this woman’s work

A story that features pants

May 22, 2003 The Story of My Life

When I was in 9th grade I was in love with Ron Glick. In 8th grade I had loved Scott Cordial and then Chris Pezzano but this was nothing to how much I loved Ron Glick.

The 9th graders had their own building that year because the school district was juggling student bodies trying to make an over-crowded system work without raising taxes. It was nice to be by ourselves for the first year of high school, especially for me because I was a year younger than my classmates (I skipped 4th grade) and I was, ahem, a late bloomer (I had no boobies). Michelle Creighton used to stroll down the hall in really tight Calvin Kleins singing that song by Billy Squier, “Everybody wants me!” and I would look at her shaking her little butt and just hate myself. And her.

I loved Ron Glick for two reasons: 1) I figured he was a little bit funny-looking and so maybe he would love me back because probably he wasn’t in huge demand (kind of like loving Roger the drummer in Duran Duran instead of wasting my time pining after Nick or John), and 2) when I sat behind him in math class and noticed the way his broad shoulders stretched his pin-striped oxford shirt, well, my tummy started doing flip-flops.

One day my big sister, Erica, came home and said that she had seen Ron Glick outside the high school in a car with a bunch of friends and that she had talked to him! And he had told her that he was going to say hi to me the very next day!

My sister was three years older and gorgeous. Every morning she got up earlier than the rest of us to ensure her private bathroom time. She had figured out how to make her hair flip exactly right by using the curling iron, spraying it with hairspray while her hair was clamped into it, holding it there for a few seconds, letting go and repeating all of the way around her head. Then she would brush it all out into a perfect, immovable frame for her face. She was never one of those girls who missed the very back leaving a chunk of lank hair glaring between perfect wings. She wore four shades of eyeshadow on each eyelid and several coats of mascara. She wore two shades of blush (dark under the cheekbone, pinker on the apples of her cheeks). With her full face on, she looked like a glamorous sophisticate to me although once, standing in a 7-11 in her plastic leather miniskirt next to her equally painted girlfriend, she was mistaken for a hooker.

Me, I was not so cute. First there was the lack of breasts thing and then there was my general awkward nature, the braces, and all of the sun-in I was using (pumpkin head). I had jettisoned my glasses the year before so I was starting to take an interest but there’s only so much a girl can do.

Anyway, I was thinking that having a gorgeous big sister might be a good thing because Ron Glick was going to say hello to me! Maybe he was just trying to get in Erica’s good graces but what the heck, I’d charm him with my thoughtful nature and he’d forget all about boobies. Now what in the heck was I going to wear?

Before the divorce we had money and after the divorce we didn’t. It wasn’t a big deal to be responsible for buying most of my school clothes and things and I never minded it. I wanted to find something fabulous to wear and my closet seemed depleted of possibility but I had babysitting money. I asked my mom if she would drive me to Limited Express to pick something out and she agreed.

When we got there, my mom started flinging beautiful new clothes my way. At the time (1983) Limited Express was considered outrageous; they carried all of these New Wave outfits with lots of color and accessories that served no purpose whatsoever. My mom handed me a black tank top, a fish net tank that looked like it was strung out of aqua yarn, bright yellow drawstring pants, a white blouse with bell-like sleeves and long tails for tying in front at your waist, and aqua-blue rubber shoes. Then (and this is a big deal) she paid for all of it. I knew that she was as excited as I was and I was so touched that she was buying me The Outfit in which Ron Glick Would Say Hello to Me. She also bought me huge metal earrings that looked like distorted, aqua stars. The points were so sharp that when I turned my head, they dug painfully into my neck.

When we got home, my sister pronounced my outfit suitable (but given that her goal at the time was to look like a ZZ Top girl, her opinion should have been suspect to me) and gleefully took the shoes that my mom offered her.

The next day I carefully put on my outfit and did my eyeshadow (pale purple and blue on the lids, pale pink at the crease and gold directly under my brow) and had Erica curl my hair. I was ready for Ron Glick to say hello, probably before 7th period math.

Getting through the day was excrutiating. Every time I entered a classroom, some wise guy would yell, “Hey! Turn off your pants!” (Did I mention that they were extremely bright yellow?) It began to wear on me. I was drooping as the day wore on right down to the rubber shoes that were cutting off all circulation in my feet. I limped my way on to 7th period, dragged into the classroom and dropped into my chair. I pretended to read a book even though all of my attention was on the empty desk in front of me. Just before the bell rang, Ron Glick slid into his seat without looking back.

I was crushed.

He didn’t say hello to me after class either, leaping up from his desk as soon as we were dismissed, calling to his friend who sat two rows over.

I made it through the next period and then went to 9th grade English, where I sat next to Joaquin.

“Nice pants,” he started to say when I took my seat next to him. I shot him an enraged look and he shrugged apologetically.

Later during the Mr. Gleason’s lecture, Joaquin stage whispered, “I think your foot is turning purple.”

It was. Damn shoes.

And that’s the end of the story. Except it’s not because this is not a teen novel. In reality, I started dating Joaquin the next year after my breasts finally showed up and eventually I got to tell Ron Glick of my unrequited love. He sat across from me in study hall. Did he know, I asked, that I had a huge crush on him in 9th grade?

“Yeah, I did know,” he said. “Your friend Carla told me.”

“Why didn’t you say hello to me that day?” I asked him. He had no idea what I was talking about. I tried reminding him — my sister the wannabe ZZ Top girl asked him to say hello to me; did it ring a bell?

“You have a sister?” he said, surprised. I told him the whole thing, the new outfit, the electric pants, the ruined day. He shook his head, said he was sorry, he had no idea. The he asked me if Joaquin and I did crazy stuff in bed. I gave him a withering look and said, yes, as a matter of fact, we were absolutely wild in bed and now didn’t he wish he had said hello to me that day?

I asked my sister about it years later and she said that she had talked to him that day, briefly, because a boy her friend knew was sitting in the car with him. She never mentioned me because she didn’t realize it was Ron Glick until later when her friend told her. That night, she was feeling sorry for me so she made it up.

And that really is the end of the story.

Possibly related posts

• You guys post a lot (12)
• Playing tennis (17)
• First meme (10)
• Family trees and personal roots (2)
• Wish me luck, folks (0)