Like a Princess
Tall firs reach toward summerās sapphire sky. Something moves, and I sense someone near. Turning toward the cooler, shadowed drive, I whirl back again with an āAha!ā to catch his wide-eyed stare and surprised open mouth. Almost fifty years ago, I metāwell, letās call him Johnny.
Weād moved to the forested lot next to Grandmaās house, far from our trolley-stop home in Milwaukie. I was four, he was five. Closing my eyes on this hot August day, I can still smell hot dirt and fir sap, feel a cool breeze sneak past at the edge of the heat. I see sparkly blue eyes and blond cropped hair sticking up in the back where he has a cowlick. My summer of love.
Isnāt that silly? How can a four year old think sheās in love? Where does a child get such an idea? Iāll tell you: Mama reads fairy tales to me. Princesses always fall in love with handsome princes. My mama married the most handsome man in the world. When I tell her Iām going to marry Daddy when I grow up, she smiles and gently strokes my hair. āNo, little one, you must find your own handsome prince.ā
So, Johnny. He is the man of my dreams. We become fast friends. By weekās end, he shows me the hiding place beneath the weeping willow and introduces me to his seven siblings. We play with his dog. I learn where scotch broom for stamping down into forts is best. We pick juicy, ripe blackberries, coming home with stained fingers, purple mouths, and darn few berries in the bottom of a tin can for our mothers. We are inseparable for a year. He teaches me to fish in mud puddles with a safety pin, a stick, and a piece of string. We search for agates on our gravel road. With spit, Johnny makes the dullest rock shine like a gem.
On his first day of first grade, Johnny waves from the end of the gravel road, then again from far across the scotch broom field. I have to stay home. My heart is hurting. I ask Mama what time it is all through the day.
When Johnny trudges up the hill in the hot afternoon sun, little dust clouds puffing from beneath his sneakers, I run down the road to greet him. āHow was school? Do you love it?ā I ask, out of breath. Johnny smiles, āOh, yes! I have a girlfriend and her name is June! She has long, beautiful hair, just like a princess!ā My pixie cut, which I thought made me look like Audrey Hepburn, is no longer magical, and my heart breaks right in half.
When I retired from teaching, an array of photos from my childhood, from college, from the past thirty years of classes, adorned the gym walls. In every picture my hair is long, past my shoulders, like a princess.