Machinations

Fourth grade this time: It's a spring day, and I am waiting in line to take my turn in "D" square. My friend Kent, who embodied everything you might expect from a fourth grade boy named Kent, announced from "A" square, "The rules are: no cheating." As those of us in line took in the action in the four squares. Mary Symanski stood just behind me. In a fit of twitterpation, I offered her my spot in line. She smiled and thanked me, but politely refused. My mind filled with possibilities. It must have been that smile. I sorted through my options and came up with this: "I know, when I get in 'D,' I'll be your robot."
Decades later, I spent some time in therapy, and one of the moments that came up in my discussions about relationships was that four square game with Mary Symanski. Why did I feel the need to subjugate myself to a woman? What was my motivation? Did I think that the only way that I could connect with a girl was by being her servant? And on and on, but that was never very fair to Mary. I don't know if Mary was happy to have the chance to watch me make a fool of myself over her. I don't know if she was as confused as I was in the moment or if she secretly enjoyed manipulating me from afar. She was in fourth grade. Most likely she was wondering how much time was left in lunch recess and if this meant she might have to talk with me later.
Back in "D" square, I entered stiffly, as a good robot should, and awaited instruction. When Kent served the ball to me and it bounced past without my reaction, Mary cried out, "Robot, why didn't you hit the ball?"
In my best robotronic voice, I replied, "Because you did not tell me to."
Kent agreed to serve again, as "do-overs" were apparently part of the not-cheating canon. I hit the ball back to him, and the volley continued for a few more moments until the girl in "B" square missed. She was out, and I advanced to "C." Rather than take her place in "D." Instead, she chose to take a place just behind me and cheer me on. I lasted a few more serves, making it all the way to "B" before my stiff-arm-and-leg technique knocked me out of the game.
That's when it occurred to me that I had no exit strategy. Would I be Mary's robot once I left the game? Could I keep up this charade for the rest of recess? The rest of the day? I needn't have worried. Mary let me know the show was over when she said, "That was really funny, what you did."
Past tense. I was free to return to my normal fourth grade persona, whatever that was, and that was the end of that relationship. The four square game was the high water mark, and unlike so many other relationships that I chased in my life before and after, I was content. I didn't continue to plot and stalk her throughout the rest of elementary school and into junior high. It was a moment. I fell in love in line, and by the time I got to "B" square, we had parted. And that is how fourth grade should be.