ball on the
roof. Within moments, he was up and walking back into the store only to
reappear seconds later with a ladder and one of his younger employees.
The rescue mission for the ball began as the ascent was made up the
ladder. Within moments, there were footsteps above my head. I
watched as the ball fell to the waiting throng of children below.
I expected to see the employee coming down the
ladder, but instead of an immediate descent, I heard pounding and then a
ripping sound. There were shouts from the roof followed by shouts from
the ground. As I watched from my hidden vantage point, I saw Mr. Cooper
ascending the ladder. More voices came from above my head. I cautiously
walked over to where I believed they were standing and strained to hear what
they were saying. Then it dawned on me… they had discovered the damaged
shingles. If the future was any indication, I already knew the roofing
was going to need to be replaced.
Employees began filing out of the store in
droves, apparently unable to curtail their curiosity about what was happening
on the roof. With all of the extra people milling about, I decided that the
sooner I exited the attic, the better. After briefly considering taking the
box of letters with me, I immediately thought better of it and instead returned
the box to its hiding space behind the rafters. I carefully inched the
attic door open and was bombarded with the sounds of the children playing and
the adults discussing the roof. I crept silently down the fire escape,
thankful for the distracting noises and breathed a sigh of relief as my feet
hit the ground.
I had decided on my way down to meander over to
the action to see if any resolutions had been made regarding the state of the
roof. As I approached the small group of hardware store employees, I
heard someone calling to one of the children from across the parking lot.
Instinctively, I looked in the direction of the voice and was taken aback when
I saw the boy from which it came.
It was mostly true when Branson teased that I had
no interest in boys. I really did not. Or had
not. Until that particular moment.
With the exception of Paul McGregor, my resident
stalker, very few boys had taken any romantic interest in me over the course of
my high school career. My visceral response to that had always been not
to take any interest in them either. I was quite protective of my heart
for some reason and had been from the time I was able to recognize that love
was both given and received. It was almost as if fate knew that I was
destined to have my heart broken. So although I was not unattractive and
had quite a few friends who were boys, none of them had ever actually been
worth risking my heart to approach romantically.
But here, across the parking lot, was someone who
made my heart involuntarily skip a beat. For the first time in ages, I
was not thinking about Branson. I was thinking about how in the world I
was going to meet this boy, who was now strolling toward the hardware store,
hands in his pockets, jeans low on his hips. I was frozen solid in my
snow boots, unable to move forward. My head knew what I needed to do was
walk over to the store employees to hear what they were planning for the
roof. My heart, whose voice I had spent so many years ignoring, was
screaming for me to walk towards the boy. Unable to move in either
direction, I watched as he crossed the vacant lot to where the children had
resumed their game of kickball. He called again to a girl, Melody,
perhaps his sister. The little girl turned, chocolate curls brushing her
shoulders, as if hearing him for the first time, and smiled an angelic
smile. She immediately left the game and ran toward the boy who watched
her with a mixture of love and nostalgia. He held out his hand and she
took it willingly. They turned together and headed back toward his
waiting car. In less than ten seconds, they were gone, headed
roof. Within moments, he was up and walking back into the store only to
reappear seconds later with a ladder and one of his younger employees.
The rescue mission for the ball began as the ascent was made up the
ladder. Within moments, there were footsteps above my head. I
watched as the ball fell to the waiting throng of children below.
I expected to see the employee coming down the
ladder, but instead of an immediate descent, I heard pounding and then a
ripping sound. There were shouts from the roof followed by shouts from
the ground. As I watched from my hidden vantage point, I saw Mr. Cooper
ascending the ladder. More voices came from above my head. I cautiously
walked over to where I believed they were standing and strained to hear what
they were saying. Then it dawned on me… they had discovered the damaged
shingles. If the future was any indication, I already knew the roofing
was going to need to be replaced.
Employees began filing out of the store in
droves, apparently unable to curtail their curiosity about what was happening
on the roof. With all of the extra people milling about, I decided that the
sooner I exited the attic, the better. After briefly considering taking the
box of letters with me, I immediately thought better of it and instead returned
the box to its hiding space behind the rafters. I carefully inched the
attic door open and was bombarded with the sounds of the children playing and
the adults discussing the roof. I crept silently down the fire escape,
thankful for the distracting noises and breathed a sigh of relief as my feet
hit the ground.
I had decided on my way down to meander over to
the action to see if any resolutions had been made regarding the state of the
roof. As I approached the small group of hardware store employees, I
heard someone calling to one of the children from across the parking lot.
Instinctively, I looked in the direction of the voice and was taken aback when
I saw the boy from which it came.
It was mostly true when Branson teased that I had
no interest in boys. I really did not. Or had
not. Until that particular moment.
With the exception of Paul McGregor, my resident
stalker, very few boys had taken any romantic interest in me over the course of
my high school career. My visceral response to that had always been not
to take any interest in them either. I was quite protective of my heart
for some reason and had been from the time I was able to recognize that love
was both given and received. It was almost as if fate knew that I was
destined to have my heart broken. So although I was not unattractive and
had quite a few friends who were boys, none of them had ever actually been
worth risking my heart to approach romantically.
But here, across the parking lot, was someone who
made my heart involuntarily skip a beat. For the first time in ages, I
was not thinking about Branson. I was thinking about how in the world I
was going to meet this boy, who was now strolling toward the hardware store,
hands in his pockets, jeans low on his hips. I was frozen solid in my
snow boots, unable to move forward. My head knew what I needed to do was
walk over to the store employees to hear what they were planning for the
roof. My heart, whose voice I had spent so many years ignoring, was
screaming for me to walk towards the boy. Unable to move in either
direction, I watched as he crossed the vacant lot to where the children had
resumed their game of kickball. He called again to a girl, Melody,
perhaps his sister. The little girl turned, chocolate curls brushing her
shoulders, as if hearing him for the first time, and smiled an angelic
smile. She immediately left the game and ran toward the boy who watched
her with a mixture of love and nostalgia. He held out his hand and she
took it willingly. They turned together and headed back toward his
waiting car. In less than ten seconds, they were gone, headed
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