Taxes and Crushes

February 9, 2024May 6, 2024 Amy48 Comments

I went to pick up my completed taxes this morning. I’ve been going to this place for a long time, and when this receptionist first started, I recognized her. I went to grade school with her for many years, through several different schools. Today was the day I decided to mention that I think I knew her.

No one from grade school or high school would recognize me now. I can pretty much fly under the radar. That’s how I got away with so many years of this woman not knowing who I was. Well, that, and we were not in the same friend group. She was very popular. While I had friends, I was not in the popular group.

She also happened to be the girlfriend of my eighth grade crush. Without exaggeration, this boy was the biggest crush I’ve ever had in my life. It extended into ninth grade, the strength of this crush. I was quite shy, and I never really had the nerve to speak to him. I freaked out anytime he was nearby. Paralyzed like Samantha in Sixteen Candles, every time she saw Jake (and, can you really blame her when he shows up in that red Porsche, girlllllll…).

I sat at the same lunch table as my crush and his girlfriend. We sat a few feet away from each other, yet I had to pretend like I was totally fine on the inside. I specifically remember one day, eating a dessert, and he was staring at me. I looked at him, then looked back at my dessert and continued eating. I am not sure what my face revealed or how many shades of red it was.

My crush was athletic. He was tall and muscular for eighth grade. He wore a San Francisco 49ers starter jacket. And when he and his girlfriend started dating, she began to wear the jacket. Can you feel my teenage angst?

After eighth grade, we went to separate schools. My crush went to a different school and his girlfriend and I went to another. I wasn’t friends with her there either, but I knew of her. In the fall of ninth grade, his JV football team was playing our JV football team and I had to go to the game. I saw him in his uniform and he was oblivious – per usual – as we walked by – me and my friend group.

Something of the allure of eighth grade had gone. The shine of the gold starter jacket had worn off. Separated by schools, and having new experiences in ninth grade, my crush faded. Don’t worry, I got a new one. There was a boy in my English class who was a skater boy, and he was adorable. Unfortunately, he moved away to Georgia in the middle of the year. I really liked him. And he was cool. (Hey, Matt, still wonder from time to time what happened to you, bro.)

Back to 2024 and taxes. I mentioned to the receptionist that I think I knew her in school. She asked me where I went to high school. Same school. I asked her where she went to middle school. Same school. I asked her where she went to grade school. Same school. I asked her where she went to third grade. Same school. I went all the way back to second grade. Same school. She said she was going to look me up in the yearbooks. She has saved them. I have, too. A guy friend of mine wrote in my eighth grade yearbook, “You should’ve asked K. to Homecoming. He probably would’ve said yes.” He didn’t know that did ask him via a friend, because I was too shy to ask directly. And he said no. He said he wasn’t going to the dance. I don’t know if he went or not, because I never did go.

I wonder when she checks her yearbooks if she will realize that I was the girl who had the biggest crush on her boyfriend in eighth grade. I guess I’ll find out next tax season.

I heard my crush didn’t turn out so well. I have not seen him since ninth grade at that football game. Or if I have, I haven’t recognized him. It’s just as well, I like to keep my memories untarnished. Just like that shiny, satin San Francisco 49ers starter jacket.

©️2024, itsamyisaid.com

When the Lil Peeps Visited

October 15, 2023 AmyLeave a comment

January 2023

I lead everyone upstairs to the room that used to be my mom’s. It’s a sitting room now, done in shades of champagne pink, with a green and pink floral patterned throw rug, photos hanging on all of the walls, plants, and a few stuffed animals. The door opens, and Big Sis runs in, smiles widely with eyes even wider, “I love this! And this! And this…” she exclaims as she touches the pink office chairs, the pink chaise, and engulfs my large stuffed, Hello Kitty. She struggles to contain it in the cradle of her left arm. She then picks up my smaller stuffed alpaca and shoves it under her other arm.

She remains transfixed by the room’s contents.

A discussion erupts about Aunt Amy’s “slight obsession” with Hello Kitty (it didn’t help I wore a Hello Kitty shirt that day) and Big Sis – now deftly carrying a stuffed animal under each arm – eagerly searches to find each Hello Kitty object in the room, as if playing “Where’s Waldo?”

“There are more downstairs,” I grin.

Later, after we pry Big Sis from the room, we return to the living room, where we continue to chat. Lil Sis notices my battery-powered window candles, and that they are uniquely adorned.

She is petite, she’s barely grown in the three years since I’ve seen her, so she looks up at me, sideways, judgmental even, speaking out of the side of her mouth like some kind of child gangster, with a heavy Valley Girl accent, “There are googly eyes on your candles,” she says with emphasis, as if each word were a complete sentence.

I saw a slight eye roll.

I beamed and said, “Yes!” She slowly shook her head. I continued: “Well, they were wearing sweaters, but I took those off after Christmas.” I looked to her for a response. She stared up at me, dumbfounded. “Sweaters? Oh my gosh.” Full eye roll commenced.

I hid a smirk.

I reflect now on the details of our visit. All three kids have different interactions with me, and much of that is based on how much they remember me. Lil Bro likely remembers little of me and no personal recollection of my mother, the latter of which saddens me a bit. Lil Sis has a memory of me, but it is likely limited, as is her memory of my mother. Big Sis remembers all, and runs to greet me with a huge smile. I think she remembers my mom, and that makes my heart swell. That there is a photo hanging in their home of my mom and me, each of us holding one girl (Lil Sis on Mom’s lap, Big Sis on mine), surprises and touches me. Oh, how my mother would be delighted.

Nearing the end of their visit, I feel my mother’s joy as I relay to the group that no one wants my mom’s piano, and I am having a hard time finding a new home for it. Big Sis’s mom and dad both say they will take it, as Big Sis wants to learn. I could almost hear my piano-teaching mother’s excitement, and I felt gratitude for an old tradition now wrapped in a new chapter.

chick lit · fiction · Love · Nature · prose · Short story · spring · Writing

Bliss

October 1, 2023October 1, 2023 AmyLeave a comment

Bliss. It’s what I would call the feeling I had from the moment I woke, that day we went to that small town, walking up and down the street, looking for the shop that wasn’t there. The wind swept us both like a wide, cold broom aimed high, and we cursed about the damned map. Bliss told me to wear the flowing red top I bought in the kids’ department at Kohl’s because I needed to feel the freedom in the flowing. As we drove around trying to find the miniature golf course, Bliss told me I was on an adventure, that it was time, my old nemesis anxiety would not come knocking that day. Bliss knew.

Bliss led us to play both courses that day. With tempered excitement novelty brings, we curiously looked ahead at the direction of each hole, the layout of the greens, discussing and preparing exactly how to make the shot under par. It worked for me. It didn’t work for you. But you weren’t bothered by it; you had Bliss, too. I eagerly kept score as we made rules for what happens when your ball flies out of the green into the water two holes over (do-over, from the tee), and I blissfully juggled my purse, the scorecard and that little pencil over 41 holes of golf.

Then there was the moment, which passed, just as time did those two weeks, far too quickly. The sun was shining through the tree canopy above, an early spring sun, peeking in and out of the clouds, as we played each hole and I continued to win, my Bliss increasing. It was among these tree shadows where my brain’s camera takes a still and it leaves me at a cliffhanger. You stand in front of me, the sun peeking down on your red-blond hair, in this deserted, tree-covered miniature golf course, smirking at me as you do, sunglasses hiding your eyes, but I can see them when I close mine. We are close, close enough for me to see my own smirk in your glasses. Bliss tells me to kiss you, and I think in that moment, you were expecting it.

A kiss lands. Just to the left of your mouth.

“That’s for losing,” I said cheerfully, trying to evoke Bliss about what I’d done, but feeling as if I’d plotted the wrong point on the map, instantly realizing I should have aimed for the lips and may have missed my chance forever. “Good,” you said with unusual inflection, still smirking, seemingly expecting something else, something more.

When we embraced earlier in the week, soon after you had arrived, Bliss was with me then, and I said quietly, “I’m so glad you’re here.” I meant something else, something more. When you replied just as quietly, “Me, too,” Bliss wants me to believe you meant something else too, something more.

Dedikert til A.

Autumn · chick lit · Fall · fate · fiction · Humor · Love · prose · Relationships · serendipity · Short story · Uncategorized · Women’s literature · Writing

September 27, 2033

September 27, 2023August 10, 2024 Amy3 Comments

Do you believe in fate?

“Why do you keep looking at the time?” my colleague asked with squinted, suspicious eyes.

I thought about it for a minute before I answered, knowing how bizarre my answer might seem. I continued typing as I pondered my response. “I’m supposed to meet a guy at the park today,” I replied as nonchalantly as possible.

“Oh, really,” she replied, suddenly interested and rolled her chair up to mine. “Do tell.”

“There’s not much to tell. I received a text about ten years ago and it’s stuck with me. The guy thought he was texting someone else. Once he realized I wasn’t the intended recipient, we continued texting with playful banter. It was fun. He was fun, and smart. Also really quick-witted. You know how that hooks me every time. He said we should meet at the park on September 27, 2033. As a joke, of course. But then I started to think about it – and I’ve had ten years to think about it. What if it’s like, some kind of serendipitous experience or cinematic romcom situation?”

She sat there, staring at me blankly. “You’re saying you received a text ten years ago from a guy you don’t know, and you are going to meet him at a park today? Because he said to show up at the park on September 27, 2033? I have questions. What if he’s a stalker? Or a creep? Or 78 years old? Or 17 years old? What if it’s a catfish? And let’s say it’s not: it’s been ten years. Don’t you think he’ll have forgotten your text exchange by now? And since it was said in jest, he’s not going to show up, even if he recalls. Finally, how will you know who this guy is when you see him at the park?”

I shrugged off the first thousand questions. “I won’t,” was my response to the final one.

Her face scrunched. “This is clearly a joke. If you didn’t exchange photos, and haven’t texted since that one mistaken identity thing in 2023, then no, this is not happening. Like, at all.”

I turned back to my screen and continued typing. “I’m going to the park at lunch, sitting on the bench, and I will see if there are any guys loitering around looking at me.”

She ran her hand down her face in a sweeping motion of clearing out the annoyance that was me. I was not dissuaded. “What you are describing is a normal occurrence at the park. Do you know how many random guys loiter around and look at us every day as we walk through?”

I kept typing, keeping my eyes on the screen. ‘Yes, I know, but those are weird guys.”

“What separates this guy from those guys?”

“This guy told me to meet him at the park today.”

She sighed heavily. “I sure hope you have your Suspicious Persons binder up to date before you head out on this bad chick flick adventure of yours, because there are so many ways this can go south. You don’t know who you’re looking for, you don’t know what his intentions are, AND it’s been ten years since this occurred. He may not even show up, and I hope for your sake he doesn’t.”

The sky started taking on a strange darkness as we sat there, our cubicles next to the large window. She kept talking, mostly telling me not to do it, with me mostly thinking about what I could grab for lunch to take to the park. When I defiantly told her I was going, regardless of her lecturing, she waved me off dramatically. “Do what you want, but I’m going to send the police in an hour, and you know I mean it.”

I headed out at around 11:45. I stopped by the sandwich shop at the corner, ordered a croissant – because Paris is always a good idea. I could pretend that this was a Parisian park, and the guy would show up in a raspberry beret, the kind you buy from a secondhand store.

I took off my shoes and walked my way through the soft grass to the bench where I could see everyone in the park. There were kids playing nearby, giggling. There was an older woman sitting on the nearby bench. She smiled and nodded, and I returned her kind acknowledgment. So far, no weird guys had appeared, and no normal guys, either. The sky continued to darken, and I recalled the text exchange from ten years prior. “That’s right, there is a solar eclipse today,” I whispered to myself as a squirrel stared at my croissant, tiny arms pulled up to its chest.

I’d been at the park about fifteen minutes when my phone rang. It was my coworker. “What is happening? Are you insane? Are you safe?” She was bordering on hysteria.

“I’m fine. I’m sitting here talking to a squirrel actually. I’m eating my lunch, and if he doesn’t show up, I’ll just—”

It was at that moment I felt a light tap on my shoulder. “Gotta go,” I said slowly, and ended the call. With a deep breath, I turned slowly toward the direction of the tap. I looked up and I felt a wry smile form. My smile was returned to me tenfold. The sun was blocked out, but not by the eclipse.

The shadow spoke.

“Hey, kiddo.”