Stories
| Pink | My Sin |
| 611 | Stupid Cupid |
| Plastic Shoes | To Begin Again |
To Begin Again
© Sande Boritz Berger
There was once a little girl and a little boy who knew
each other but not well. They stood at the same bus stop, went to the
same school, and sat side by side in their fourth grade class. The little
boy was strong for his age, not tall, but stocky. He had huge hands and
he was always pulling the sleeves of his sweatshirt down as it crept up
to his elbows. His sandy hair fell into straight bangs even though his
mother attempted each morning to plaster them down with hair lotion. The
boy had a husky voice that made him seem tough to all the kids.
He played basketball during recess and although he was only ten, he knew
how to organize a game and keep it from becoming a brawl. When the bell
rang for classes to begin, he’d dawdle on the playground. He didn’t
like school one bit, and would spend time gazing out the window dreaming
of where his parents might be moving next. The move was sure to come,
but he never knew when. He hoped it would be at the end of the school
year. It was hard to walk into a new class, and he had done that twice
in the last year. But he was lucky, with his nice smile and a hearty giggle,
everyone wanted to be his friend. Everyone except this little girl.
She was very skinny, smaller than most of the girls. Her bony legs stuck
out of her pleated skirts like toothpicks, and her knees were bruised
from falling.
Her socks never stayed up, so she’d sneak to the girls’ room
to put rubber bands around them. She knew her mother wouldn’t like
that. It was bad for the circulation. Her thin hair was blonde, but not
like those Breck girls in the magazines. She dampened it to keep out the
static. She’d peek under her blouse, looking for breasts, praying
for something, anything to happen.
The little girl was a good student but she, too, dreamed a lot, staring
out the same window as the little boy, wondering if she’d ever have
boyfriends like some of the girls. But even though she daydreamed, she
always knew what the teacher was saying.
The little boy never talked to her or any of the girls for that matter.
He asked to see her homework a few times, and she thought he was wrong
for not doing it himself, but she gave it to him anyway. Once she made
a face when he asked and he said, “never mind.” When the teacher
called on him that day, he began to stutter, his eyes brimming with tears.
The little girl couldn’t believe that he was actually scared.
After this, she liked him more, but he stayed far away. All he ever did
was play basketball and eat everyone’s leftover sandwich for lunch.
The day she brought him an extra ham and Swiss, he wasn’t there.
The teacher announced he had moved away.
Twenty years
passed and the little boy and little girl grew up and did many things
with their lives. He got married, became an important lawyer, stopped
playing basketball, joined a club and took up golf. He had two little
boys of his own that he loved very much. But he was not happy.
The little girl finally grew up, got breasts along with a degree in education.
Her hair was blonde now just like the Breck girls. She’d married
a man from a rich family and had two little girls that she loved very
much. But she was not happy.
One day, like a miracle, after they both were divorced, the little boy,
now a grown man, met the little girl, now a grown woman, at a mutual friend’s
cocktail party. They hardly remembered one another, but it didn’t
matter. They were drawn to each other immediately and couldn’t stop
talking, giggling and smiling. He was taller than she’d dreamed
he’d be, and she was prettier than he could have imagined. Neither
of them remembered the homework incident or the extra sandwiches. They
were just two happy people that made the air around them fizzle like the
bubbles in their champagne.
One year later, they married. He got along great with her little girls
and soon his sons began to visit. The little girls and little boys would
fight all the time, and the man and woman didn’t know what to do.
Soon everyone stopped talking. There was no laughing.
One night the woman had a dream. She was a little girl again walking home
from school. The clouds grew black, and it began to pour. She heard thunder
over her head, and she shook with fear not knowing where to go. Then suddenly
standing in front of her was the little boy she had known in fourth grade—playing
basketball ignoring the rain and thunder. He ran and took her hand, led
her to the baseball dugout. He took off his jacket and threw it around
her shoulders. Her hair was soaked, and her knee socks had slid down around
her ankles. She was scared to death, afraid that she’d never get
home. She looked at the little boy and saw that he was crying too, now
that bursts of lightening had begun to light up the sky. They held each
other, clothes soaked from the rain, faces streaked with tears.
The woman awoke crying from her dream. The man put his arm around her
and stroked her hair. They made love, and when they were through, he told
her how scared he was about their new life together. He said he missed
his sons, and that sometimes he wished he could be out there again, alone
on the playground, just shooting hoops. She leaned closer and kissed him,
then rose from the bed and went to the kitchen to make him a sandwich.
She was beginning to like him more.