It Happened on Maple Street

I wasn’t surprised.

I wasn’t like other girls.

I didn’t meet guys.

I read books.

I was a writer.

Class started. I took notes. And felt ‘him’ behind me the entire time. The back of my neck was warm. My palms were moist.

It was dark. Really dark. Not as harsh as black, but darker than brown. It was thick. And long enough to curl up at the collar.

When I saw a guy, I always looked at his eyes first. And last, too. I didn’t care about a man’s outer image. Heroes weren’t judged by their book covers. What I cared about was a man’s heart. His soul. You could only get there through his eyes.

one knew I was Tara Gumser, daughter of the Wayne township school board president. Daughter of the rotary club president. Daughter of the best singer in the church choir. Daughter of the best bridge player in Huber Heights, Ohio. No one knew I hadn’t been asked to my prom. Either of them. No one knew I’d never been asked on any kind of date. Ever.

Did I stand out?

I didn’t have to be there to obtain a future.

I had my future planned. I knew what I wanted and I wasn’t going to be swayed.

I was changing. Life was changing. Anything could happen.

He was going to succeed. Graduate. Make something of his life. He wasn’t going to spend his entire life as he’d spent much of his youth, eating well enough at the beginning of the month and being grateful for the beans that were on the table by months end.

He was going to own a home. And a washing machine.

I didn’t look. But I could feel him there.

My Tim.

“His name’s Tim.”