I was walking south on Elizabeth St, at about 7AM this morning, into the wind, and I saw walking the other way a woman about my own age, with a scarf covering mouth and nose but her eyes revealed. I instantly recognized her.
We had gone to Middle School together before I had moved. She was my first real crush. Her locker was across the hall from mine-- I was 305, she was 304, the numbers alternating back and fourth down the hall-- and I'd see her everyday. Some days I'd smile, some days I tried to look worried or busy, others I avoided eye contact to make sure she knew I had other things on my mind besides her.
I noticed that she walked home from school every day. I did not. (Iqbal if I've told you this story before feel free to discard this letter). I lived many miles from the school. But one day I decided to be bold and offered to walk her home.
"Oh you live over in Masonville?"
"Yeah. Your house is right on the way to mine. You live on Begonia Lane, right?"
"Yeah. Yeah, sure let's walk home."
Her name was Jillian, and we shared a really pleasant walk, never having to grope too hard for things to say.
I took her to her mailbox, said a curt goodbye, and proceeded to walk 6 miles home arriving long after the sun had set.
The next day I stood at my locker, facing my oversized brown coat which flowed ungracefully out of it. The hairs on the back of my neck told me she had walked up. Our backs were friendlily facing each other. I held my breathe: I didn't want her to think that what happened yesterday was a big deal. I didn't say hello or even look over at her. She walked away. I fled in the other direction, only to realize I'd left my locker open. I was late for class.
Days went by. I would occasionally wave to her or smile at her from across the gymnasium. I looked for her everywhere and often found her. Finally a warm weather day came. Jillian was wearing a black cashmere (or so it seemed) turtleneck sweater. I turned around from my locker and waved at her. She smiled and waved back. The late bell rang and I dashed off for class (this time remembering to slam shut 304).
I decided that with the weather so pleasant, the friendly wave I had received, and Jillian looking so sweet today it was a perfect day to walk her home again. My nerves were on edge but I was confident.
The day drawing to a close, I walked to my locker. Ahead of me I saw her outline and the black turtleneck sweater. She turned her head to profile, then looked back, and smiled at me.
My lips formed the name. "Heather." That was Heather. She went to her locker. 306.
I turned away quickly. My heart raced. Jillian and Heather. They looked almost identical, and their lockers were next to one another. I had walked home Jillian, and then been smiling at Heather. For how long? I turned to run, but the weather had turned bad and I wanted my coat.
Approaching my locker I saw the two girls. One in a black turtleneck, the other in a purple A-line dress. They looked nothing at all alike.
Since then, in my memory they've begun to look the same again. I frankly don't know which one of the two I passed this morning.
-Robert de Saint-Loup
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