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Authors: Sarah Solmonson
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way home from work with some big family news. “You won’t believe this. Mike has been having an affair!” Apparently, Angela’s neighbors had busted him bringing a woman back to their house. Angela did some snooping and found receipts proving one of Mike’s business trips was actually a romantic weekend with his girlfriend to Mexico. “He is such an asshole. No one ever liked him,” Stephanie said. I opened my mouth to argue, but I stopped myself.
“I mean, I know he was nice to you or whatever after David died. But he was a jerk to everyone else.”
I stopped at Target that afternoon and bought Angela a bag of chocolate candies and a card. But even as I filled out that card, even though what Mike did was wrong, even though I supported Angela completely, I have never forgotten how Mike, the asshole, was the first person to make me feel better.
CHAPTER TEN
In eighth grade homeroom I sat behind a boy named Cole. We had been friendly throughout elementary school, so I was surprised when I felt my face heat up when he asked me how my summer had been. His eyes, the way he turned his head when he smiled – how hadn’t I noticed these things before? I was startled by my crush but didn’t think much of it because there was, in my mind, no way Cole would see me as anything but a friend. I am the girl that guys are quick to be friends with while they chase after the pretty girls who can walk in heels without tripping.
Cole and I were talking one morning, joking around before the bell rang. When I went to open my mouth to speak a spit bubble of epic proportions formed between my lips. It was as big as if I had intentionally blown a bubble with gum, and when it popped a little fleck of spit landed on his hand.
Just as I was contemplating crawling under my desk to die from embarrassment, Cole burst out laughing. “That was awesome!”
Soon afterward, Cole started to pass me notes. He would try to color on my hands with his pens. He would catch my shoe under the desk and try to slip it off of my foot. There was always a reason to playfully bump into me. Every bit of contact was exciting, sending tingles down my neck. To my knowledge I had never been flirted with before, not until that spit bubble explosion.
The way my parents met is my kind of fairy tale. My Mom was walking down the hallway at work when she tripped. (Likely over her own two feet, knowing her.) She spilled coffee all over and sent a stack of papers flying. “I looked up after making a complete idiot of myself and there was the most handsome man I had ever seen, laughing at me. He helped me pick up the mess. Of course he was nice and handsome!” Mom would recall, shaking her head. “That was all it took, really. You know the rest.”
Their story has convinced me that a woman who can be herself under any circumstance – spit bubbles and all – is sexier than a woman pretending she is a polished, perfect human being.
There are many debates on the necessity of feeling “a spark” when meeting someone for the first time. Personally, I don’t think a spark has to happen instantly. You can find yourself warming up to love the way an ember can be nurtured into a flame. If we can just exist in our ordinary days and lives we become vulnerable and unassuming with no walls of insecurities or doubts to push away the potential of each moment. I believe that from those honest moments come the best love stories.
There are few things I am as certain of in my life as my parents’ love for one another. Then I came along, because they loved each other enough to share their hearts with a child. I have never doubted that they were meant for each other, and I have never questioned their love for me. It sounds so obvious, but so many children never experience a home with love and affection and kisses before bedtime. I was one of the lucky ones.
That being said… I don’t think my Mom had any clue what she was getting into when she married David Norton,
“I mean, I know he was nice to you or whatever after David died. But he was a jerk to everyone else.”
I stopped at Target that afternoon and bought Angela a bag of chocolate candies and a card. But even as I filled out that card, even though what Mike did was wrong, even though I supported Angela completely, I have never forgotten how Mike, the asshole, was the first person to make me feel better.
CHAPTER TEN
In eighth grade homeroom I sat behind a boy named Cole. We had been friendly throughout elementary school, so I was surprised when I felt my face heat up when he asked me how my summer had been. His eyes, the way he turned his head when he smiled – how hadn’t I noticed these things before? I was startled by my crush but didn’t think much of it because there was, in my mind, no way Cole would see me as anything but a friend. I am the girl that guys are quick to be friends with while they chase after the pretty girls who can walk in heels without tripping.
Cole and I were talking one morning, joking around before the bell rang. When I went to open my mouth to speak a spit bubble of epic proportions formed between my lips. It was as big as if I had intentionally blown a bubble with gum, and when it popped a little fleck of spit landed on his hand.
Just as I was contemplating crawling under my desk to die from embarrassment, Cole burst out laughing. “That was awesome!”
Soon afterward, Cole started to pass me notes. He would try to color on my hands with his pens. He would catch my shoe under the desk and try to slip it off of my foot. There was always a reason to playfully bump into me. Every bit of contact was exciting, sending tingles down my neck. To my knowledge I had never been flirted with before, not until that spit bubble explosion.
The way my parents met is my kind of fairy tale. My Mom was walking down the hallway at work when she tripped. (Likely over her own two feet, knowing her.) She spilled coffee all over and sent a stack of papers flying. “I looked up after making a complete idiot of myself and there was the most handsome man I had ever seen, laughing at me. He helped me pick up the mess. Of course he was nice and handsome!” Mom would recall, shaking her head. “That was all it took, really. You know the rest.”
Their story has convinced me that a woman who can be herself under any circumstance – spit bubbles and all – is sexier than a woman pretending she is a polished, perfect human being.
There are many debates on the necessity of feeling “a spark” when meeting someone for the first time. Personally, I don’t think a spark has to happen instantly. You can find yourself warming up to love the way an ember can be nurtured into a flame. If we can just exist in our ordinary days and lives we become vulnerable and unassuming with no walls of insecurities or doubts to push away the potential of each moment. I believe that from those honest moments come the best love stories.
There are few things I am as certain of in my life as my parents’ love for one another. Then I came along, because they loved each other enough to share their hearts with a child. I have never doubted that they were meant for each other, and I have never questioned their love for me. It sounds so obvious, but so many children never experience a home with love and affection and kisses before bedtime. I was one of the lucky ones.
That being said… I don’t think my Mom had any clue what she was getting into when she married David Norton,
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