Old clipping tells a different story

That’s not the way I remember her.

This was my first thought after checking out an alert telling me I had a private message on Facebook.

A picture of an old newspaper clipping popped up on my phone screen.

“Normans to battle for first place,” the headline read.

An old high school teammate had sent it to me.

She was the fast girl. By “fast,” I don’t mean in a bad reputation kind of fast girl way.

Rather, she was really fast as in fastest girl on the cross country and track teams. Long, thin legs like a gazelle.

With no explanation to go with the photo, I filled in some holes. She must have been cleaning out some old drawers or a file cabinet and came across the clipping.

It was no surprise that she would have saved such a clipping, even less doubt she was featured in it.

But to send it to me?

Was she showing off ?

She was the fast girl.

I was the slow girl.

“Look at how successful I was in high school,” such a move screamed.

Yet, that’s not how I remember this girl.

Not only was she fast, she was sweet and humble.

There was no way this clipping would have any relevance to me.

Sure, I was on the same high school and cross-country team, but my only talent was showing up. It pretty much still is.

My curiosity got the best of me. I zoomed in on the article.

Sure enough, there was mention of my friend doing well in the 2-mile race.

As I read on, I found a familiar name.

My own.

It talked about how three other girls and I placed third in the 2-mile relay.

This is hardly the stuff that attracts the attention of Olympic recruiters.

Yet, yet, that one phrase still has my mouth agape.

This wasn’t how I remembered that girl.

That girl who was me.

Was I really once someone who placed in a high school track meet, someone who helped contribute to our team’s drive for first place?

Maybe I wasn’t as useless as I have believed all these years.

Have you done this, Dear Reader?

Visited the past through an old clipping, a yellowed photo, an acquaintance’s retelling of a story?

That photo which showed you weren’t so fat, after all.

What you would give for that body today!

That acquaintance’s story that explained that you mattered. You had no idea.

Oh, the power of stories we tell ourselves.

They grow stronger with the years, do they not?

Oh, to be the girl I didn’t remember.

To see her in current time. And that person you are today, Dear Reader.

Especially on the day you think you do not matter.

To think,

You just might be getting the story all wrong.