into circles to discuss ideas, and Herbie wound up between Sherman Jimsen and Annie Berkely.
At first, no one seemed to notice him. Nicole Sherry took the lead, deciding that our topic was going to be poverty, and David Scott suggested looking at the effectiveness of government aide. The two of them went back and forth while everyone else sat there either staring at their books or blankly watching them discuss the direction of our project. But then I saw that Annie was periodically glancing at Herbie. Not at his notes, not at his book, but at him. I don't think I had noticed that back when I was the young man in that chair.
"How does everyone else feel about that?" Nicole asked the group. They went around to everyone, one by one. We had eight members in our group, and each of them nodded their approval. Howard Chukowski suggested something for the oral part of our presentation, which Nicole and David seemed to like. Eventually, they got to Herbie.
"Whatever," he said without looking up from his book. "Just tell me what you need me to do and I'll get it done."
"Same here," Annie said.
It was determined that we'd break up into pairs to work on different aspects of the project after school. I know that Herbie didn't care who he got paired with; having to collaborate with anyone was going to be an anxiety nightmare. But when all other pairings had been decided and Annie and Herbie were the only two left, Annie allowed herself a brief smile.
And I swore I heard Doc murmur, "I think she likes you."
At the end of the school day, while Herbie was on his way through the halls toward the main exit, Annie ran up beside him. "Hey, did you want to work on the project today? I figured that if we just got our part done right away, we wouldn't have to worry about it for the next month."
Keep in mind that although I had withdrawn from society and generally didn't want to talk to anyone, it didn't mean that I hated people. "I suppose," Herbie said softly. "But my house isn't exactly a great place to get work done. Do you want to go to the library or something?"
That just about made Annie's day. "Okay! Let me just call my mother and let her know where I'll be. Do you need to contact your parents?"
Herbie stifled a laugh. "Trust me, they'll be happier not knowing."
The school library was open late every day, so Annie and Herbie grabbed seats at two available computers and got to work. At first, it was all business. Our goal was to write a two-page report on what kind of aide had been offered to the poor and homeless by both the state and federal governments over the course of the past year. At first, Herbie didn't think they'd be able to fill two pages with that kind of information because it was just going to be a listing of dollar amounts.
"Well, there are other aspects, too," Annie said, rotating her chair toward him. "The homeless shelters and soup kitchens provide food rather than money, so that's something we can write about. And there's the credit program and community work-for-food programs."
I found it kind of humorous to watch. Today, I could easily write a fifty page paper about all this stuff. But back then I couldn't even see how we'd fill two.
"Those programs are bogus," Herbie muttered, turning back to his screen. "They don't work."
Annie scrunched her forehead, obviously confused. "What makes you say that?"
I remembered that moment. At that point, Herbie was considering whether or not he should tell her about his family's financial situation. There was the obvious possibility that she'd laugh at him. The less obvious but more likely possibility was that she wouldn't say anything about it at first, but then she'd tell her friends, and word would travel around school like wildfire. I mean, there were students who knew I was poor, but they never knew how poor. I hadn't exactly sent out announcements regarding my dysfunctional family.
But, for whatever reason, Herbie decided to go ahead and let the cat out of the bag.
"My mom has tried to get us on those programs a number of times. They keep rejecting us." He stopped short of saying that she was being rejected because what money she did make went to booze.
Annie didn't seem to know what to say to that. "Oh. I'm sorry."
But Herbie didn't want sympathy. He didn't want anyone to think he was weak. "It's fine. We've gotten by just fine without help, and we'll keep on doing it."
"Do you mind if I ask . . . what happened?" She was definitely scared, but apparently she was interested enough to take the risk. "I mean, I just thought it could help us with the report." She added that last part to try to rationalize the question.
Ever since the Disney World incident, I've adhered to a strict policy against lying in any way, shape, or form. But I certainly didn't want her to know that my parents were drunks, either. "My mother has trouble keeping jobs," Herbie said. "And my father has trouble getting jobs."
"What about you?" she asked him. "Do you have a job?"
"I've applied to a couple of places, but they won't let me work until I have reliable transportation."
"I'm sorry," she said again. "What do you do for money?"
With his anxiety skyrocketing, Herbie shifted gears. He didn't want to talk about his family and their financial problems. "We get by," he said in a harder voice. "Can we get back to the report?"
"Of course," Annie nodded, turning back to her computer. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything—"
"It's fine," he cut her off. "Let's just get this thing done and over with."
Over the next hour, they chose three different subjects and separated them into six paragraphs of material. All they had to do was research the topics and organize all the material into the paragraphs. But that would have to wait until their next study session, Annie told him, because her mother had arrived to drive her home.
Herbie walked her out to the curb where her mother was waiting in their brand-new aeromobile. "Would you like a ride home?" Annie asked him.
"I'll be fine," Herbie told her. A brisk autumn wind blew as he said it.
"All right." She stared at him for a minute as though she had something else to say. Then she yanked a piece of paper out of the pocket of her jacket. "Here."
Herbie took it and unfolded it. Written inside was a phone number. "What's this?" he asked.
"Just in case," she said with a smile. "I mean, if you want to talk about the report."
"Oh, okay." He shoved the paper into his jeans. "Thanks."
It wasn't until after the car disappeared around the corner that Herbie realized what was going on. She was interested in him. She had to be. Why else would she have been acting so weird?
"She seemed nice enough," Doc said. "She was kind to you even when you were cold to her."
"I know. But like you told me, there is reason and purpose to all things."
"That there is," he agreed. "What was hers?"
As I've previously mentioned, Doc and I have covered my time with Annie on numerous occasions. But he has a way of revisiting subjects, often asking the same questions he did the previous time. I'm sure he's trying to lead me toward something but refuses to tell me what.
I didn't know much about girls or dating at that time. Still don't today, honestly. So I wasn't sure if I was going to call Annie or not. A part of me wanted to. Deep down under the cold visage that I'd worked so hard to build, I still had a faint yet unyielding hope that I'd one day find someone who cared about me. But the rest of me knew that this was a dangerous risk likely to end in more heartbreak. By this point in my life, I had learned to expect rejection and therefore took every step to guard my heart from any more scars. So, despite my lifelong search for acceptance, my first instinct was to toss Annie's phone number into the trash.
Knowing what I know now, I wish I had.
But for some reason, I didn't. I kept it. Stared at it. Memorized it. Thought about the possibilities every night. I tried to avoid Annie in school because I didn't want to act one way or another. If I let my guard down, I'd seem interested. If I kept myself closed off,
I'd seem uninterested. I really didn't know which side of the fence I was on.
But it was impossible to avoid her in the one class we shared. And regardless of my fears, I didn't want to be rude.
So when Mr. Boboco gave us another class period two weeks later to work on our project, I had to face her. We worked together to assemble the information we'd researched on our own. Pretty soon, our part of the project was nearing completion. Annie suggested one more afternoon in the library. It was there that her elegant beauty and creative wits brought my guard tumbling down. Standing on the curb waiting for her mother to arrive that afternoon, she gave me my first kiss. And any remaining reservations I may have had about letting someone get close to me withered away.
On the way home that day, I made a promise to myself. It's a promise that has both haunted and protected me ever since. I decided that Annie would be my last attempt to interact with the world. My last attempt at a relationship of any kind. Now, I realize that high school love rarely lasts forever. However, if the time came that we decided to go our separate ways, I wanted our separation to be amicable. I didn't want her to hate me. I didn't want her to insult me.
I didn't want her to betray me.
I wanted everything to be open and honest regardless of how much the truth could sometimes hurt. Yes, I know that breakups like that are more than uncommon. I was young, in love, and desperate for whatever attention anyone was