Then I picture Jon Bon Jovi's gigantic blonde-highlighted 80's hair and the way he dresses like an eighteen year old when he's really, like, eighty, and I get distracted. When my brain gets too clouded over, I decide maybe I need to write some words down and get them out of my mind.
What's in a name?
Rose by any other word would smell as sweet,
Except that's not true.
A rose is a rose because we call it so,
Year after year,
A rose can never be anything but a rose,
Unless people decide to name it otherwise.
When I'm done, I pull my dance design out of my purse and tear it into scraps of paper so tiny it can never be put back together. I throw them into the garbage and flop back down on my bed.
I'm staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars I put on my ceiling in junior high when my computer dings with an email.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
I can practically smell u thru this computer.
I look around my room, bubbly nerves shooting through me. The email address is one I've never seen before. I check my armpits. They don't smell. I put on two layers of deodorant today and vanilla perfume.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
I don't mean 2 b rude, but who is this?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Why do u always say things u don't really mean? Of course, ur being rude. I just sent u a weird email. While we r on this topic, what person under the age of 30 uses email?
I gape at the response, my stomach twisting in all sorts of contorted positions, tangled partly with anger and partly with intrigue: who could possibly email me like this? I want to type back that email is underappreciated by young people. If I can't live in a time when actual letter writing is cool, at least I still have email. Plus, how else is my future husband going to send me love letters? I'm sure not saving text messages from him to show my kids. Then it clicks. Only one person makes me feel this way.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Lil?? How did u get my email?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Ms. Everley thought I might need it. Ur coming to a party with me tonight, Pollyanna.
A party? I sit back in my seat and stare at the email. The clock ticks on my nightstand; my favorite DVD, West Side Story , leans against it. My Saturday night plans. I love when Tony and Maria sing 'Somewhere'. It always makes me cry. Romeo and Juliet put to song. Could there be anything better?
Two days ago, I would have said no. Now, I don't know the answer. I look at my no-name rabbit and the patch of material I've worn down to the stuffing. Why do I always rub in the same place? Because it's safe? Because my fingers automatically go there? It's worn so thin almost nothing is left, yet the rest of him is fluffy, practically new. My computer dings again; another email.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Matt will be there.
A gulp and a choke and I almost throw up on the keyboard. And then my fingers type the response my heart, not my brain, knows I should say.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Okay.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Pick u up on the corner of Washington and Forest in 30 mins.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
What does RPMcMurphy stand for?
Lil doesn't respond. I sit back in my chair and scroll up through our conversation. My stomach tickles with butterflies. I can't believe I agreed to go to a party with a girl my parents don't want me to have anything to do with. And Matt will be there. MATT WILL BE THERE.
I look at the bag of decorations sitting on my bed. My gaze moves to the torn up pieces of paper in the garbage can beneath my desk.
My mind is already made up. I just need to pick out what to wear.
***
I come down the stairs twenty minutes later dressed in a black cotton long-sleeved shirt and my favorite dark jeans that
What's in a name?
Rose by any other word would smell as sweet,
Except that's not true.
A rose is a rose because we call it so,
Year after year,
A rose can never be anything but a rose,
Unless people decide to name it otherwise.
When I'm done, I pull my dance design out of my purse and tear it into scraps of paper so tiny it can never be put back together. I throw them into the garbage and flop back down on my bed.
I'm staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars I put on my ceiling in junior high when my computer dings with an email.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
I can practically smell u thru this computer.
I look around my room, bubbly nerves shooting through me. The email address is one I've never seen before. I check my armpits. They don't smell. I put on two layers of deodorant today and vanilla perfume.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
I don't mean 2 b rude, but who is this?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Why do u always say things u don't really mean? Of course, ur being rude. I just sent u a weird email. While we r on this topic, what person under the age of 30 uses email?
I gape at the response, my stomach twisting in all sorts of contorted positions, tangled partly with anger and partly with intrigue: who could possibly email me like this? I want to type back that email is underappreciated by young people. If I can't live in a time when actual letter writing is cool, at least I still have email. Plus, how else is my future husband going to send me love letters? I'm sure not saving text messages from him to show my kids. Then it clicks. Only one person makes me feel this way.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Lil?? How did u get my email?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Ms. Everley thought I might need it. Ur coming to a party with me tonight, Pollyanna.
A party? I sit back in my seat and stare at the email. The clock ticks on my nightstand; my favorite DVD, West Side Story , leans against it. My Saturday night plans. I love when Tony and Maria sing 'Somewhere'. It always makes me cry. Romeo and Juliet put to song. Could there be anything better?
Two days ago, I would have said no. Now, I don't know the answer. I look at my no-name rabbit and the patch of material I've worn down to the stuffing. Why do I always rub in the same place? Because it's safe? Because my fingers automatically go there? It's worn so thin almost nothing is left, yet the rest of him is fluffy, practically new. My computer dings again; another email.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Matt will be there.
A gulp and a choke and I almost throw up on the keyboard. And then my fingers type the response my heart, not my brain, knows I should say.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Okay.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Pick u up on the corner of Washington and Forest in 30 mins.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
What does RPMcMurphy stand for?
Lil doesn't respond. I sit back in my chair and scroll up through our conversation. My stomach tickles with butterflies. I can't believe I agreed to go to a party with a girl my parents don't want me to have anything to do with. And Matt will be there. MATT WILL BE THERE.
I look at the bag of decorations sitting on my bed. My gaze moves to the torn up pieces of paper in the garbage can beneath my desk.
My mind is already made up. I just need to pick out what to wear.
***
I come down the stairs twenty minutes later dressed in a black cotton long-sleeved shirt and my favorite dark jeans that
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