May 07, 2000

Mary came into St Theresa's a scrawny fourth grader: Bad haircut, revealing her smooth, slender nape and downy, colorless neck hair, trailing into a cotton blouse. If you had seen her you'd have wanted to grab her by the scruff of the neck and give her a good shake.

That first year, each Mary siting was like an adding of informational detail to a holograph, the first very grainy, low resolution. I don't even consciously recall having seen her that first time. But by school year's end I'd memorized every nuance, every pose, every expression emanating from the face of that beautfiul child.

Last day of school Mary spoke to me. For the entire summer I was in limbo, although I didn't even know it.

The Setting: Saint Theresa's library, last day of school for the year. Library closed. A few girls were helping to dust the shelves, a task which consisted of removing books, dusting shelf, replacing books. So simple a child could do it. Mary is laboring away with the books on one of the bottom shelves, talking to her partner in crime who is on the other side of the shelf. Kind of like a confessional.

Enter Michael who spies Mary hanging out, laughing and dusting, crawling around on her hands and knees, the latter an interesting patchwork of red, inflamed, young girl skin.

Mary: Hey, Teach. (Makes cryptic salutary hand gesture. I think she picked this up from watching "Star Trek: TNG", or maybe "I Claudius".) What'cha got for me?

Michael: Hay's for horses.

Mary: But grass is cheaply...

Michael: Cheaply? I think not. Cheap...Cheaper...Cheapest....

Mary: You sound like a bird.

Michael: You are a bird. You're a silly goose. (Guess from which book I stole this line?)

(Mary smiles. Long pause.)

Michael: Just a joke.

Mary: You're just jealous 'cause you can't do this. (Does a back walkover... wearing a skirt...) What do you think?

Michael: I think you're very talented. I also think you shouldn't show your panties in public.

Mary: But this is a private school. (Did I ever tell you that Mary was a smartass?)

Michael: Okay, smart ass. Since I'm hopelessly outmatched in this little head-to-head, I'll concede. Where's the librarian?

(Mary nods to a closed office, looking at me the whole time.)

Michael: Thank you, my dear child. Now get back to work.

(Exit Michael. In his wake he overhears:)

Other Girl: He likes you...

So there you have it. Silly schoolgirl crush, silly teacher crush, Both persisting through the summer, to flourish a few thousand years.