Husband Material

Carter

So now you all know the truth: I have only been on one date in my twenty two years of life.

But, you say, Joanna, didn't you say all that stuff about how all you think about is marriage and how to get a husband? That was not a lie. That has always been my end goal. However, getting to that point is a lot harder than it seems. See, I've been told "if God wills it, he'll send the right man your way" or "if you work on your spiritual life, all the good Christian men will flock to you". But this is a myth professed from a pulpit. All I've been doing is work on my spiritual life, and trust me, the men are not "flocking".

I guess I can't blame it all on God's plan taking too long. I've never actually actively pursued a relationship. I don't think I've ever done anything that could be considered flirty. Nor do I screech out my mating call to let everyone know I'm on the prowl. The truth is, I'm actually terrified of being the one to initiate a conversation with a man. I basically hope that they notice me and seek me out. So far, that plan hasn't worked very well.

There was only one time where I tried to get the ball rolling myself. And it was one of the most scarring experiences of my life.

Imagine, eight year old Joanna on picture day. She is basically a ragamuffin: her chestnut hair is knotted and tangled. She probably has some edible substance on her chubby cheeks and her two front teeth are missing. Even at eight, she is long and lanky, something she will never grow in to. She most likely wearing her favourite Barbie t-shirt, which is coincidentally the one her mother is constantly trying to get rid of (probably because it is stained by spaghetti sauce and is getting too small). She is waiting in line to sit for her photo. Suddenly, he emerges from behind the photographer.

Carter Wilson. He is so cool. His top button on his dress shirt is undone and there can be seen a fine gold chain hanging from his neck. His black hair is tousled ever so slightly, and his dimples are visible in his freckled cheeks as he smiles cockily at his friends. Eight year old Joanna is staring so intensely in wonder at Carter that she misses hearing her name get called for the next picture. She also misses when Carter laughs with his friends about what a weirdo that Joanna kid is. All she hears is his beautiful laugh and the way he throws his head back, and his hair shakes around, catching the light.

Callie Grausam hits her shoulder, hard, which wakes Joanna from her day dream finally. She dazedly hands her picture order form to the photographer and steps up unto the stool. He says "cheese!" in a heavy Australian accent, and Joanna gives him her toothiest grin (a month later, she would re-take this photo after her mother assessed that her kid looked deranged). Just as she was leaving the photo room, she feels a tap on her shoulder. It's her knight in shining armour.

"I think you dropped this?" Carter asks, holding out her silver charm bracelet, which her and Mia just got the week before as Sunday School prizes.

"Thank you, thank you!" young Joanna gushed, taking it back. Their hands brushed, and she would think about that moment for a long time.

Back in Mrs. Harvey's grade three classroom, a young Joanna is sitting at her desk, taking copious notes on the lesson. Or rather, was writing out her name with Carter's last name and doodling hearts in her glittery butterfly notebook. He only sat two desks in front of her own. She kept staring at the back of his neck, wondering if he was thinking about her too. And then, he looked back at her: their eyes met and it was magic. He smiled, and her heart melted. Wedding bells began to ring in Joanna's head.

In reality, Carter had glanced back at his friend, Andrew, and had smiled when he saw sticking two pencils up his nostrils. But of course, young Joanna was oblivious. In a moment of, well let's just call it insanity, Joanna did what every love-crazed eight year old has done. She wrote the typical "check yes or no" note. She began passing it up the line of desks. Somehow though, it completely missed Carter and fell right into Callie Grausam's hands. Callie had just opened it at the precise moment that Mrs. Harvey decided to turn around from the blackboard.

"Passing notes in class are we, Callie?" Mrs. Harvey demanded.

"It wasn't me!" Callie whined, "I swear!"

"I'm sure. If it isn't I'm sure you'll have no problem sharing the contents of that note with the rest of the class Miss. Grausam." Mrs. Harvey declared impatiently, smiling evilly. Or at least, that's how young Joanna interpreted it. Seriously, any teacher who uses this line is pure evil.

Another person that is pure evil is Callie Grausam. Let me tell you, she had no problem sharing the contents of that note. She stood up, cleared her throat, and began a dramatic reading of young Joanna's note.

"Dearest Carter, I think you're really cute. I think about you ALL the time. We should get married when we're older. I love you. Do you love me? Check yes or no." Callie finished it off with kissy noises. Then, she sat down with a smile liken to a cat who had just caught a mouse. Proud and eager to cause more pain. She didn't need to do anything else though: the rest of the class caused the rest of the damage. They promptly caught on to the trend of sending kissy noises my way, shouting "ew, not Joanna" and "like Carter would go for her", and laughing uncontrollably. Young me had already burst into tears and buried her face into her folded arms on her desk. Briefly, she had looked up to see Carter's reaction. His face was red, from the embarrassment of having a girl like me like him. He soon recovered though, laughing it off as something hilarious.

And where was my best friend Mia in all this, you ask? Surely, she would defend me. She was at home, doing her times tables in her pyjamas. She had always been homeschooled. And for the rest of the year I would join her to avoid the teasing that resulted from that one incident. When grade four arrived, I would retake my place in the public school system. Callie had been forced to apologize, and we actually became semi-friends. She made sure that if anyone brought up the note incident that the subject would be quickly shot down. I think it was partly so that she would avoid getting in trouble again.

And what about my great love, Carter? He never met my eyes again. We actually avoided each other at all costs. I had gotten over my crush the moment I saw him laughing with his friends about it. Even though I got over him, I never really got over the fact that I had been rejected. That there was no consideration for even a second. It was just humiliating rejection. I could hardly handle that at eight, when one is as resilient as they could ever be. Would I be able to handle that now?