I met someone a long time ago. Weeks before my mom remarried and scarcely two years after my father’s death, I gave my future stepfather permission to marry my mom. Some members of his church were coming, and one was near my age, Jedediah. It isn’t really Jedediah, but it was an odd name, similar to “Gertrude.” Mom kept talking about how smart Jedediah was. Naturally, I imagined a dweeb.
This was during the time of turmoil. I stilled hoped to marry Fungus in a few years. Jedediah arrived. I came out of “the old house,” where my siblings and I spent most of our lives, wearing an awful Ecko tshirt, meant for boys. The first time I saw him, in my mind, I cursed (which I don’t do). He was handsome: perfect skin, flattering haircut, tall, lovely smile… He was also godly (as in Jesus-like), smart, charming, outgoing, helpful, and kind. The only negative thing was his frequent illness.
I admired him, but he was too good. It was off-putting. I compare myself to the heroine of Yamato Nadeshiko Shichi Henge (0:48). Each time a gorgeous guy glanced my way, I became a small creature with mushrooms growing out of her hair. When a friend wanted to go out with him, I allowed it.
They went to school together; I went abroad. They broke up, and I came back for a while. I wondered when I would see him again. Perhaps… A few weeks ago, he called my stepfather to talk about his fiancée and their upcoming visit. I wore a flattering dress and took extra time on my makeup. I wanted to show him and myself I had exorcized my dowdy demon. I wish them every happiness.