I don’t remember the year Phyllis Ray came to Baptist Home or how long she lived there. My first memory of her began in Monticello, Arkansas in Mrs. Belts, a seventh grade class. She sat near the teacher’s desk and I sat behind and to her right. Although there were other times and places or activities where I remember her being around, like the time she asked me to come with her, my crush started in that first class.
Phyllis was a small girl with a slim figure whose head rested on a long, thin neck. His facial features were slim with a nose that seemed too big for his face. She wasn’t really that big, it’s just that she was a little girl. She also usually wore a pair of faded blue jean pants that fit her pretty tight with a sleeveless top hanging down outside. Whenever he wore shoes, he would put them on his bare feet. I mention it because it was not uncommon for boys to go barefoot and most likely girls did too.
When I was twelve, she and I shared a common music teacher for a year. However, Phyllis studied with Mrs. Dean much longer than I did. He became so skilled on the piano that he once entered a talent show and won. It sure did, and the final was held on television.
When it was announced that she had won, the audience erupted in whistles and shouts of “you taught them girl!” Then, during thunderous applause, they asked for an encore. Phyllis wasn’t ready for an encore and she hadn’t prepared a second piece. Such a thing had not entered his mind. Therefore, Phyllis apologized explaining that she had time to prepare only one piece of music and then played the same piece again.
Phyllis was a young woman of about fifteen at the time. He could have played any of the hundred songs by heart, but none at the level of the one that beat him and he didn’t want to disappoint the audience.
The audience again applauded his approval and asked for another encore to which Phyllis played the piece for the third time and withdrew.
Now, the part where she asked me to go with her happened much later, when we were sixteen or seventeen years old. I remember we were outside, between the concrete slab and the (already full) fish pond when I approached her. I think she had asked someone else to ask me to find her there. Anyway, she asked me to go with her. When I turned her down, she asked me why. I don’t remember the reason, just that it happened.
Phyllis Ray was the first girl I really liked while I was at the Home. She was twelve or thirteen at the time and I’m sure she didn’t realize there was a crazy boy watching her every move. If you ever read this story, Phyllis is sure to kill me, or at least be surprised if someone writes such a story.
She sat in the front row (7th grade) next to the teacher’s desk, while I sat just behind and to her right. I could see everything he did. Young Love ‘was a huge hit in those days, and she scribbled a lot on her paper as the teacher talked. In the margins of his notebook, he wrote the names of famous artists and popular songs of the day in the margins of his notebook and he did it in such a neat manner. The writing had such smooth curves, at various angles with different fonts, upside down, and in all the blanks on his paper.
I don’t know what attracted me to her, other than that she was a very pretty girl. But, as the days passed as she scribbled and I watched, I became more and more drawn to her.
The sugar and spice routine continued for some time until one day he picked his nose. Like a child, he encountered a snot that twirled it between his thumb and middle finger and then pushed it away from his finger to finally drop it to the floor below.
There I sat, dumbfounded. All my life I had thought that girls were different and only boys were snails, claws and puppy tails.
However, I recovered from the shock and for some time remained her secret boyfriend and to this day I write a capital ‘P’ with a large sweeping curve, just like she did when we were in Mrs. Belts 7th grade class.