Author’s Note: I originally wrote this first date as a nod to my love of haiku in grade school. I thought it would be fun to incorporate a character who left clues with haikus, something I used to do when I set up a scavenger hunt for my dolls. The result was Mark, the Haiku Ninja. And I loved the way his story came together through the first few drafts. The problem was that his first date didn’t move Adelaide’s plot along. Yes, he was one of the 48 first dates, but beyond that, my editor and I felt that the narrative was stronger without the full version of his date. Instead, you get to enjoy it for free!
“Oh. My. Stars, Mitzi. Garrett is a tool.” Cynthia rolled her eyes as the ocean licked the shore, spraying salty air our way.
“Yeah, but he’s a cute tool who looked my way the other night at the fish shack.” Mitzi’s hands twisted the end of her towel as she stared at the water.
“Mitzi, I agree with Cynthia. It’s a no-go on Garrett. Next option,” I said with more force than I had intended, a seagull’s cry punctuating my statement.
Cynthia gave me a what’s-up-with-you look. I shrugged my shoulders. She turned back to Mitzi. “Listen, what you need is a plan. What do you want out of life? Figure that out and we’ll be able to figure out who your next date should be.”
“Cyn, we’re juniors in high school. We’re not supposed to have a life plan yet.” Mitzi used her fingers to air-quote “life plan.”
I turned toward Mitzi and let out a giggle.
“Momma always says a plan is the key to success in life. She’s got it all mapped out for me—takes the pressure off. You should try it.” Cynthia turned and leaned back in her chair with a huff.
Mitzi rolled her eyes. “I just want to have fun. Margaret doesn’t get to plan my life. She’s not my momma.” She paused and switched gears. “What do you think about Gary?”
The three of us broke into a fit of laughter, scaring away the sandpipers gathered near us.
Mitzi and Cynthia spent plenty of time in our junior year wondering which boy liked them and if they liked him back. I laughed with them and then headed home to hit the books. High school boys no longer held my interest, thanks to Zack. I planned to wait to get back into the game. A pool of college men sounded way more interesting to choose from.
And that’s when the notes started.
They would appear in my locker, squares of paper with a ninja at the bottom corner and a short haiku written on them. Sometimes, they would be a simple standalone poem that would make me laugh:
Arliss loved a bug.
Oh no! It flew far away!
Now Arliss is sad.
Sometimes I was sure that my haiku ninja gave me a clue, like he did in this little gem:
Under the sea is
where you’ll find me this weekend,
enjoying the beach!
I spent the weekend at the beach with Mitzi and Cynthia, searching for someone I recognized. At this point, I was hooked. I wanted to experience who he was.
Sometimes the poems would string together to tell a story. This one came over two different days:
I wonder about…
peanut butter sticking to
the roof of my mouth
Could I use it as…
glue? Sticky, icky brown glue?
It could add pizzazz…
This one took an entire week to arrive:
I saw you laughing,
Was it the peanut butter
poem? Or was it…
the tiny ninja?
An unseen speck on the square
paper? Or was it…
a tickle in your
funny bone? A bug in your
locker? Or was it…
a burp from lunchtime?
gas from food that demanded
release? Or was it…
something else unknown?
Whatever made you smile,
I like it a lot!
Mostly, I wanted to know who he was because my mysterious haiku ninja understood what to do. He sensed the way to break down my wall against high school boys. He recognized the way to my haiku-loving teenage heart.
Under the cloak of
secret locker mail, I am
your Prince of Haikus
Yes!
Yes, you are my prince!
The Prince of Haikus!!
I created an image of him in my mind. He was Irish because all the amazing, mysterious poets were from there. He was well built, but not in a ridiculous muscle-bound way. He had green, piercing eyes and an inviting smile. His hair was thick and black–the kind that you wanted to lose your fingers in as he kissed you. I was a big fan of thick, but short, hair in high school.
That Prince of Haikus visited my dreams, but I wanted to see, touch, and smell the authentic version. And that’s why I left a little square taped to the outside of my locker with a haiku of my own.
Tell me who you are.
The mysterious writer,
I simply must know.
I waited. I had considered watching my locker until my bladder burst. But that might result in missing a day full of classes. Plus, I kind of liked the mystery. I wanted my haiku ninja to reveal himself in his own way in his own time.
The note was gone the next morning. I opened my locker in anticipation. I hoped that the little ninja was there to greet me from his word-filled square.
Spoiler Alert: It wasn’t.
He wasn’t there the next day, either.
Or the day after that.
A whole week passed before the reply came.
I have a question
to ask–will you meet me, please?
Honeybees at 3…
To which I squealed in delight and hastily wrote:
Yes, I will meet you
Yes, I will meet you today
Yes, I will meet you
I taped the scrap of notebook paper to the outside of my locker. Not exactly my finest work, but I was excited–today was the day. Finally, I would meet the haiku ninja, who so obviously needed to be the prince of my dreams.
When I shared the story with Mitzi and Cynthia, they were less than enthusiastic. Their lack of excitement made me think twice about my hasty response.
What if he wasn’t all I had built up in my mind? What if this meet-up wasn’t a good idea?
With quite a bit of trepidation, I pushed the door of our favorite ice cream shop open that day at 2:59 pm. The scent of chocolate and cotton candy did nothing to calm my nerves.
My family all had my location through our connected phones. Mitzi and Cynthia planned to pop in at 3:15 in case this all headed south. These two things, plus a deep breath, reassured me. But I still had no idea how I would spot him.
A lot of the people in Honeybees looked familiar to me. Most of the afternoon patrons went to McCracken High. As I scanned the room for a clue, a flash of difference caught my eye. A white square in the middle of a honey-yellow table, one that had some writing on it.
I walked closer. A ninja kicked the poem from the corner. I smiled as I bent to read the haiku I was sure would be there.
Hi, my name is Mark!
We have English together.
Meet me at PAC-MAN…
Mark! Mark? Mark?!? I wracked my brain, but I couldn’t pull up the picture of a Mark in my English class.
I picked up the note and walked toward the arcade room. As I stepped into the semi-darkness, I saw a shy, but cute kid from my English class. He had dark hair, but his eyes weren’t green and he wasn’t a tortured Irish poet.
“Mark?” I asked with a cautious tone.
He nodded and grinned. We both started laughing nervously. He grabbed my hand and said, “Let’s get some ice cream.”
He got a bowl of peanut butter sundae and I got my favorite caramel fudge one. We sat down at a table and started swapping stories about our favorite books. The time passed quickly, and I waved Mitzi and Cynthia off when they appeared. I enjoyed our time together. When it was time for me to head back across the street to meet my brother, I stood and Mark offered to walk me to the car.
We said goodbye with a handshake and I knew at that moment we’d never get ice cream together again. Oh, we’d chat in English class or when we saw each other in the lunchroom. We might share a haiku or two before graduation, but this date was a one-hit wonder.
As with so many things in life, the real-life version didn’t live up to the made-up version both of us had in our heads.
Don’t get me wrong, Mark was adorable and funny and I am fairly certain he thought the same. We left Honeybees that day with another member added to our respective friend camps. As much as the bursts of poetry intrigued me, no spark ignited between us.
Mark was the Prince of Haikus, but not my final prince. I added a ninja charm to my bracelet, and the search for my fairytale continued.