Now, lemme' give you the real picture. My two front teeth were still too large for my mouth... ever since about third grade. Unless someone else fixed my hair, it looked like a glorious style created by a five year old, right after a particularly bad temper-fit. I had recently managed a razor blade accident that left me with a huge, ugly bandage over my right eye and, to top it all off, I held the un-enviable position of Last Chair in the trumpet section of the band. One of my passions was to play the trumpet professionally.
Naturally, fifteen was the age when I was beginning to realize that no boy... most especially, THAT BOY... could EVER be interested in a Tomboy like me. Did I mention that my two front teeth were too big for my mouth? I'm not sure they ever would have settled down to looking normal.
'Course, I never did hafta' worry 'bout that on accounta' THAT BOY. {thump! thump! thump! went my beating heart, every time he walked by or looked in my direction}. 'Course, he was never unkind to anyone. It wasn't his fault that he had those looks. And he couldn't help it if he was so smart that his grades were off the charts. And could he really be blamed for being able to play so many different intstruments? No, none of that was his fault, but it sure didn't make me feel any better about myself, either.
So there I sat, in the last chair, silently
I like to tell myself (although, even I know differently) that a magical career died when the best looking boy in school lost his balance and fell against the front of my trumpet, that day. It might not have made any difference, except for the part where I was holding the trumpet in position and doing the finger-plays, just as though I were actually playing music. Did I mention that the best looking boy in school weighed at least 150 pounds and I didn't even come close to 100 pounds, soaking wet? My front tooth never had a chance.
Later, in the dentist's chair, my tooth was so twisted that, after giving me an unbelievable amount of novacaine and gas, the dentist actually propped his foot up on the chair to try and twist it the rest of the way out of my mouth! Imagine his shock when I screamed in pain. Yup! Even with bucket-loads of pain-killer, I felt that extraction just the same way that I am still feeling the results of my most recent difficulties. And at fifteen years old, I was just overjoyed to be relieved of one of my front teeth. In fact, I loved THAT little fact so much that I seriously considered going into permanent hibernation.
Two weeks later, when I returned to school (remember; this is me... I heal V-E-E-E-R-Y slowly), I could only wish that the floor would open up and swallow me. It was the most horrible day of my life. That is, until the Best. Looking. Boy. In. School stopped by my desk and handed me a rose... and a card.
Inside the card was a note, asking if he could walk me home from school. Don'tcha' just love it when you're fifteen years old and everything in your world is going right? Until the next time, keep a hug on.
~ Yaya
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