Dimples
by
Nettie Stadnyk
I had just become a teenager in the early thirties. Labelled a tomboy, I was like one of the boys. Hence I was very self-conscious about admitting to having a "crush" on a boy. Never! Not me! I had a reputation to uphold.
However, the girls my age loved to be teased about boys. They'd giggle, giggle in the presence of boys. Favourite subject was boys and more boys. They'd gush about a new "crush" and have a new one almost as often as they changed their sweaters.
The first Monday of July, Mom, sister Mary, and I went picking wild strawberries. Our farm teemed with strawberry patches in places where stumps and shrubs had recently been cleared. Our neighbour, Mrs. Hlady, with her nephew Benny, from Winnipeg on a summer holiday, and her son Chuck, both a few months older than I, came out to join us. I had met Benny the day before at our softball game and was impressed. He had dark wavy hair, was better looking, more polished and more svelte than the farm boys. He had picked me out to talk to after the game.
"You pitched well! Hey, that three-bagger of yours was great," he commented. Like a typical tomboy I grunted, "Thanks", and reacted to his comments as if they were water on a duck's back. I turned away to join my team-mates who were talking excitedly about winning in an extra inning. Not me! I was cool. I showed no emotion even though I was bubbling inside. Surreptitiously I glanced at Benny. At that very second, Benny winked at me. Set my heart a-thumping. Just at this point, in response to Chuck's call, Benny, with a wave of his hand, walked off.
He had attracted the attention of the girls whose baseball conversation changed pronto to boys. "Hey! See that guy? That's Benny, Chuck's cousin! Cute!" On and on the girls gushed over Benny. Not me! Not a peep! I stood aloof as we waited for Coach to come and give us instructions about the next game. Now, any new guy would have merited the same "buzz" from the boy-crazy girls. Not me! From me, no "buzz". Not even a murmur. Controlled! Yes, I was in control. But not that night. I was brimming with exciting thoughts and they weren't about the ball game either.
Next day I was in the strawberry patch almost in touching proximity of Benny. Boys are poor strawberry pickers. Benny and Chuck fooled around. Benny was very talkative, and with his antics, certainly got my attention. My berry-picking suffered. After three hours, Mrs. Hlady called the boys and they started for home. So did we. For the past hour I had struggled trying to subdue nature's call, but at that moment I was in control. However, the persistent plumbing call caused me to head for the closest bush. When I was well out of sight, I pulled down my coveralls, squatted and turned on the imaginary tap. I was interrupted with "Gee! You sure got cute dimples on your down-sitter cheeks." Benny was chuckling right behind me!
Like a flash of lightning, I took off! Gone! Through bushes and brambles! I didn't stop until I got home.
When one is thirteen years of age, embarrassment comes in 450 decibels, 212 degrees F., and etched on one's mind for a hundred years!