The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

The Last Time I Saw Richard

"The Last Time I Saw Richard" 

I can't say that I know any Richards.

I did know a Karl. He was in the same class as I was for four years during elementary school. He was tall, blonde, had braces by the time we were twelve, and was one of the better students in the class. As if he didn't have enough going for him, he was the best athlete in our school as well, the one who could be counted on to place first in any race, or clear the bar in the high jump. And, he was shy. The kind of boy who was respected by all, hassled by none, and completely incapable of leading a conversation. You couldn't not like Karl. He was obliviously sweet when he tried to have a conversation with a girl, so much so that it was very nearly painful. I remember how, when I sat next to him for a term, he would regale me with tales of his father's carpentry exploits, none of which were particularly interesting but I was grateful for the attention. Of course, after the first month of it, I began to tune him out, nodding catatonically, hoping he'd stop talking so that I could focus on my pubescent misery. Good looking, tall, smart and athletic, but as boring as a can of paint. After graduation I forgot that he existed and I'm sure it was mutual.

A few weeks ago, though, I suddenly thought of him. I was thinking of the kindest people I'd ever known, legitimately kind people I had the fortune of knowing, and his face came to me, in an instant. Now that I'm slightly more mature, I have come to understand that maybe Karl wasn't so much boring as he was nervous and uncertain, like so many others. Also, he talked to me, despite my being a girl and despite the way the other boys tended to tease one another for talking to one of us. Of course, Karl was untouchable, the prince of the class, the one kid who never got teased because it would have gone against everything we knew. Even during my most difficult days in that school, when I was an outcast or when I was wearing high-top sneakers with skirts, he was kind. At the very least, he had deserved my attention.

Thanks to the modern age, I decided to 'google' him. His surname is a Slavic, one I've not heard since, so when I typed in his name and it suddenly came up, I knew I had the right person. Turns out Karl is kind of amazing, just like he was back then, except now there's further evidence of it. He's a Ph.D. A doctor. A scientist. I'm sorry, but that really impresses me. He works with people who have mobility issues due to degenerative disease or injury, primarily children. Officially, neuromusculoskeletal factors that influence functional mobility. Looks like Karl took sainthood from childhood and brought it with him to adulthood. I can't say I expected anything less.

It may seem strange to say it but I am kind of proud of Karl. He was immune to all the nonsense of youth and kept his focus on the things that actually mattered. How can I tell this about him just by reading the articles he's written or the profile of him from the university he teaches at? His face. After all these years he looks exactly the same: innocent, real, warm, but with straighter teeth. The niceness exudes from the screen, just as the lack of pretention does. He never cared about anything but learning and doing. I wonder if he's still good at the high jump, though. Also, I wonder if he ever got over the awkward shyness with girls. There's no mention of a wife in any of his profiles, and that's sad to me because he'd be an excellent boyfriend or husband, if he doesn't still talk about carpentry incessantly.

The strangest thing about Karl was that when he had the advantage over other kids, when it was clear he held an esteemed position in the social hierachy, he didn't care. If he was even aware of it, that is. His niceness and willingness to be seen as slightly complacent now seem to me to be characteristics that were just part of who he was. I really don't think it ever occurred to him to abuse the power, or to think about the freedom in it. Karl just wanted to run and jump. He wanted to talk about oak cupboards.

I'm wishing good things for Karl. If he knew I was thinking good things for him, he'd probably be shocked, if he could even place who I was.

Perhaps, at this very moment, someone from my past, someone I may not even remember, is thinking of me and wishing me good things. Wouldn't that be something?

I hope I'm remembered fondly, but let's face it, I'm no Karl.