Remember that feeling, those fluttery dips and drops in your stomach when 'he' walked by? He could drive you to distraction with a mere smile. Where is he now? Maybe he's in the next room, tied to you with a golden band and a couple of kids. Mine is miles away, living with his wife and children that I've never met. It seemed he had such power, the future wouldn't be without him. If I saw him now, there would be no coming unglued. I might not even recognize him.
There are butterflies taking flight inside me today, though. They have nothing to do with any boy. They have everything to do with my future and the people who, today, are holding it in their hands. They have the power, with the click of a mouse, to either reject me, sending my hard work to the recycle bin, or to change my life forever. Do they have any idea how my life hangs in the balance? That they can tip it one way or another with a yes or no?
It's a courtship of sorts. She is my book. She is an integral part of me. My story. I love her. I birthed her, raised her and keep my arms protectively around her, lest anyone try to cause her harm. She is young and vulnerable, yet, surprisingly strong.
She's already been to the dance. She was in such a hurry to find her future, she couldn't wait. She struck out and found a place, standing against the wall. She watched as others paired up and promenade around the dance floor, all while she picked the zit on her neck and ran a hand through her greasy hair. Maybe she should have taken some time, she thought as she looked down at her wrinkled skirt and mismatched shoes. Partners passed her by, barely giving her a glance. She left early, swearing she wouldn't return until she was ready.
Since then, she has primped and preened. She colored her hair, whitened her teeth and got a manicure. She has worked hard. She lost weight and cleared up her acne. With a new dress and high-heeled pumps, she strode into the dance again this week. She added a little last minute lipstick and popped a mint in her mouth. She is fearful, yet confident. She knows that she is attractive and charming. All she needs is to catch the eye of one. The one who will see her for what she is, for the good that she can do, the beauty she can share.
Me? I sit at home, hoping my wall flower becomes the belle of the ball. I've done all I can. Maybe that isn't true, there's always more. But, like da Vinci said, 'Art is never finished, only abandoned.'
I haven't abandoned her, but I'm stepping back and praying that it's time.
My girl is out there competing with all the others. I sit here and try to control the swarms of butterflies, moths and so many other flying critters that make it impossible to concentrate. My hand hovers over the mouse, wanting to check my email, not wanting to. Oh, I might be sick.