It’s here. After months of relentless, driving rain that has twice had me building my own Ark, we have finally turned the corner. The scent of fresh-cut grass fills the air. The sun lifts its sleepy head above the horizon before you’ve opened your eyes. The sound of birds fills the garden. Yes, spring has well and truly arrived. For some it’s a time for cleaning and for taking stock, but I see it differently. Spring, in my view, is the season of romance. As I break out the shorts and long socks, it’s time to indulge in a remembrance of things past and recall the great, lost love affairs of my youth.
It’s here. After months of relentless, driving rain that has twice had me building my own Ark, we have finally turned the corner. The scent of fresh-cut grass fills the air. The sun lifts its sleepy head above the horizon before you’ve opened your eyes. The sound of birds fills the garden. Yes, spring has well and truly arrived. For some it’s a time for cleaning and for taking stock, but I see it differently. Spring, in my view, is the season of romance. As I break out the shorts and long socks, it’s time to indulge in a remembrance of things past and recall the great, lost love affairs of my youth.
I still remember the first time I kissed someone. Even now, it remains one of the key defining moments of my entire life. Without doubt, I was nervous. But she was older and, frankly, a great deal more experienced than I was and did not bat an eyelid. That, partly, was due to the way she was moulded. Her hair was the colour of straw and, keeping with the style of the time, she wore a blue, zip-up tracksuit top. Unlike most of the girls I knew, she also folded neatly away into a suitcase. We had only met that morning, but I had felt the connection instantly. It was only a matter of time before our lips met.
With my entire class watching on, I closed my eyes and leaned forward. She remained as still as a rock. Clearly, it would be up to me to take the initiative. As our lips connected, I felt a jolt of electricity rush through my body. Given that the carpet in our portable classroom was the cheapest that money could buy, this was not uncommon, but I’d like to think that the magic of the moment was a contributing factor. I could hear my friends sniggering and making comments behind me, but I didn’t care.
They could mock me all the wanted, but I had found something real; something that I knew would stand the test of time. Something beautiful. But before I knew it, the moment over and I was left to stare longingly into her eyes.
In a reaction that I come to expect from all my subsequent romantic endeavours, she did not utter a single word to me after our lips parted. With the taste of antiseptic still on my lips, I watched on in horror as she went right ahead and kissed one of my classmates. Naturally, I was devastated. Without a moment’s hesitation she had torn my heart from my chest like a ring-pull from a Chocolate Snack-Pack. I learned then that love can be cruel just as surely as it can be wonderful.
Over the years, some of the scars of that fateful day have healed and, from time to time, I wonder how she might be doing. Has she married? Is she still doing the same kind of work? Does she still fit in the suitcase or, like the rest of us, has she stacked a little bit of weight over the years? Yes, these are just some of the questions I’d like to ask Resusci Annie – the girl who first broke my heart.
She arrived at the Grade 5 classroom to teach us the finer points of resuscitation, but she ended up teaching me so much more. Resusci Annie must have had someone helping her, but I can’t for the life of me picture what she or he might have looked like. It’s fair to say that the moment they opened that suitcase and I glimpsed her blue tracksuit and even bluer eyes, I was something of a goner.
Perhaps it was the face. Rather that just a random bunch of features, Resusci Annie was based on a real person. In the late 1880s, a young girl was dragged from the Seine River in Paris. The cause of her demise was a mystery and, as was the custom back then, a death mask was made. That the face of young French girl who, herself, drowned is now used to teach people how to perform mouth-to-mouth resuscitation is a sizable irony. Not that I knew all this when I met all those years ago. I only knew that I was captivated.
Despite that first, powerful encounter, we haven’t kept in contact. It’s understandable, really, when you consider the way things ended between us. In an earlier age, that would simply be that. But now, thanks to the Internet, it’s easier than ever to get back in touch. I could do things the old fashioned way, but I’m reluctant to call. Besides, unless she’s changed, Resusci Annie was never much of a conversationalist, preferring instead to let her actions do the talking for her.
I checked ‘facebook’ but there was no sign of her. A search of the White pages failed to turn up any trace. Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be. Sometimes the past should remain exactly that. But before I abandoned any hope of finding someone who played such a huge part of my life, I decided to ‘Google’ her.
There she was. Unchanged by the years and still resplendent in her blue tracksuit, Resusci Annie (or, to use her full name, Aerdal Medical Resusci Anne CPR Training Inflatable Manikin) was available on EBay for two hundred and sixty dollars. How the mighty have fallen. It was difficult to see her there, photographed both in and out of her trusty suitcase, counting down the hours before ‘highest bidder’ was declared. It won’t be me. I prefer to remember as she was, back in the springtime of my youth. God’s speed, Resusci Annie, wherever you may go.