Seventh grade. I was hopelessly in love with the cute mousey straight-haired girl that lived across the street. Her friends called her Peanut, and she was a bit bucktoothed and her ears stuck out the sides of her hair. But as I think about it, she really wasn't bucktoothed exactly. As I see her in my minds eye, as I am sure you are doing now, she was "over-toothed"...that is to say, her two front teeth were a bit out of proportion, a bit larger than the rest of her teeth, giving her a kind of Lola Bunny look that drove me absolutely wild.
The day before Valentines Day 1970, at the age of 13 years old, I told my best friend Billy that I was going to ask her to "Go Steady" the next day. First thing the next morning I went to the Student Council stand to put down my $1 and send her a Valentines Telegram, a "Love-O-Gram", in which I intended to declare my undying love and devotion to her.Anonymously, of course.
Peanut was in three of my classes that day and I watched her as she got the Love-O-Gram in Second Period. I saw her show it to her friend Vicki. Later, I watched as it was passed around to all her girl-pals at the lunch table. I was terrified beyond belief, making sure I did not watch too closely lest I be found out, and I was starting to understand what a wimp I truly was, and that in my wimpiness I had no business asking a girl to go steady just because she lived across the street and might need braces.
I am glad that I have no recollection of what was in my Love-O-Gram or I would be tempted to divulge what my Seventh Grade mind might have written.
She had no idea it was me—how could she know?-- or so I thought, because I was a real squirrel back then, carrying a trombone with me everywhere I went and forever talking about the Chess Club, model rockets and stuff. Several times that day I nearly summoned the courage to ask Peanut to go steady, but in the face of those ears and teeth I always chickened out. I could barely stand to look at her.
Living across the street from me, Peanut and I rode the same Bus #29 home every day, and we got out together every day, just the two of us. Having lacked the courage throughout the day, it was now my intention to pop the question after we got off the bus. Do or die. It was Hammer-time.
We were standing there at the curb as the bus pulled away.
She had a funny look on her face as I toed the ground and studied my shoe tops and cleared my throat.
But before I could speak I hear her say through the ringing in my ears:
"Steve, can I ask you something?'
"Sure Peanut"
"Billy Rucker told me you were going to ask me to go steady today. Is that true?"
I felt dizzy, sick, weak at the knees. The earth spun under my feet. The blood drained from my face and my heart was in my throat.
Of course I completely and categorically denied it. If Billy had not been twice my size, I'd have kicked his ass the next day.
We seldom talked after that, she and I. She lived across the street from me for another two years and moved away to Houston. But the fates brought us together in May of 1975, the night of Graduation. A random meeting on the street in front of our houses, in almost the exact spot from five years earlier when I had lacked the balls to ask her to go steady. She had come to town to see her best friend Cindy, who lived up the street, graduate. It was then I confessed to her that my intention that Valentines Day in 1970 had been to ask her to "Go Steady", and that, yes, it was me that had sent the Love-O-Gram.
"I know, and I still have it" she said and laughing, gave me a light kiss on the cheek.
She had gotten braces or else her face had caught up with her mouth. She no longer had that Lola Bunny look and her ears no longer showed through her once-thin-and-mousey, but now stylishly permed and frosted blonde hair.
That is to say… her charms were somewhat faded in my eyes.
But I'll never , ever, ever, forget that sweet little kiss.
We were standing there at the curb as the bus pulled away.
She had a funny look on her face as I toed the ground and studied my shoe tops and cleared my throat.
But before I could speak I hear her say through the ringing in my ears:
"Steve, can I ask you something?'
"Sure Peanut"
"Billy Rucker told me you were going to ask me to go steady today. Is that true?"
I felt dizzy, sick, weak at the knees. The earth spun under my feet. The blood drained from my face and my heart was in my throat.
Of course I completely and categorically denied it. If Billy had not been twice my size, I'd have kicked his ass the next day.
We seldom talked after that, she and I. She lived across the street from me for another two years and moved away to Houston. But the fates brought us together in May of 1975, the night of Graduation. A random meeting on the street in front of our houses, in almost the exact spot from five years earlier when I had lacked the balls to ask her to go steady. She had come to town to see her best friend Cindy, who lived up the street, graduate. It was then I confessed to her that my intention that Valentines Day in 1970 had been to ask her to "Go Steady", and that, yes, it was me that had sent the Love-O-Gram.
"I know, and I still have it" she said and laughing, gave me a light kiss on the cheek.
She had gotten braces or else her face had caught up with her mouth. She no longer had that Lola Bunny look and her ears no longer showed through her once-thin-and-mousey, but now stylishly permed and frosted blonde hair.
That is to say… her charms were somewhat faded in my eyes.
But I'll never , ever, ever, forget that sweet little kiss.
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