A window ledge can come with a variety of languages. There is the most obvious one of course; that which speaks through glass held in place. However, there is also, the not so apparent! It is the second of December, and the chill of winter has already announced its arrived. The snow has come and gone at least four times since Thanksgiving, and it has left behind a well-blanketed calling card. Her name is unknown to me, but she stands on a curb just outside my living room window. It is all that separates her from the beginning of my front lawn. I watch her as she stands next to a Chinese Plum Tree, most of which paint the landscape with its fallen red leaves. It is a Wednesday, and it is the third time this week that she has stood at this bus stop!
“Hurry Mom!” I holler out. “We have about five minutes, tops!
“I know…I know,” she says in her usual subtle voice, “patience my son, patience.”
It was how she always seemed to respond to my crisis moments; no matter the situation, she was always calm. I found myself rolling my eyes and then turning back toward the icy fog that used to be my visual. I wiped at the small square until it returned what it had taken from me; the sight of iridescent branches, hanging just above this young girl’s snowcap. Her rosy-red cheeks, flushed from the morning briskness; a hue dampened only by the extensions of her auburn-colored curls. I had seen her around but could not muster up the nerve to approach her. However, for some reason I had chosen to share my dilemma with my dear sweet mother, who swore that she had a solution!
“Come on here boy, get the door!” She said as she pressed behind me.
I turned to find her whizzing by with a tray of pop tarts and hot cocoa; it made me smile. I grabbed my jacket, the door, and then I fell in line behind her.
“Morning sweetheart,” my mother said from the top of our porch.
“Good morning,” returned the girl; a somewhat puzzled look on her face.
“You must be new around her,” continued my mother.
“Yes ma’am,” the girl said.
“We moved into the house down the street, and as quickly as she said that, she said, “Oh I’m sorry…am I not allowed to stand right here?”
“Don’t be silly child,” uttered my mother, “of course you can stand there!” “It’s just that, my son, Michael, thought that it would be a good idea, to come out here and offer you something warm while you waited on your bus.”
No sooner had my mother finished speaking that she gestured forward with the tray that she was holding, and the girl reached for a mug along with a pop tart.
“Thank you,” she said as she blew lightly on the cocoa. “My name is Kimberley, and I am happy to meet you both, especially you, Michael, because from what I am told, we are the only two kids on this street?”
A smiling nod was all that I could muster, that is, until the not so apparent appeared.
Before I knew it, I had spoken, “Maybe we can study together.”
To which she quickly responded, “I would very much like that!”
It was at this point that I looked toward my mother, only to find her smiling as she was disappearing into the house. “Don’t mind me,” her voice echoing beyond the closing door. I’m just the mother…what do I know?”
That was almost twenty years ago today. Both Kimberley and I would manage to spend the rest of that year, along with its summer, inseparable. We would go on to become each other’s first kiss, and not long after, first love. High school would go on to do what high school does, and we would eventually grow apart. Kimberley would travel abroad, and I would stay local, attending both my city and state colleges. It would seem that life had been generous enough to us both. But let us not exclude the not so apparent!
The word ‘would’ can come off a little tricky because it can allude to some missed opportunity, but I can assure you, that is not always the case. What if I was to tell you that this whole tale stems from the same house that I grew up in. That after the passing of my dear, sweet mother, I had decided to keep it. Moreover, after almost a ten-year absence, Kimberley would return. In addition, the feelings that we once nurtured as preteens would have somehow survived.
“Could that become part of the not so apparent?” You see, the only reason that I am even telling you this story is because “I AM” standing in my old living room! I am also standing behind the body of a little boy. A boy who sits atop his knees, looking out a window; a window he has faithfully accosted at a specific time, three days in a row. It is an occurrence that I have chosen to share with my wife of ten years, one whose name happens to be Kimberley. The very one who now smiles at me, while she holds a tray full of pop tarts and warm cocoa!
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