When I was in high school, I believe it was my sophomore or junior year, I received a flower for Valentine’s Day along with a small note card.
This was exciting for several reasons, not least of all because I was a single gal who did not have a slew of gentleman callers. Nor had I ever. Nor do I at present. I wasn’t “that kind of girl” — I had plenty of male friends and these were friendships that I deeply cherished. But I guess they just didn’t see me “that way” — maybe I was more of a sister or, “one of the guys”. Whatever I was, I certainly didn’t think I was being admired by anyone, secretly or no.
So, when I got the card with the flower I was extremely confused. I remember standing in the lunch line with my best friend, Hillary, and assuming that I must be in the midst of some practical joke. No one could have seriously sent it. I was not the kind of girl who was routinely on the receiving end of anyone’s affections, certainly not a boy.
The days that followed yielded no hints. I wrongfully accused several young men of being my secret suitor, only to be met with resounding “ew, no‘s”. I tucked the card away and resolved myself to never knowing.
I was in my closet earlier this week searching through some old boxes for some tax-related stuff and lo and behold, I found my box of trinkets kept from high school.
In it was that little note card. I’ve kept it and I still don’t know who sent it, but as I approach a starkly single Valentine’s Day this year, it certainly made me smile.
So, Secret Admirer, whoever you were — even if you meant it as a joke back then, it matters little now. The memory made me grin and for that, I thank you.