by Margot Callahan, Contributing Writer
When I was 17 years old, I didn’t consider myself particularly attractive because that wasn’t really talked about in our family. Plus, I went to Catholic school, and the blue uniform didn’t make anyone all that appealing. Boys were definitely on my radar, but I just considered them friends. I was very naive.
My high school years weren’t filled with angst or that much worry. I was a good student with no chance at any awards or standing out in any way. It wasn’t a bad place to be. I played basketball and was on the girl’s championship team. Notice that I didn’t say I played on the team. I missed a chance to get more play when the coach gave me an opportunity to train as a starter, and I said “no,” too scared to fail and not understanding what he was giving me the chance to do. I can’t believe I didn’t say that I was ready.
My senior year started out well. My best friend was in my home room, and our favorite teacher was our homeroom teacher. The senior boys, whose basketball team didn’t make much of a dent in the standings, came out for us in force at home and away games. They were called “the animals,” a raucous group that made all of us feel appreciated. They were ahead of their time, supporting the better girl’s team.
Then, a note showed up in my locker. “Dear Margot”….it went on to explain that he thought I was an intelligent, funny and pretty girl who was noticed and appreciated for who I was, and not like all the other girls. Signed, “Your Secret Admirer”. I folded up the note and looked around me. Was someone watching me? Clearly someone was watching me, but right now? Is this a joke?
I was shocked. And freaked out. And happy. And on-the-case. Who is my classmate who is my secret admirer?
Everyone that I liked became a suspect. So many. Who didn’t I like? Oh to be 17 again and looking for acceptance. Every time a boy looked my way, he was my secret admirer. Another boy looked. He was my secret admirer. I found myself looking at boys longer and considering them, which made them consider me, which made me think that they were my secret admirer. I constantly scanned all “the animals” at our games and missed most of the action.
And a note arrived every few days. “I see you sitting on the bench, and I think you’re a better player and could be playing….” Getting the notes was very exciting, confusing, and distracting. “That was a really exciting game tonight! You and the team must be so psyched.” I didn’t tell anyone because I didn’t want to be kidded and I didn’t want to screw this up. “You looked unhappy today. I hope you feel better soon.”
A boy liked me! Then….
“Dear Margot, I’d like to tell you who I am and see if you would like to go out sometime. I hope I haven’t made you feel weird with these notes. You may remember me because I was a senior last year. Now I work in the school as a janitor. Please call me at this number tonight so that we can talk.”
Frozen, with my latest note in hand, my stomach dropped. All the popular boys, all the athletes, all the cute boys- evaporated. All “the looks”- figments of my imagination. I was a girl who had attracted the janitor. I wasn’t mature enough to even consider this guy who had made himself vulnerable for my attention. The fairy tale of all the romantic movies that I loved ended here. Who was this guy? What did he look like? Had I met him? Talked to him? And I had to call him that night. What was I going to say?
If this was a movie, I’d have the call dialogue verbatim. But instead, I’ve blocked it out because I know I didn’t give him a chance. I do remember him saying he wouldn’t bother me anymore. “Bother.” How awful that he thought he was bothering me, when in fact, his notes and attention are the few things that I remember about that year. I wish I remembered his name and knew how his life worked out. If I could meet him now and listen to him this time and consider him that would be a movie ending.
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Margot Callahan called Highland Park home, but now enjoys the beauty of Lancaster County. Writing for many years, she now shares her short stories with others.
