it used to be simple

I went out for a bite to eat, and stopped to get a movie on the way home. I needed a feel good movie. I had eyeballed Flipped the last couple times at the store, and knew it would be harmless enough.

Yes, it's only Hollywood saccharin, but it does stir a piece of me that remembers what it was like to love simply. It used to not require this elaborate explanation, as if I have to convince myself that a woman is worthy of my affection. The beauty spoke for itself. It was an awkward and irrational attraction, but without a hint of superficiality.

When I was in the eighth grade, I was dancing with my peers at a function I had organized, when one of my committee members slipped a smile at me from across the room. I was 14 and she was 12; I had never had a conversation with her before or even given her a second thought. But something about that smile, in that light, with no prior rejection to distract or dissuade me -- I knew I had to know her.

A couple weeks later, I was scheduled for a school field trip, but my guy friends bailed on me. Waiting for the bus, I saw her drifting in a summer dress, her hair pinned up so that her entire face shone. We drove three hours to Indy, and I didn't say a word. Later as I was wandering about the zoo gift shop, I bumped into her and shared a brief playful exchange. We spent the next three hours enjoying one another's company, as if nothing else could matter more.

I moved to high school, and when she joined me two years later, we never mentioned that day. We never did anything more than dance around each other's interest with a steady friendship. But I will never forget that first glimpse in the middle school gym. To have seen a smile so pure and lovely, and to know it was for me, was the most wonderful thing I could ever imagine.

And I think that while millions of single Americans await the perfect match through a myriad of meaningless criteria, I just want to see a quiet smile of a similar nature, and know that it's for me.