Paper Frogs
“Will you be my girlfriend?”
They are in Kindergarten, too young to understand what the
words mean. The adults smile and shake their heads and joke about it at school
events and playdates. Every week, on the playground at recess on Monday,
Wednesday, or Thursday afternoon:
“Will you be my girlfriend?”
“I don’t want to.”
“Oh. Want to play Kitties and Doggies with us?”
“Sure!”
He has dark black hair that Daddy spikes in the front; she
has a curly golden ponytail that falls out of her fine hair halfway through the
day. In the classroom, they sit at different tables, and he watches her to see
what colors she uses on her picture. Their pictures turn out similar. The
parents elbow each other and make jokes about in-laws.
It’s a beautiful Wednesday and the sun is shining gently on
the wild hair of children at play, beating down on the playground equipment and
making it hot to the touch. Twenty-five children run riot, screaming with joy
as they play by rules that are written in no book but known as instinctively as breathing to the entire pack.
“Ellie, will you be my girlfriend?”
She thinks, her golden ponytail half-gone, her hair hanging
in a tangled mess down her back.
“Not today. Maybe next week.”
“Maybe tomorrow?” He is hopeful.
“Will you play Cops and Robbers with us?” she asks, and he
perks up.
“I want to be a Cop!”
They run off at full speed. They are in Kindergarten, too
young to know what a heart is, and too young to care.
****
“Ellie can come with us. She’s cool.”
They are ten years old and it has been years since he asked
her to be his girlfriend. The girls in the class clump together at recess and
on weekends, leaving the boys to their games of basketball and football and
dodgeball.
Ellie still can’t keep her hair in a ponytail, and Myles
spikes his own hair now. For her birthday, Myles spends hours in a bookstore,
clutching the money he’s saved from doing extra chores, trying to choose a book
that Ellie will love from the glittering array of shiny covers.
She loves it.
Valentine’s Day, right before their eleventh birthdays.
Myles puts the finishing touches on a painstakingly hand-folded origami frog.
He adds it to the pile of pink and blue and green frogs in a grocery bag on his
kitchen table, ready to take them to school. Each frog has a piece of candy
taped to its back and a name carefully written underneath with Myles’ mother’s
drawing pens. Only Ellie’s has a note beneath the garishly colored lollipop.
Will you be my Valentine?
He cannot focus on the teacher. Ellie’s frog sits atop a
pile of cards in a paper bag taped to her desk. He pictures her ripping off the
lollipop, finding the note beneath. He hopes she does not read it aloud. He
finds his eraser in pieces on the desk when the teacher calls on him for a
fourth time.
On the way out the door at the end of the day, too flustered
to say goodbye to Ellie, he spots the paper frog in the trash can, remnants of
lollipop wrapper clinging to it. The message is torn nearly in half.
His mother is waiting in the car to speak to him about his
lack of attention.
****
Ellie dyed her hair red last summer. Myles spots her across
the hall on the first day of senior year, surrounded by five or six girls.
“When did you start
drinking those?” Ellie asks him, pointing to the energy drink in his hand as they
take desks together.
“SATs,” he answers, all the explanation she needs.
Myles has stopped spiking his hair. Ellie still can’t keep
hers in a ponytail. She did all the summer reading. Myles worked at a summer
camp and didn’t even read text messages.
In second period, Ellie clinks his energy drink with her
tumbler of coffee. She has three different colored highlighters. Myles listens
absently to the teacher telling a long story about his summer as he folds tiny
paper stars from the corners of his notebook pages. Somehow all he can think
about is a paper frog, torn and abandoned in a trash can.
He catches Ellie’s arm before she walks into her next class.
“Hey.”
“What’s up?”
“Hey, um, now that we’re older…maybe we could…I mean, do you
want to…maybe, be my girlfriend?”
She steps back.
“Um…”
Images of a paper frog flash across his eyes.
Myles doesn’t bring it up again.
****
Myles has gotten used to the questions at family events. He
has an answer prepared.
“I’m focusing on my career right now. In fact, I just got
promoted. They’re sending me off to temporarily fill an overseas position in
the next year or so.”
He and Ellie still cross paths. At twenty-eight, they no
longer compete to see who can drink the most energy drinks (Ellie) or put in
the most all-nighters to finish late classwork (also Ellie). Instead, a small
group of friends from their graduating class meets occasionally for coffee.
Increasingly, the others bring their spouses, and then their children, along.
One Saturday morning, only Myles, Ellie, and one other
friend show up. Ellie sips her iced tea and chats. Myles folds his napkin into
origami stars, watching Ellie talk. Her passion is palpable. She has plans,
hopes. She’s smart and knowledgeable. She’s thinking about going for a
doctorate. Most importantly, perhaps, her ring finger is bare.
Later, Myles sits on his couch, a box of pizza on the table
in front of him. His finger hovers over the “send” button on his phone.
Hi, Ellie, it’s Myles. I was wondering if you’d like to
go out for coffee next Sunday afternoon? :)
Is it worth trying again? He stares at the screen, mind
filling with old images—paper frogs in the wastebasket.
He deletes the text and begins planning for his move overseas.
No comments:
Post a Comment