I was probably age 13 when I had a crush on Jane Darby. That was the year we spent 7th grade at the old high school. Janie sat immediately in front of me in one of our classes, in those old desks that were attached one in front of the other. You remember, the ones that actually had ink wells built into them.
Anyway, I remember sitting in class, staring at Janie's golden hair, and I found that if I leaned forward, as though adjusting my seat, I could sometimes catch a whiff of it. And it would set my heart a twitter.
One day, something remarkable happened. Janie was wearing a sleeveless blouse, and her left bra strap suddenly fell into view. Now, you must realize that this happened at a time not long after I first made the astonishing discovery that the little girls I had grown up with had somehow miraculously grown boobs.
Anyway, I stared at Janie's bra strap for a while, probably lost in some erotic daydream, then suddenly I was inspired. With pen in hand, I leaned forward and signed my name on her bra strap. This brazen act resulted in shrieks and giggles from Janie and the other girls, and for a short time I was something of a hero among the boys.
But this, I think, was the high point of our relationship, for I don't think Janie ever came to feel anything special for me, not surprising since I was such a shy, insecure little pipsqueak. Nevertheless, I continued to try to win her heart. Finally, however, for whatever reason, I gave up and moved on.
But I never forgot Janie. Five years later we graduated and went our separate ways, and it was 15 years later that I saw her again. It was at our 15th class reunion. I remember driving up and parking not far from Richard Lewis' home the night before our reunion party. Richard was hosting one of his wonderful and generous receptions.
Anyway, I parked, and another car immediately pulled up and parked behind me. It was Janie. When she stepped out, I was so happy to see her and greeted her warmly. I remember thinking she was still quite attractive, but something about her was sadly different. The young girl that I remembered so full of life was gone. She seemed weary, as though she bore a great weight on her shoulders, and there was a definite sadness about her.
As we neared Richard's front door, I was babbling away and I told her that I was certain, when she grew old, that she would look just like her mother, who was quite attractive for her age. But Janie hardly responded to my words, and her lack of reaction led me to believe that I had somehow offended her. I felt bad about it.
But I know now that she was not offended. I know now that she was simply depressed, in full knowledge of the sad fact that she would never grow old to look like her mother, that there was a ticking time bomb in her head that could take her at any time. And it did take her, less than a week later.
Janie's death left me with a sad sense of loss, for I somehow enjoyed the world a little more just knowing that she was somewhere in it. And all these years later there are things I wish I could tell her. I wish I could tell her how fondly I remember her smile and her laughter. And I wish I could tell her how pretty I thought she was. But most of all I wish I could tell her that I will never forget her, that there's a tiny place in my heart where she will live forever.
Terry Hodges