I remember the day...

by Joe Greene

I was following my normal routine. The room was full of visitors now and I started with the usual, "This is the pottery shop and I make the types of things you see on the shelf. Nothing fancy, mostly utilitarian stuff." I continued with the rest of my speech that I had said at least 30 times already that day. While I trudged through my monologue I kneaded the clay, working in a rhythmic way, rolling it on itself. I placed the freshly kneaded ball of clay on my wooden wheel and started to kick the wheel with my foot to get it going. While still talking about the potter's role in the community, I thought of how long these busy days get. After a couple of hours, I feel like a parrot, broken record, whatever says something over and over, I feel like it.

Soon I had the clay centered and started to make the center hole wide. I looked up to make my customary eye sweep of the room, all the while spouting about the three cords of wood it took to fire the kiln. The crowd was large. As I looked from left to right, all eyes were focused on the growing pot on the wheel. My eyes rested for a second on an attractive blonde almost directly in front of me. My eyes were about to return to the spinning cylinder on the wheel when she looked up. Her icy blue eyes were round, almost perfectly round and her gaze was strong. Her eyes drove my own glance back to my work. My ears felt hot as blood rushed into the tiny capillaries of my face. Electricity jumped up and down my spine. The charges in my back jumped to my chest and stomach like a super-bouncy ball bought from a bubble gum machine. I was used to girl scouts and teen-age girls looking at me, but my stare would always chase them off. Now, the roles were reversed. Was she eating a cookie? I realized that I hadn't really captured a mental portrait of my subduer because I was defeated so easily. While I was rounding the belly of my cylinder, I decided it was an opportune time to look up since she would be watching the fast changing cylinder.

Yes, she was eating a cookie. And the long blonde gossamer threads of her hair were pulled back into a swaying tail. Her sleeveless pink shirt exposed long, slender, delicate arms that belied her powerful eyes. Her arms seemed to reflect her general body structure, slender and fragile. The image of fragility was shattered once again as her eyes fixed themselves on mine. The bouncing ball started to make its decent down my spine. I decided to try to meet her challenge. I fell into the cool deep waters of those eyes. The hairs on my arm stood up, and the blueness chilled my knees. I once again looked to my work. Our eyes locked for only two seconds, but I had floated on those powerful blue waves.

My pot was almost finished, despite my mental neglect of the vessel. I took the pot off the wheel and looked up with a "it's all done" smile. People started to leave and so did my conqueror. She looked at me once more before leaving and returned my smile. The roundness of her eyes changed to a squint. She left the wall of my hearts castle barely intact as she coolly strode away.

I stood there for a few seconds looking at her in my mind; she was already in the past. The molecules in the room stopped vibrating, and I addressed the new faces. "This is the pottery shop..."

Lunch finally arrived and I sat in the employee lounge, "Someone was asking about you," a fellow employee said. I raised my eyebrows questioningly. "Two blonde ladies wanted to know if the potter was married," she said in response to my eyebrow raising. I tried to fight back a smile but couldn't. I beamed with a foolish grin. I couldn't wait to get back to work, because there was a chance I would see her again.

After lunch I anxiously surveyed the crowd. For two hours the opening of the pottery shop door only brought disappointment. The day was almost over and with a sigh I resigned the rest of my day to more routine monotony. An unusual lull in the crowd left me alone for a few seconds. I slumped myself over the wheel and rested my tired hands and throat. My rest was short lived as I heard the clanking of the door latch. I straitened myself up, preparing to introduce another group to the " rural New England potter". All thoughts of clay, pottery, and kilns left my head as my conqueror stood in the middle of an empty room. The moment was awkward. There was no crowd to absorb any of the focus or tension. I readied some clay in an attempt to rid myself of the nervous energy that made every pore in my body open up and gasp for air. I blurted out "Your back." in an effort to slay the silent dragon of awkwardness. "Yes, I find this very interesting." she replied while pretending to examine an inkwell on the nearby table. Her fearful eyes and bashful brow calmed my nervousness. I realized her inner furnace of anxiety was burning just as much as my own. She asked me many questions about this pot or that clay trying to glean some personal information from impersonal questions. I didn't make good conversation though; I was too amused by her questions and also arrogant that my subduer came back. It was not long before she became frustrated at my stale, laconic conversation. She quickly said good bye and left.

I watched her walk away. I knew I had wasted a perfect opportunity. She came back to show she was interested, and I was supposed to make the next move in this courting game. I blew it. "Come back" I mumbled to myself, wanting to dive into those lakes that I just got a chance to skip a rock across. The mouth of the spinning cylinder seemed to mock me. I turned from the chiding vessel and stared out the window. I watched the beautiful blonde hair toss from side to side as she got further away. My foot began to eagerly bounce up and down as phrases that I could say to her coursed through my head. "Would you like to do something sometime?" "Could I call you?" "Here's my number please call me." All of the sentences seemed inadequate, too cliché' for such a woman. No, my arrogance deserved such an ending. I rested my face in my clay-covered hands, resigned to watch her until she was gone. Her slender legs made leisurely strides - then she stopped. "She stopped?" I thought, questioning reality. She stood for a second with her back toward me. She turned around and with determination made her way back to the door. The pot who was mocking me just seconds before let out a cheer as did every lifeless, morose nerve within me. The bouncing ball started going crazy on my spine. "No arrogance, no games, just sincerity." I thought as I heard the clanking of the door handle. I didn't hide my thankful smile from her when she walked in the door.

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Epilogue: This is the true story of how I met my wife, Wendi. I was working at a “living history museum” in Sturbridge, Massachusetts. As you probably guessed, I was the potter. I always read this story on Valentine’s day or on the anniversary of this first meeting – July 16, 1994.

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