Grace

Her name was Grace and we were in junior high together. Details are sketchy because I'm hearkening back some 28 years, but I remember she had brown hair, wore glasses, was cute in an adorkable kind of way, and was nice. Back then, around age 11, my overeating was kicking into high gear and my mom had taken me to a psychologist after I ate half a cake in one sitting. I remember telling the shrink about Grace, how I wanted to invite her to do something. Go to a movie, maybe. I can't imagine what else we would've done. Surely I wouldn't have invited her to play Barbies, even though I was still doing so after school. I worked a lot on self-esteem issues with the therapist. She wanted to know why I was hesitant to ask Grace to hang out. I can still see myself duck my head, look at the ground, and smile shyly. I had no good answer. I just believed Grace would say no or think I was stupid. I had one friend in junior high -- a rough time for any kid -- but especially a dry heat desert kid transplanted to the humid Midwest. I outweighed most of my classmates by at least 75 pounds. I still had a Spanish accent, had recently gotten glasses, and was mercilessly harassed by a group of black girls who loved to get in my face and pull my hair when I was trying to exit the bus. I didn't have the confidence to do much, let alone ask Grace to hang out. I realize now, more than 20 years after I started coming out, that I was attracted to her, but I had no words for those feelings then. I just thought she was nice and pretty. My lack of grace all those years ago was twofold.