Yo-Yo Woes

When I was ten years old, I had a secret crush on my classmate, Julie. This is our class photo from 1984:


There's Julie, in the pink dress. We never once traded a word.


Throughout forth grade, my mom dropped me off at school an hour early, before most kids arrived. I would wait outside my classroom, and that was where the following true story occurred.

That's me, in the checkered blue shirt:

That morning, I saw someone walking down the street, toward where I stood.

Julie!

Panicked, I had two options:

I ran and hid.

From behind a nearby hedge, I watched her take my place in front of our classroom.

I turned away, flush with self-defeat.

But when I looked back through the foliage, I saw something wonderful.

She was waving to me!

I leapt out from behind the bush and waved back happily.

But she wasn't waving. It only appeared that way.

She was playing with a yo-yo.

I sunk back behind the bush—not knowing if Julie saw me—and sat there until the school bell rang.

To commemorate this traumatic incident, I crocheted these two yo-yos:


They're weighted down with polyfill and embarrassment, which is why they don't bounce back like toy yo-yos.

Since forth grade, I've learned to accept that secret crushes are accompanied by fleeting highs and humiliating lows.

But I do wish I brought along a yo-yo that morning. I might have impressed her with my fancy tricks:

Yo yo, how ya like me now?