More Glass Raising. My Arm is Tired.

Those times I saw [redacted] at the pool I made every effort possible to pretend I was completely and utterly unaware of his existence. I told heinous, horrible stories to my younger brother, intimating that the new boy at the pool was infected with lice, had boils on his ass and had a booger collection under his desk that could reach out and touch someone.

But it wasn't long until my brother caved, anxious as I'm sure he was for someone, ANYONE to play with besides his cootie-filled sister. And while my brother frolicked in the shallow end with his newfound friend, I spent my days at the pool floating in the deep end, sure that my cool aloofness was enough to pull that [redacted] boy inexorably towards my side of the pool where after hours, nay, DAYS of trying to win my favor I would gradually thaw my icy exterior so he could see the delicate, intelligent feminine creature I most surely was. A delicate feminine creature that wasn't shaving her legs yet, but who cares about a little leg hair, right?

And so the muggy summer weeks passed by. I no longer participated in vicious tothedeath struggles regarding the best floaty or the front seat of my mother's van. Such a display would have shown the [redacted] boy that my cool, icy exterior was just a ruse. That I was just a mere CHILD, one who would actually CARE who got to ride in the front seat or spend six hours on the lone leak-proof floaty. I was more than content to float languorously in the deep end with the occasional hour spent under a moldy blue and white umbrella, sipping my Coke and reading my very mature Nancy Drew books.

Two weeks before school started I decided that he was SO obviously in love with me. Why else would he have asked my brother why I was always so quiet? He was CONCERNED about me. Afraid that my quietness was a sign of my soon-to-come terminal illness where he would naturally visit me every day in my private hospital room. I would languish in silence, my terminal-illness pain bottled inside until he came rushing to my bedside. My aloof demeanor would crack, just for an instant, and a lonely tear would trail down my perfectly tan cheek as I stared out of the window. He would instantly realize the significance of my tear, knowing it was a declaration of love I would never be able to voice aloud. And so he would hold my hand, content that our love would last through the centuries.

All this, and he had made NO advances toward me. Perhaps I was TOO aloof, I decided.

And so the last day of pool season came the Friday before the start of sixth grade. After my mother's van had crunched away on the gravel drive I sauntered my way through the pull gate, my towel casually thrown over my shoulders and my beach bag swinging from my hand. I was going to have FUN today, I decided. I would play with my brother and the [redacted] boy ALL DAY. I would be SO FUN that the Grudzien boy would SURELY realize how infinitely awesome I was and he would want to play with ME, only ME forever and ever. He would have SO MUCH FUN that he would call me that evening and ask me to a movie. We would laugh and laugh and laugh and talk about everything from dinosaur bones to cheesy little brothers (where he would sheepishly admit that he had only befriended my brother to gain my attention, and I would giggle and shyly tell him that I had always thought he was cute, even before the retainer had begun to straighten his tangled mass of teeth).

But alas, the [redacted] boy was not at the pool that morning. I spent all day being carefree and flipping my wet hair over my shoulder while smiling endearingly at my brother, hoping he would walk in just as I was saying something ridiculously funny where he would become so immediately enamored of me that he would cannonball into the pool and spend the rest of the day flirting atrociously with me.

But four o'clock came and I could hear my mother's van meandering down the long gravel driveway. I had spent all day being cute and funny and witty and he'd NEVER SHOWN UP.

How rude.