the worst mosquito bite in my life.

  Twelve years old and sitting on a church pew in Ripley,  Mississippi I was not expecting a jab into my face by some pesky insect, but there it was.  Summer days in Georgia are hot and humid, but summer days in Mississippi are relentless.  I was absentmindedly sitting there, swinging my feet and rubbing my face at the place of attack when a fellow walked up in the pew behind me.  We will say his name was Steffic Erwin.  Now, Steffic was no ordinary fellow.  He was tall and strong with big, rippling hands, clear, keen eyes and an easy gentleness about him.  From the first time I'd seen Steffic, I was smitten. This was the worst time of all. Twelve years old in Ripley Mississippi with so much of life changing already and on top of that a large, red sore on my cheek and Steffic Erwin right behind me, it was almost too much to bear. So I stared at my feet and at the pew in front of me and at the carpet.  Steffic was a gentlemanly chap, though, so he naturally began some sort of chit-chat.  To keep from showing the terrified horror I was capable of feeling at Twelve Years Old, I turned around in my pew to attempt my powers at pulling conversation out of a dark, dry box in the air that I was pretty sure didn't have one word in it.  I turned and inevitably, I blushed.  I've never had control over my blushing, and it comes on with a passion at the least desirable times.  This bite served one useful purpose, I guess; I didn't have to try to think of anything to say because Steffic immediately pointed out that there was a red place on my cheek and had I been bitten?  The girl next to him {we shall call her Adoline}, also agreed very coolly that I had in fact - it appeared - been bitten. Yes, I would be alright, no I didn't need cream.  So I turned back around and I'm sure I blushed for another 10 minutes.  The  { what shall I call them?  Light bulbs under my skin?? }  deserve some credit.  They've been successfully illuminating my face for over twenty years now, and still have as much vigor and spontaneous ability to glow red at any moment as they ever did.

   I was recalling this story to Anne this morning, and I was bemused at thinking of myself at that age.  Supposedly it's a preferable thing to never go through an awkward stage. Preferable or no, however, I definitely had my fair share and I can't say I'm sorry for it either.  Those awkward moments and days and years have given me much mirth in retrospect and I'm sure that all the ones I still have coming to me will have the same amount of amusement if not more, by the time I'm eighty.