musings & mumblings

I don't know why I remember

​

that day on the playground. I must have been in grade four or five. It was late fall and the breeze had a bit of a bite, but I wasn't cold because her face was so close to mine.

 

I had always been on the shorter side, but I had started growing earlier than my classmates. At that time, I was about the average height for my age. We were chatting and I said, "I must be as tall as you by now," and she said, "Let's check."

 

I don't know why we were in the centre of the jungle gym, the bridge connecting the two sides just above us, but that's where we stood. The woodchips were hard and stiff beneath my feet. We moved close together, so our noses were almost touching and looked into each other's eyes. I noticed then that she had flecks of blue in her irises, that she had longer eyelashes than I had realized, and that she had a freckle tucked between her right eye and nose. 

 

"We're exactly the same height," she said. "The way we line up and can see exactly into each other's eyes – that’s really rare."
 

"Yeah," I said, because I didn't know what else to say and I was scared of shattering the moment.

Some grade six boys turned the corner and saw us and began to make flustered apologies. We broke apart then. I wasn't sure whether I should feel embarrassed.