Edith Hill

When you're an 11-year-old boy, your brain is haywire.

Me?

No different.

I liked girls, but I was reserved. I mean, really now, let's get a baseball game going.

Friends to see.

Life was changing. My voice was changing.

Then I was told Edith Hill liked me.

What did this mean exactly?

Did she want to help me with my homework?

Did she want to hold hands with me?

Did she want to kiss me?

Edith Hill wasn't in my class. In fifth grade, if someone wasn't in your class there wasn't a lot of interaction.

Except for the cafeteria. The playground. Maybe walking to and from school.

So Edith Hill likes me.

And one beautiful June afternoon, there she was, walking toward me on the playground.

Perhaps to talk to me. Perhaps to hold my hand, to try to kiss me.

Perhaps to start a summer romance before those last few weeks of school faded away into another grammar school scrapbook.

So I did what I felt was the best decision at the time.

I ran like hell the other way.

Comments

[Karen]

I wonder what Edith Hill is doing these days. Good picture of innocence.

[Seth]

Edith must have been one outgoing girl.