* * *

When love hit me on the head for the first time, I could never have guessed it would have happened the way it did. His name was Rodney. Skinny, like a slightly overweight skeleton, with straight sandy-coloured hair and a smile so earnest, dimples appeared on both sides of his face.

Our house was built on the street running alongside the river, on the “lower end.” Rodney lived on the upper side of the valley, closer to the school and the large Victorian homes built by the well-to-do knitting and applesauce factory owners.

At nine years old, most of the other girls didn’t ride bicycles. Maybe they didn’t know how, or maybe it’s because they only wore dresses. For me, dresses or not, it was a ticket to freedom, even if it only applied to a four-mile radius.

Every Friday, our mother gave us a dime to spend at Wheeler’s General Store. Dark wood panelling covered its walls. Large ornate tin tiles adorned the high ceiling. The floor creaked when I stepped up to the counter to pay for my new colouring book. Yes, that’s correct. Most kids would have picked out a sweet or salty snack, but I always wanted the latest colouring book.

After handing over my dime, I stepped out into the bright sunshine of a late September afternoon. A group of older kids from my school stood in front of the store.

Wallace, the tallest boy, pointed at my leotards and shouted, “Look, her legs must have the chicken pox. A pox of many colours!”

I shouted back, “It’s not chicken pox. They’re just patched-up holes. You don’t know anything.” By this point, I desperately wanted to disappear. I turned around to look at the brick wall behind me. “Where’s my bicycle?”

“Here it is,” Rodney said, as he came out from behind the hedge separating the store from the house next door. “I found it back there.”

He brought my bicycle up to where I stood. I grabbed the handle bars with one hand, and dropped my colouring book in the carry-all basket with the other.

Wallace moved fast for a boy of his size. Before I knew what he intended to do, he took my colouring book, held it in front of me and ripped it in half.

“Wallace Wilson!” I shouted. “You’re nothing but a worm!”

Wallace placed both of his hands on his hips. “ Oh, yeah?” He spat on the ground. “What are you going to do about it?”

Rodney approached Wallace, walking slowly, until they stood almost toe to toe. “You better say you’re sorry or I’m gonna hurt you, real bad.”

Wallace tossed his head backwards and laughed. “You don’t scare me. Look at you. I’m taller and you’re too scrawny. A scarecrow weighs more than you do.”

“I have four older brothers,” Rodney said. “They don’t bother with me much anymore, get it?”

The crowd of kids off to the side whispered amongst each other. One of them said in a low voice, “It’s true. Davey has a black eye and Caleb’s front tooth is missing.”

Wallace turned away, silent and red-faced, walking in the direction of his parents’ house.

Rodney smiled at me. “Come on, Kitty-Car. I’ll take you home.”

“Why do you call me that?” I asked him.

“Your’e kind of cool, for a girl.”