One summer,
I sat on my front
porch steps
with a bottle of
red nail polish,
wearing a pair
of high-waisted
shorts, and a
cotton crop top.
My hair was down,
and my lips were
rosy, to match my
nail color.
I was talking to
myself, and
laughing at my
own jokes, you
know, that whole
bit. Anyway,
I was all alone,
when a rather
attractive boy
rode his bike right
down my picturesque
little house.
He wasn't looking
at the sidewalk,
or even at the sky;
no, he was looking
right at me.
I smiled and I think
I even waved,
but he fell off of
his bike, and fell
into the middle of
the street.
I laughed and ran
to help the stranger
up, abandoning
my nail polish.
“Thanks," he said.
“You're beautiful."
I rolled my eyes
and said, “I know.
You are too."
“We should hang
out," he said.
“Give me your arm,"
I said, and he did.
I took my Sharpie
out of my pocket
(number one rule:
always carry a black
Sharpie. always.)
and I wrote my phone
number on his
arm, in plain sight.
He opened his
mouth to say more,
but I turned on my
heel and started
back to my porch.
“Wait!" he called.
“Call me," I said.
I sat back on the
porch and began
finishing my nails.
It was when I saw
myself the way others
do that I allowed myself
to fall in love with
who I am.