Skinny Legs

She is sitting in a folding metal chair along the wall in the school's gymnasim.  She's done her best to look attractive, but she knows the chances of someone picking her are slim.  She's been to too many school dances to believe that tonight would be any different.

The lights have been turned down as Elvis begins to sing Can't Help Falling in Love.  From across the darkened room, boys leave their seats for the long walk across the hardwood floor to where the girls sit, waiting to be selected.  She holds her breath.  Maybe.  Just maybe.  One by one, her friends leave their seats, and once again she is conspicuously alone in a long line of empty chairs.  They look over at her and smile and give her a "I'm so sorry you didn't get picked" look.  She doesn't want their pity. It just adds to the torture of pretending that "never being picked" doesn't matter.

But look at her.  Thin as a pencil.  Skinny legs.  Big Teeth.  Pimples.  Thick glasses.  Fine, thin, mousy brown hair that refuses to conform to the "big hair" style of 1962.  Why would anyone pick her?

TWO YEARS LATER

She's sitting on an expensive leather sofa in the lobby of a law firm in downtown Indianapolis.  She's done her best to look professional, and she hopes her chances of being hired as a legal secretary are good.  This is her first job interview since graduating high school so she's not sure what to expect.  Sitting at the opposite end of the sofa is another girl about her age.  She's very pretty. The thought crosses her mind that she may be applying for the same job.

The office is bustling with activity.  A chorus of typewriters is clicking feverishly in the background while secretaries and lawyers fast walk past her. Someone stops to ask her if she'd like a cup of coffee while she waits.  No, thank you.  She doesn't drink coffee.  The other girl says yes, please.  Black. She realizes she been holding her breath.  The attractive girl is asked to step inside Mr. Kunz' office.  When she returns she doesn't take a seat back on the sofa, but instead opens the lobby door to leave. As she closes the door she looks back and smiles.  An insincere smirk that seems to say, "I'm so sorry that you didn't get picked."

TWO YEARS LATER

She's sitting in the passenger seat of a blue Stingray.  The top is down and the wind feels good as it plays havoc with her short blonde hair.  Her big sunglasses shield her contact lenses from anything the wind throws at them. Her new boyfriend, a law student at Indiana University and former prom king at the same high school she attended, insisted on taking her to lunch to celebrate her raise at work.  As he pulls up to the curb in the heart of downtown Indianapolis to drop her off, he leans over and kisses her.  A long, long, sweet kiss.  It takes her breath away. A long line of cars wait behind them.  No one honks.   She feels conspicuous.  As she steps out of the car, she sees Mr. Kunz, her boss, waving as he fast walks to court.  And she smiles.