This is the first post of my “Unposted Series,” texts that were left in the draft pile since 2008. You can read all of them here.
While I was up at 3am trying to go to sleep, I decided to sit in the living room and read all of my “draft” posts from the last couple of years. Some of them made me so happy–little stories about Spencer and me, honest posts about my struggles, posts that made me feel I was being conceited so I never posted, and so on. I’ve decided to start a little “Unposted” series on my blog because if I die, I want to make sure this stuff gets published, yo.
#1 of the Unposted Series–
I saw a familiar face at work today.
She came up in line and I only glanced at her. A lot of people come through the line. Perhaps she was a regular. I didn’t think much of it.
But then she came to my station. “Any soup for you today, Ma’am?” I asked her.
The small, young, short woman looked at the soups while I stared at her. I know her, I know her, I know her. She then looked up at me.
Ms. Sell, my Honors English teacher sophomore year. The teacher who never talked to me, nor did I with her. The only relationship we had was what she wrote on my in-class writings. Things like, “This is beautiful, Anne,” or “Great imagery” or “Powerful voice.” I loved her for those notes. I believed I could be a writer when I saw those notes.
But George Dowling, the kid who played Conrad Birdie in Middle School, was in that class. He was so loud and handsome and full of himself. He chewed gum and winked at the teachers. He’d come to class and lean on Ms. Sell’s desk and, in his charming voice, ask how her weekend was with her boyfriend.
I was sure she didn’t notice me. I was a quiet student. I rarely raised my hand. I didn’t have a group of friends, like the others. I simply wrote my essays and left class.
I was confused when I received a letter from the high school’s newspaper advisor, saying that my English teacher had recommended me to be on the staff and that advisor would love for me join. Ms. Sell had recommended me? Does Ms. Sell even know me? I remember going home and asking my mom. I didn’t get it. Why did she recommend me?
When filling out my German application, I decided to take a chance and ask Ms. Sell to write me a letter of recommendation. She said yes. She wrote it.
Then I left for Germany. And came back and went to a different high school. And graduated.
It had been years and I had grown a couple inches since then and I had brown hair. She wouldn’t remember me.
I wanted to say something. But if she didn’t remember me…
“Are you Anne Plummer?” she said.