Ruby B.

Ruby B. (B for broken heart.)

Sweet Ruby, Ruby Red, Shoobee-Doubee-Ruby, and the girl who longs for her true love- that's me, whatever you want to call me by. Recently, I have even been referring to myself as the last nickname (if I dare to call it a nickname... for the reason that; I hope it never sticks for any more amount of time after this summer.) This nickname has followed me everywhere, since I was in middle school and fancied a fellow seventh grade boy to sweep me off my feet and kiss me by the bus stops. Now I am twenty-two and there is still no dream boat docked in my shipwrecked heart. Nonetheless, thats all going to end this very sweet summer of '57 and I am going to start my true search for love, brokenhearted and optimistic.

I start my exploration with a checklist my future husband should probably abide by. How very not romantic of me, this is a great start, a voice says to me in the back of my head and I hush it back. I return to my favorite spot in the world, a spot where only the Peach Blossoms, American Hollies, and my own thoughts bloom the best; right outside of city lines in Frederica, DE. I gather my pocket notebook I always keep in the bottom of my small leather bag and blue ink pen and begin the list. A love for the world around him and those little sing-song birds that live in the shade, a fanatic Cubs fan or even an Astros fan but there is absolutely no room in my heart for a Yankees fan. He should like camping and hiking and swimming, and lastly he should know how to play an instrument- maybe a mean trumpet, or the piano.

There it is, all on paper. I re-read my list over and over in my head, daydreaming of my very own Chet Baker to fit in the palm of my hands, or around my ring finger. Oh the dates we would go on, I'm sure a gentleman like that would take me to the real life Wrigley Field and buy me a bag of popcorn or even on a hike on Chestnut Hill to backpack all the way to the top and watch the sunset- oh romance.

Before getting ahead of myself (hardly,) I glance away from my pen and paper I begin thinking of if I'm even fit to be loved by a guy so trimmed and matched for ME, what if I find my love and he doesn't admire me that way? After all, I am different than most girls. In my own anxiety, I hurriedly flip to a fresh piece of paper and begin assembling my own insecurities in a neat list. For some odd reason there is something about my special spot and the sounds of the winds whistling from under the tree and pastel glow of the Peach Blossoms that persuades me to compose these lists- my pocket book is filled with them.

Scratching on my notebook paper I split it into two columns and title one side "Reasons Why I Am A Catch" and the other "Reasons Why Boys Don't Date Me." Pretty fitting, if you ask me. Knowing that making this self-evaluation comprehension sheet I will only further my investigation as to why the opposite gender does not attract to me, as they do to Ann Shelby and the rest of the pom-pom squad. Thus, I start with the negatives; too chatty, too bossy, too forward, too independent, and too into the whole feminist movement that is brewing around our nation- I think that scares the boys off the most. Ah yes, and now to why I am so very great (I just really don't understand what these boys are missing out on.) Smart, fearless, self-reliant, too into the whole feminist movement that is brewing around our nation, and might I add, I pull off curly red locks better than any girl in Delaware.

There it is, all on paper. I re-read my list over and over in my head. My, I truly am a catch... No doubt about that- and I deserve love. With this new gift of confidence, I pick my belongings up from the green grass that grows beneath the fallen petals of those Peach Blossoms I always talk about and pack them into my small leather bag, securing it together with a blue ribbon. Standing up from my crisscrossed position, I stretch my legs and then begin to run.

I run, while clutching my small leather bag to my chest with one arm and pumping my other in the wind. My red curls are flowing around my head like a halo, some pieces stick to my pink lips because of how big of a smile I am beaming. My small, golden necklace is bouncing on my neck as I sprint, then come to a stop when I reach my destination that I was ever so excited to get there, Frederica's Local Market. All of my delightful thoughts of love are put to the back of my head as anxiety washes over me, my shipwrecked heart is now seasick in my moment of resurrection- resurrection of a lonely life, resurrection of my heart to finally breathe a little out of water, and resurrection and relief to live a life of love I so very well deserve. All of it, I know, is on the inside of those doors of the market and I just need one more push to live my happiest. No more waiting around, do what you know is right and go up to that register and confess your love straight from your aching heart, I bully myself and push open the doors and a little bell rings.

There she is- the girl who loves the world around her and those little sing-song birds that live in the shade, a fanatic Cubs fan, and the girl who plays the meanest set of keys you can imagine, Ms. Mary Lawrence. The girl who has been keeping me from being loved by any boy, the girl who has my whole heart and nothing less- as of now. Oh how I have known love this whole time, it was right in the palm of my sweet girl that I have loved ever since I was in seventh grade and we kissed right by the buses.