Her Eyes

Rita Rosalie. I met her my freshman year in high school. My first impression of her was that she may be a druggie. Her hair was half black, half blonde, the last six inches of her hair were black. She came into English class with a woman. And when Mr. Kennedy, our teacher, stood to lecture us, the woman stood by signing as he spoke. I assumed this skunk-haired girl was deaf.

When I was a freshman I barely spoke to anyone, and only when necessary. I never noticed anyone looking at me and pretty much kept to myself. Rita had been watching me for a while and was waiting for the right moment and the right words to say. She sat right in front of me. 

About half way through class she turned around and asked, "Do you know what time it is...?"

Wanting to get this deaf, yet attractive girls' attention off of me, I replied as I pointed to it, "The clock is right there..." 

I guess she didn't know how to respond, and being put off by my blunt rudeness, she turned back around and didn't talk to me for another couple days. If she was blind it would have made sense that she didn't have the time if the clock was there on the wall in front of her, but she was deaf, not blind. I was naive and had no idea she was interested in me in the slightest, but she was.

Her next method of contact came in writing. She'd slip me notes in the hallway and in class and I never caught on. Casual, 'hey what's up' notes, or 'you can call me sometime, here's my number...' blah blah blah.

It didn't really hit me until I looked into her eyes for more than five seconds. It was only then that I saw the possibility of a potential relationship. She was willing to go to McDonald's with me when I would regularly skip gym class. She'd do most of the talking and I was more than happy to listen. Not usually to the words, but more to her sweet tone, her voice somewhat like a melody. 

She had this way of making everything that came out of her lips sound so magical, even if it wasn't. I felt myself feeling calmed and sensitive and happy just to be with her, without any pressure to speak. Yet when I spoke, she listened, looking directly at me, straight at my lips. She had to do this to understand me. She also preferred to be on my right side. She was nearly completely deaf. She had ten percent hearing in her left ear. Spinal meningitis had robbed her of that as an infant. Years of speech therapy taught her to speak, and I suppose because it happened when she was so young, she didn't know any different. 

She opened up faster than anyone ever had with me, and I did so in return. She loved The Beatles, glazed donuts, tight white knit sweaters that showed her navel and Marlboro cigarettes. We'd spend hours on the library grass talking about almost everything, holding hands, becoming closer everyday. 

She'd always call my house, I never called her. This irritated my Father. He'd say, "The boys call the girls, that's the way it works..." But I was never the one to do the chasing or pursuing. I figured if someone felt the need to become a part of my life, they would pursue it. I wasn't about to go chasing a girl just to be disappointed. I loved it. I'd draw her in, then let up just a bit, yet never let go.

Poetry was her passion, and I was mesmerized by it. The way she chose just the right words for her emotions. We used poetry to express how we felt for each other. Words like passion, love, stars, world, night, water and peace. We found each other not by chance, not by fate, but by choice. We chose each other. She picked me out and I was more than happy to be her 'picked.' 

She had a freckle right on the end point of her nose. I'd poke it with my index finger and she'd stick her tongue out. It was my magic button, it became our way of saying "I love you" without words. She'd return the poke and I'd giggle, and she would too. This became our thing.

Romantic, sappy puppy love soon bloomed into emotion that would consume us both. We became an official item, I believe May 3rd of that year. Years later we would argue about it. She swore it was the 4th, but I still feel it was the 3rd. Our first official date we decided to go to Sunset Park and play tennis, she supplied the equipment and the skill. She knew what she was doing, I did not. I brought my sister and she brought her brother. We played for a while, but gave up because I kept hitting the green ball up over the high fence. We laid in the sun on the grass, among dandelions and dog shit and talked and laughed until the sun went down. 

We were both raised LDS. Our parents were somewhat similar. She had two brothers and two sisters, as did I. So it seemed appropriate that our next date be a church function. I invited her to one of the dances that were held for the LDS youth. She showed up in a dark velvety full length dress and a coordinating blouse top. Me, I felt under-dressed for the occasion. But I could've been stark naked next to her and felt absolutely comfortable.

We danced almost every dance together, until I stepped out to use the restroom. When I returned she was swing dancing with Nathan Laidlaw. Ryan, his younger brother was a close friend of mine when we were younger. I'd never felt jealousy, pure, unrelenting, all consuming jealousy in my life, up until that moment. I stood petrified, blood boiling, feeling emotions that should never be felt within the house of God. 

The music ended and she strolled over to me, beaming with something that appeared to be victory. "What's wrong?" she asked, completely aware of what was wrong. She was insulting me by asking. I pretended that all was well and I tried to blow it off by grabbing her and pulling her onto the dance floor. Half hard down there, partially due to rage and partly because I had never held her so close before, I pulled her into a tight dance motion. I wasn't going to let her go. I wanted to dance on forever.

If the music never would have ended, I'd still be happy to this day, but all things change. And change was soon to come.