Meeting Cathy
by Catherine Royce
They were on the move. I was not. Gazing forlornly out my parents' bedroom window, I saw the new neighbors loading their beat up old Chevy. They were going somewhere wonderful. I was sure of it. We had only been neighbors a short time, and I had been observing them, shyly and from a distance. There always seemed to be a bustle of happy activity around them. One of the children was a girl who seemed to be my age. I had been told her name was Cathy. Another Catherine, just like me.
I pressed my nose against the glass, watching the flow next door. My long Saturday stretched ahead in my mind. Suddenly, I got up and went outside. Nowhere near brave enough to go up and introduce myself, the best I could do was make myself available for friendship. I would take a little walk along our road. Perhaps they would see me and say hello. I felt a little foolish, but I so desperately wanted to get to know that little girl. Another Catherine, just like me. Surely we were meant to be friends. If only they would notice me. If only they would invite me to join them.
It was a warm, early fall day. But out on the road, I wished I had on long pants. My shorts revealed bony legs and knobby knees. And at the end of those legs, the biggest feet in the world in dirty white sneakers. My hair was too brown and too short. My ears were too big. The arms poking out of my sleeveless shirt were just plain skinny. I wore glasses. When I walked, I was aware of my toes' tendency to point in. I bowed my head. Who would want to be friends with such a girl? Probably not Cathy who was slim, wore her long blond hair in pigtails, and did not need glasses. I walked on.
There was a cadence to my walking. Please notice me. Please don't notice me. Please notice me. Please don't notice me. Please notice me...
By now, the car was packed and the family was piling in. The sound of their good-natured banter reached me. I was too far away to hear the words. Too far away perhaps for them even to see me. And then, it was too late. They were pulling away. Gone, off on their wonderful adventure. My heart sank. I continued my solitary walk down the road. My legs felt like lead.
Mine was a peripatetic childhood. This was my second home in three years. I was ten years old and desperate for friends but not skilled in the art of making them. Each move seemed to cloak me in another layer of shyness. I was the new girl, again.
I heard a car coming up behind me on the road and moved aside to let it pass. I kept my head down and continued walking even as the car pulled up beside me. Startled, I looked to my right, and my heart jumped. The driver's side window was being rolled down. The man behind the wheel was speaking to me.
"We're going up to New Hampshire for the day. Would you like to come with us?" It was the neighbors. They had circled back, and the father was asking me the question I longed to hear. I nodded my head.
"Go ask your mother. We'll wait for you."
I darted a glance toward the back seat. Did she think this was a good idea, or was this decision being foisted upon her? There she sat, looking timidly back at me. She smiled. I smiled, and ran into the house.
"Mom," I yelled as I slammed through the front door, "I'm going to New Hampshire for the day with the neighbors!" This would not be open to discussion.
Vaguely, I was aware of my mother's far away "Okay" as I turned on my heel and careened back out the door. I flew, my feet barely acknowledging the five front granite steps. And then my hand was boldly reaching to open the car door. I was in. I was going.