hallandoatbran

I looked for love in a lot of strange places when I was in Junior High School. My dad, given the chance, loves to regale listeners with a tale of how I was so involved in hitting on a girl at the Miss Junior Montana pageant that my sister was in that I followed her into the bathroom. (In actuality, she asked me to wait for her outside the bathroom so we could continue talking... at least, in my mind, that's what I remember.) More than once, I found myself beside a rodeo fence (which I hated) solely because there were girls there too. But it's when you're not looking that you sometimes find it.

I loved to wander the stacks in the High School library. I hated sitting in study hall, so whenever I could, I'd head over and peruse row after row of books for whatever caught my fancy. I wasn't supposed to be in there, but as long as I kept a low profile, the High School kids didn't pay me much attention.

I was an aspiring poet (and a horrible one at that... I found a bunch of my junior high school poetry and don't know how anyone could have encouraged me to keep writing) so one day I found myself in the back corner of the library going over tome after tome of dusty poetry books. I was looking at the shelves when I noticed that "Leaves of Grass" by Walt Whitman was upside down. Being nearly obsessive/compulsive, I pulled the book out and opened it. A folded piece of paper fluttered to the floor.

"Are you the new person drawn toward me? I'm tired of being alone. I'm tired of the macho jock stuff. I just want romance. Are you my romance? Or just illusion? 10-14-91"

I turned the note over and over in my hands. No, it was real! There was someone like me, a kindred soul, alone in the harsh hick-ness of a rural Montana High School, waiting to find romance! The note was only a couple of days old... and found in a Whitman book next to "Are you the New Person drawn Toward Me?" I kind of knew who Whitman was... one of the english teachers had pictures of famous authors above the chalkboard and I remember Whitman because he looked like Santa. But I needed to be cool. I checked to make sure that no one was watching, and wrote, "I am no illusion, but real flesh and blood. To seek and find is more precious than gold. I shall wait for you, next to the Leaves of Grass." I paused, as I was out of horrible poetic phrases. In my mind, the note was deep and meaningful, not trite and cliched. But what did I know? I finished it with a "Till poetry brings me back to you..." and placed the book back on the shelf, upright.

It was a few days before I got back into the High School Library again, and I ran as quickly as I could for the poetry section. The overhead florescent light had blown and the entire corner was shrouded in shadow. I scanned the shelves, found "Leaves of Grass", but it was upright, and there was no note to be found. Oh no! What if someone had found the note before she did? They might have thrown it out! I heard movement behind me, and a woman's voice. "You said you'd meet me beside the Leaves of Grass... I'm glad you came." I couldn't even see who it was, but suddenly she leaned in and kissed me. The light above us flickered to life, and I found myself lip to lip with a Senior. She saw me, realized that I was a JUNIOR HIGH KID, smacked me in the head, and took off down the row, back to her real life.

She might not have found romance that day, but she'd always give me a wink or a smile or a slight wave when we passed in the halls. No one knew but her, I and the dead poet who looked like Santa. And isn't that romance?