But it wasn't like I had a choice to go or not. At least I could say this was the last one I'd ever have to participate in.

Nearly ready, there was one more thing left to do and I would be done. Peering down, a hauntingly beautiful black box eyed me from the dresser. I swore the thing was looking dead at me. I picked it up and opened the casing, as I did every morning, finding a gold chain inside. My father's. He wore it everywhere he went, and now, so did I. It was the finishing touch to my morning. Carrying a piece of him with me throughout the day helped ease some of my troubles.

But not all of them.

Downstairs, mother complimented me, pinched my cheek, and left for work. It was a brief exchange. The only time I really saw her nowadays was at the store. I knew how hard she was working to keep us afloat, so I tried earnestly not to harbor any ill-will. She just wanted to keep a roof over our heads.

***

The photographer was urging me to smile. He joked that my future grandchildren wouldn't be too happy if I was the only "lumnut" in the book not smiling. I was sure he had a way to get all the boys and girls to crack one. He didn't know what kind of day I'd already had, though. Wally pushed me in the grass and some blonde—Rachel, I think—told me I looked like a "Business dwarf," prompting the others to laugh. I was able to wipe off the grass stains, but nothing could take the sting out of their words.

Still, I faked a smile. It was the fastest way to get this over with.

When recess finally came, I started looking for Barbara. I found her reading at a table outside, under the large oak tree behind our school. With bated breath, I sat down on a bench nearby to... observe.

I knew it was wrong; following her... watching her... not letting a day go by without staring at least once. It was a bad habit I'd picked up recently, but I meant well. There was no harm in studying a beautiful girl, as long as I kept my distance.

She was the sole luxury of attending this hellhole.

It would have been a peaceful break had the echo of thunder not threatened a storm on the way. Dark, opaque clouds sat low in the sky over us to warn the coming rainfall. I had a claustrophobic feeling from looking up at them; like the weight of the world was going to flatten me.

So I kept my eyes on Barbara. Focusing on her made everything else drift away, if only for a moment.

I was surprised that I was the only one staring. She'd dolled herself up real fine for picture day, and my head was spinning. A red cardigan, with buttons pinched together from one length to the next, hung off her delicate, dainty form. It looked utterly amazing on her. She was also wearing a light yellow skirt that dropped off just below the knees. Her legs were crossed, and I wondered if she even noticed the chill in the air, because surely it must have been nipping at them. They were bare, after all. And so soft looking. So tender....