The Long Girl
She was the confident girl, blossoming into young adulthood and aiming for great things in her life…
As they would say in Europe, she was a long girl. Taller than everyone else in our class, even the boys, and with short, dark wavy hair and bright hazel eyes, gangly and self-conscious in a way that made others uncomfortable. Her posture was terrible and when she came up to you it was with more of a lurch than a normal gait. We’d been good friends since I’d arrived as the new girl just before Christmas in second grade.
Once we had a photograph taken by her father in his home studio and I insisted on wearing a dress we’d found at a thrift store, with boys sneakers that made me appear two inches taller than I really was. But she spoke to me by name and maintained eye contact to show her interest, and for that I had great admiration and respect for Ethel. It was only when we got to 5th grade that our friendship began to unravel.
Ethel had everything that I lacked. She lived in a duplex just a block from school and had her own bedroom. Her mother didn’t work and was at home with the little sister, Bonnie, until school was out each day. Sometimes I’d be invited in for milk and cookies. Her mom served the milk in aluminum cups that came in different colors that she kept in the refrigerator. That milk was ice cold and it was perfect with any cookies she served with it. They…
