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2005-01-30 - 4:50 p.m. Auf den ersten Blick. At the first sight. Even in Germany the myth/truth is alive. Trying to file and box my feelings for Mr. Fashion, I decided to ruminate on the idea of love at first sight. Bullshit or Possibility? I must admit, I do believe, but only because it has happened to me. The great thing about my one and only encounter with this phenomenon is that it didn�t happen to me with another man, it happened to me with a girl (yes, a girl, we were only 15). And even more than that, it wasn�t a sexual love at all, but it was love at first sight nevertheless. Fifteen years old, and a Junior at Juanita High-School, a school comfortably situated (or as I would later discover, claustrophobically situated) in the lazy, upscale, suburbs of Seattle, WA. We were often referred to as �the school with the pool�, as we had an Olympic sized swimming pool adjacent to our gigantic indoor sports building. Being the usual gay-boy in an American High-School I suffered from a love-hate relationship with school, there were good days and bad days. Monday I might get called a faggot 15 times, Tuesday a senior cheerleader would invite me to lunch, or to ride with her to that night�s Football game. Ups and downs. I was definitely friends with all those girls that were �in� �popular� �pretty�, and sometimes their boyfriends would become my friends as well, simply because I was already with their girlfriend a great deal of time. When, eventually, their fragile, young, relationship would end it would be 50/50 if the boyfriend and I stayed friends (I was very loyal, even then), but when we did it was nice, one more person to shut down those ugly comments that were going to be said to me on Wednesday. Besides having an enviable swimming pool we were also one of the top rated schools for the instruction of Foreign Language, our German program (complete with exchange) was renowned along the West Coast as the best in the business. And here is where, on an innocent day, I was to fall, completely, head over Nike sneakers, in love. The French, Spanish, and German classes were all taught in an odd room referred to as �The Kivas�, a large square room that held 3 circular, rotate-able, stepped classrooms. Picture, from a birds-eye view, a large square, then place 3 equally sized cylinders in 3 of the 4 corners, then fill the cylinders with stadium style tables and chairs and cut away 1/3 of the cylinders so it�s not completely enclosed. The purpose was that when the 3 languages would need to be addressed together the Kivas/Classrooms could be rotated and all face the 4th corner, so a visiting lecturer could address the students of all the languages simultaneously. When not having department presentations the open section of each Kiva was rotated to face it�s designated corner, this is where the instructor stood, on the main floor, looking up to address the students. Open-concept, very radical for it�s day. This being the mid-eighties, the New Wave movement was just touching our suburban shores, nothing too radical in terms of clothing and hairstyles � yet. Having studied German for now, 3 years of Jr. High as well as my Sophomore year, I was in what was referred to as German II, most, if not all, the students in the 2 different German II classes would be shipped off (providing their GPA�s were in line) to Germany later in the year for 8 months of study in a real German Gymnasium. I would watch the visiting students from Germany with a curious interest; I loved everything about them, their cool clothes, their funky haircuts, the boys with their pierced ears, etc. Oh, how I couldn�t wait to go to Germany! I convinced myself that was going to be the place for me, the place to really express myself! I was so wanting to get out of my Lacoste Polo�s, Levis, Boat Shoes or Nikes, to break-away from the mundane, the ordinary, my own boring, suburban upper middle class teenage life. I certainly didn�t have the guts to do it in America, no; I needed to do it in Germany where my parents couldn�t see the transformation and then freak-out! This innocent day, my constant jabbering had (again) caused me to be assigned extra work in my German II class, and not only that, this time I had to complete the punishment assignment during lunch and get it back to the whip-cracking teacher, Frau C later that day. If memory serves me, I believe this was sometime in mid-November, had I known what was going to be presented to me that day, I would have gladly been given the punishment the first day of school. Struggling to get the work done over lunch while also socializing and eating, I ran, breathless, across the school to the Kivas to turn it in to the 4'10" feather-capped instructor. Arriving at the cutout of the German Kiva I had to stand and wait while Frau C was speaking with another student. Shifting my weight from foot to foot in anxiety about now going to be late for my next class I took a moment to look up at the stepped tables and chairs of this �other� German II class. Auf den ersten blick. There she was. Sitting there, speaking to no one, just patiently waiting for class to begin, she looked down at a book on her table and seemed to be reading. When she looked up again I stared, mesmerized, rooted in my spot, no longer shifting my weight. She had this hair, this beautiful hair, cut very short on one side, but the other side came down to near her chin, it was very, very light brown, maybe even dark blonde, and well, it just hung, like, well, it was just too beautiful to describe, it hung down over the left side of her face, completely obscuring her left eye, in fact the whole left side of her face was gently covered by this silky, beautiful hair. When she looked up I expected her to brush it off her face, but she didn�t, she looked, straight ahead and her hair remained in its place, it bounced a bit when she moved, it was free of �product�, but it stayed covering half of her. Then I saw the eye, the beautiful right eye, not safely hidden behind the hair. She took no notice of me at all, but the beauty of that eye, coupled with the mystery of the hairstyle, had me transfixed. She was, singularly, the most beautiful creature I had even seen. Intuition told me she was shy, she was fragile, she was special, she didn�t want to be noticed, she wanted to go about her life on her terms, do things her way. I knew at once she was not a trend follower, didn�t need cheerleader or football players to validate her, she was a one-of-a-kind. I also knew she was brave, beyond intelligent, sophisticated and kind. All this and I had only viewed her for less than 2 minutes. Summoned with a huff, I approached Frau C with my penalty assignment, but as she rattled on and on about the importance of being quiet in class I was nowhere in the world near her, I was up on that third row on the left, I was talking with this stunning girl. Was she a German exchange student? By now I had been able to examine her very �not American� clothes and shoes. Yes, maybe she was a visiting German. I had to know all about her, like I said, it wasn�t a sexual attraction (that was saved for the guy in my 5th period Geometry class) it was an attraction to beauty, to a beauty like I had never witnessed. It was the first time in my life I understood the concept of �Masterpiece�. Plotting an introduction began the minute I left the Kiva with Frau C still imploring me to halt the out of turn talking. With the first meeting I had most of my questions answered; No, she wasn�t a visiting German, she was an American. She had just transferred to our school to take advantage of the exchange program. When she spoke the beauty intensified, with each word said I fell deeper and deeper in love with this girl. Wishing with all my might that we could become friends, best friends, friends till the end, say it is possible, say it can happen, and this beauty can never not be part of my life. Following the tradition set by the popular girls I gave out holiday cards the last day before winter break (gay with a capital G A Y), but the one I was so nervous to give out was to this girl, for I had included my telephone number in it, and I would be crushed if I never heard from her over the break. Surprised, I think, to receive the card, she accepted it with grace and style. Surprised, I think mostly, because she had very few friends (no one interests me, she had confided) and also because by the time I gave it to her we had only spoken a few times. Growing up on a lake I always had a wonderful view from my bedroom window, perfect for just staring out and watching the waves, watching the wind make white caps from the comfort of my windowsill. My parents use to always reprimand me for sitting in the sill, �You could fall out� my Mother always said when she caught me, but I did it anyway, especially on cold winter days when I had a lot on my mind, there was something so cathartic about it, staring at that lake. On the second ring of the phone I picked up. �Hi, is Bean there?� said the girls' voice �This is Bean,� I answered �Hi, it�s Piglet� she said �Wow, hi, what are you doing?� I asked �Nothing, I just thought I would call and see how your break was going, what you were doing,� she said �I am sitting in my windowsill watching the lake,� I said. �You�re sitting in your windowsill?� she asked. �Yep, just watching the lake� I said �Hmm, interesting.� She said
22 years. � � 
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