sweet

I still remember the first day I saw her. It was in English. She had positioned herself at the front of the classroom and I took the seat directly behind her. My friend Rebecca walked in a few moments later and noticing that there was no empty seat next to me, looked confused.

Sitting behind Leilani had not been my choice. Natural desire had pushed me that way and it would have burned within me had a decided to sit anywhere else. It might have been the darkness of her skin, compared to the paleness of all of ours that pulled me in. Her lips were stained coral and she smelled like candy. I assumed she did not know perfume and make-up were not allowed. Her hair was a thick sheet of black and it hung over the back of her chair, taunting me. I wanted so badly to stroke it and that longing scared me.

“Excuse me,” she said, turning around. “How much is the Shakespeare collection for this class?”

“I…I don’t know.” Syllabi for all of our classes arrived in the mail in the summer. I gave mine to my mother and she purchased all of the books. I’m sure my mother didn’t even know how much she paid for it. But Leilani made me wish I had cared.

I watched Leilani as she eyed a copy of the collection that was on the desk of the girl beside her. Her eyes were distinct: almond like in shape and color. They had drifted away from me and I needed them back. Wanting to say something to her so badly, I blurted out, “I think it was around $60.”

“Oh, thanks,” she said. She didn’t look at me again. Instead she scribbled something in her notebook: “check library for Shakespeare collection” I read over her shoulder.

As time went on, Leilani became a prime conversation piece for everyone in St. Mary’s. It was senior year and we were all more than ready to graduate and go to college where we would have boys in our classes. Coming to St. Mary’s at this time seemed backwards and though I’m sure she had a reason, I never found it out what it was. They were simple questions: “are you new in town?”, “where did you live before?”, “what made you come here?” But I was too wrapped up in the social politics of St. Mary’s to ask what I wanted to know.

Instead of speaking to her, we stared as she floated from class to class alone, her uniform skirt like a tent over her wide hips. We commented on how poor she had to be considering her Reebok Classics. She didn’t even wear pearls.

There were a number of times I knew for sure Leilani had heard our comments about her oversized ass and ownership of a bus pass. A few times she had looked directly at me, almond eyes brimming with amusement as she continued walking to wherever. I still remember the first day I saw her. It was in English. She had positioned herself at the front of the classroom and I took the seat directly behind her. My friend Rebecca walked in a few moments later and noticing that there was no empty seat next to me, looked confused.

Sitting behind Leilani had not been my choice. Natural desire had pushed me that way and it would have burned within me had a decided to sit anywhere else. It might have been the darkness of her skin, compared to the paleness of all of ours that pulled me in. Her lips were stained coral and she smelled like candy. I assumed she did not know perfume and make-up were not allowed. Her hair was a thick sheet of black and it hung over the back of her chair, taunting me. I wanted so badly to stroke it and that longing scared me.

“Excuse me,” she said, turning around. “How much is the Shakespeare collection for this class?”

“I…I don’t know.” Syllabi for all of our classes arrived in the mail in the summer. I gave mine to my mother and she purchased all of the books. I’m sure my mother didn’t even know how much she paid for it. But Leilani made me wish I had cared.

I watched Leilani as she eyed a copy of the collection that was on the desk of the girl beside her. Her eyes were distinct: almond like in shape and color. They had drifted away from me and I needed them back. Wanting to say something to her so badly, I blurted out, “I think it was around $60.”

“Oh, thanks,” she said. She didn’t look at me again. Instead she scribbled something in her notebook: “check library for Shakespeare collection” I read over her shoulder.

As time went on, Leilani became a prime conversation piece for everyone in St. Mary’s. It was senior year and we were all more than ready to graduate and go to college where we would have boys in our classes. Coming to St. Mary’s at this time seemed backwards and though I’m sure she had a reason, I never found it out what it was. They were simple questions: “are you new in town?”, “where did you live before?”, “what made you come here?” But I was too wrapped up in the social politics of St. Mary’s to ask what I wanted to know.

Instead of speaking to her, we stared as she floated from class to class alone, her uniform skirt like a tent over her wide hips. We commented on how poor she had to be considering her Reebok Classics. She didn’t even wear pearls.

There were a number of times I knew for sure Leilani had heard our comments about her oversized ass and ownership of a bus pass. A few times she had looked directly at me, almond eyes brimming with amusement as she continued walking to wherever.

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