Route 66

2 Paul

Paul Farnsworth didn't look or act like the other boys. While the others were discussing baseball players Paul kept to himself and you'd never catch him without a book, even at recess. He was scrawny and wore thick horn rimmed glasses, and on the playground the only thing he'd interact with was himself and his books.

One day I walked over to him as he was sitting with his back up against the wall engrossed in a text book covering some kind of mathematical sequence. I sat down next to him and asked what he was reading. He couldn't believe that anyone, a girl no less, would take any interest in him at all. I hardly understood anything he was saying but was amazed at how many scientific facts he knew and truly fascinated with the scope and depth of his knowledge.

I learned that Paul only lived a couple blocks down from me and we started to hang out. Before long we became fast friends. Annette, Paul and I were like three peas in a pod. We did everything together.

In ninth grade the three of us decided to go hiking up into the bluffs. Paul was busy identifying a very large beetle and was going on and on about its eating habits and taxonomy but this was one of those days where I just didn't feel like listening. Annette appeared interested for once and was really eating up his "lecture".

I decided to sneak away and forge ahead across a small wooden bridge between the bluffs that I'd never seen before. As I began to cross, the bridge suddenly collapsed beneath me, leaving me clinging to a splintered plank and screaming in sheer terror for my life.

Paul reached me just in time, his feet securing against a sturdy root as he seized my wrists, my terrified gaze locked onto him.

"Don't let me go!!!"

"You'll be alright," he said with a contrived calm. But I could tell he was scared.

A moment later I heard Annette's frantic voice yell, "Hang on!"

Paul nodded to her and said, "See the knapsack I dropped? There's some rope in there. Tie it around that tree and lower it down."

Paul's grip weakened as the end of the rope came down to my level. I reached up quickly and caught hold of it. He clasped his hands together, encouraging me to dig my heel into his palms, and as soon as I did, found it much easier to pull myself up. With Annette's support I finally reached the top and we quickly grabbed Paul's legs and pulled him to safety.

I never forgot the day Paul Farnsworth saved my life.

Annette and I had a special bond. Dad didn't see eye to eye with her on many things yet he allowed me to spend as much time with her as I desired. He could sense that Annette really cared for me, much like a sister. She was almost like an older sister in demeanor even though we were practically the same age. Dad knew that when he wasn't around to look out for me, Annette was there.

I envied her charisma and confidence, the way she effortlessly captivated everyone around her, embracing a wild side that made her the life of the party—everything I desperately wished I could be.

But what would I do without her? I found it very difficult to start even the simplest conversation with anyone else but with Annette I shared my innermost fears, desires, and dreams without fear of being judged or ridiculed and often wondered why someone like her would care about me. But somehow I knew, deep down, that in a strange way she needed me as much as I needed her.

Boys described me as "cute" which became tiresome in my late teens. I looked young for my age and always wore my hair short to try and give me an older appearance. I longed to have Annette's classic beauty. She loved to tease and oftentimes called me Judy because I suppose I'd be a dead ringer for Judy Garland if my hair was made up like Dorothy Gale from The Wizard of Oz.

Up through my teen years I often wondered if Dad and Annette had a secret pact because whenever I really liked a boy and made efforts to get him to notice me Annette would sabotage any chance I would have to date him. I wouldn't talk to her for a couple days swearing our friendship was over but could never stay angry at her for long and besides, she would never date a boy if she knew I was interested in him. Whenever I confronted her as to why she would do such a thing I'd always get the same answer with a wink and a smile.

"He's not good enough for you, trust me on this one."

Annette, however, always seemed to be dating someone but it usually didn't last for more than a couple months at a time before she grew tired of him and moved on to another one. However, her boyfriend never got in the way of spending time with me. We would always head out as a tight-knit group—Annette with her boyfriend, Paul beside me, and the rest of our friends strategically placed around us—whether we were at malt shops, movies, or clothing stores.

Annette smoked and loved alcohol (a secret she kept from her parents). She offered me some but was never pushy. As much as I loved Annette I never touched the stuff. Dad had made it a point to instill in me that alcohol was of the devil and that if God had wanted us to smoke, He would have attached a chimney to our heads.

Instead, I spent hours and hours tirelessly practicing on our upright piano. Why was I so obsessed? I wanted to prove to myself that I could do something that Annette...could not.