Sonja

After being tested as a boy with a very high IQ I when I was 11 years old, I was destined to go to university. The secondary school I had to go after primary school was not one where people of the working class normally would send their children. It was in a posh area of the nearby city and I needed a bicycle to get there from our village.

I did great the first year, scored really high marks and was a very dedicated student. It was always a struggle to find a quiet place in our crowded house, but I managed to do my homework every day. It did bother me a bit that I was such a small boy compared to my classmates. The older students looked like giants to me. That changed in the second year, suddenly I grew like a beanstalk becoming skinnier and skinnier. My clothes were all a bit unfitting, the legs of my trousers too short just like the sleeves of my shirts.

My view of my fellow students changed a lot too, I had only eyes for one girl: Sonja.
She would sit two desks away in front me. I would stare at the back of her head all day, admiring her blond shoulder length hair. At home I could see it, while dreaming away, instead of doing my homework.

One day a teacher asked me something. I didn't have a clue what he was talking about and started stammering. The girl of my dreams had turned around and I could see she was miming something. It took a while but then I realised she was actually giving me the answer. I understood her message, gave the answer and the teacher was satisfied. He did add that he would be pleased if I would try not to sleep during the lessons. I only blushed, not being able to say anything.

During the next break I wanted to thank her. She was together with the big girl with the funny glasses. I waited till that girl would get away, did not dare to go to her. I just stood there and watched. The big girl went to the toilet and Sonja was on her own. I wanted to go to her, but remained where I was, sort of paralized. I made a decision: I would speak with Sonja at the big school party at the end of the week.

During lunch break I went to a nearby park and sat at a bench with my sandwiches and self hate. A few old ladies walked over and looked at me. I was very aware that they would think that I was a weird boy and felt ashamed. I got up, the old ladies sat down on the bench and I walked towards another one. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts. Again I decided: Friday night would be my finest hour, I would talk to Sonja. Maybe we could become friends?

Friday evening I cycled to school, much to the surprise of my parents. "You? To a party?" I had mumbled as a reaction and just went. There would be a famous dixieland band playing.
The party people were mostly the older students. I felt out of place with my short legged trousers being not elegant like theirs; it seemed to be fashion to wear blazers and not a stupid coat like mine.
I was as tall as most of them, but I was very aware how skinny I was. Some of the boys were quite muscular. The girls were wearing colourful dresses, they all looked so mature. Yet none was as nice as Sonja. But she obviously was not there.

Yet a couple of the boys asked me if I liked to come along. They had a stash of beer hidden. This was only meant for the oldest students and the teachers, but they said they had nicked some.
I drank three bottles of beer and felt a bit more at ease, talked more in an hour than in the last year.
Not being used to drinking I started to feel ill and I told my new friends I had to go home.
I found my bicycle and hurried away from school, had to stop after a few mile because I had to vomit. I felt very sorry for myself and very stupid: of course Sonja was not at that party. I cried for miles on my bicycle.

The torture of my being so shy went on for the rest of the year. I failed horribly and had to change schools. Never saw Sonja again.

Years later I became a member of a website "Old Classmates". I found an old picture of the old class, saw my skinny old self standing at the back of the group. In the foreground sat my first idol: Sonja.
I even got in contact with her and we chatted for some time. She told me that she had been a very unhappy teenager, certain that she was very ugly and unattractive. None of the boys would ever speak to her and most of the girls were treating her bad. I told her of my secret love for her and she admitted that she had always hoped I would come to talk to her. She was too shy to get to me, never dared.
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Thank you

On alternating Mondays our bin is being emptied; one week it's rubbish, the next it's recycling waste. We all have put the house number on our bins, so not to become confused and to be able to trace them back when the garbage men leave them in the next street. In our little corner of the street we managed to become a bit social about this. Whenever a neighbour is not there, another will bring the bin back to the house. It's to prevent them to get all over the street or blocking the pavement. Often there is a lot of wind and an empty one can be blown quite far. Sometimes we have to search for them.
Because I'm a pensioner, it's often me who will do it; even for one neighbour who is home.
She is a little old lady, older than 80. I never asked her her age. She had a busy life as a midwife and is now enjoying her old age.

One day I noticed that the black insert of her recycle bin was seriously damaged. I told her so and advised her to get in contact with the island council. It is very easy to get a replacement.
Normally she is very clear in her words, but not this time. She mumbled a bit and it was obvious that she could not be bothered. Two weeks later I told her again what she should do. She is living on her own, very independent, so very capable to take of things herself. It's not nice to patronise elderly, that is why I did not want to do it for her. She mumbled again. I left it with that.

This Monday I was not there when the garbage men came, had to visit the dentist. When I returned, I noticed my bin had been put back to it's spot next to the house. My old neighbour had also taken care of the other neighbour's bin. She was busy putting her own back and I shouted a "Thank You" across the street. She gave me two thumbs up and I went into the house, complaining about the misery of my mouth to my wife.

An hour later I had to throw some tins in the bin and I noticed a black insert in my recycle bin without a number on it, heavily damaged. I knew that insert and it was definitely not mine. The little old lady had solved her problem, she now had a decent insert in her bin.
I had a bit of a laugh, tried to order a new one through the website of the island council. After five tries I realised something was wrong and phoned the number that was mentioned on the site. It took almost half an hour before I got a person on the line. She confirmed that the website was not working. "It has been reported." I will get a new insert for my bin within ten working days. I already have a plastic sticker with the house number for it.

I told the woman on the phone what happened and she had a good laugh: "How cheeky!"
A bit naughty indeed. I thanked the lady and ended the call.
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