It was the fall of 1977 and Pippa was standing there all those years ago and the memory was clear. I was stalking her. Well, part of that was true. I was there to help with her campaign for Student Body President. Her cousin was there, too. What was her name? Sylvia? Sonia? It doesn’t matter. Her cousin wasn’t important in this part of the memory.

I remember the first day I became aware of Pippa. There’s a Paul Simon song with the lyrics “I loved her the first time I saw her / I know that’s an old song-writing cliché / Loved her the first time I saw her / Can’t describe it any other way.” That’s how I felt. It was grade eleven and she was new to the school. It was old man Thompson’s advanced English class. I had upgraded because general-level English wasn’t challenging me. Thompson’s class was challenging but the real perk was Pippa.

I have a vivid memory of that first day she bounced in. I can still see it. She wore a white turtleneck sweater and she had curves. But it was that face and that hair. Blonde and smiling. She had an infectious smile and a sing-song sort of voice. She was late that first day and apologized for having slept in. She added that Mr. Thompson should not consider her late for today but early for tomorrow. She got away with it. That was Pippa.

I loved her the first time I saw her. It wasn’t just my loins that had perked up. Here was someone new. Here was someone different. Most everyone else had come to Central Secondary School from feeder schools and I’d either known them in elementary school or had shared classes with them in grades nine and ten. Not her, though. She was new and she stood out. I’d comment more on the figure but really it was the whole package. When she spoke, you heard her voice above all else…above everyone else. I think she knew it too.

I sat at the end of her row and I could only see the back of her head but her long blonde hair was very noticeable. She tossed her head often and your eyes followed that hair as if there was nothing else in the world like it. And there wasn’t. In fact, there was no one in the world like Pippa. I loved her the first time I saw her.

Naturally, it’s always someone like Pippa who decides they want to lead others. She led conversations in the class. She led conversations in the halls or outside. Her voice was mesmerizing. I think if she had asked us all to show up to class stark naked, there wouldn’t have been many of us who would have objected. Of course, she had to run for Student Body President.

Pippa convinced Mr. Thompson to let her use his classroom for staging her campaign. That was the memory I was trying to recall. It was her and her cousin, Sarah, Stella, something, making posters and banners. I had stopped in to offer my help. I think it was a little forward of me because she’d never acknowledged me much but I thought maybe offering my assistance would get me closer to her.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“What colour do you want for the lettering?” her cousin with the forgotten name asked as I arrived.

Looking at me entering the room, Pippa stared and then said “I know you. Do I know you? Pink.” This last statement had been meant for her cousin.

“Jeff,” I said. It wasn’t much of an introduction but I had to start somewhere.

“Of course,” Pippa replied. “I didn’t think your name was Pink. That was another thought. I can’t imagine anyone being called Pink, let alone a guy.”

“I understand, er- understood. You can call me Pink if you want.” I was stammering. She had me reeling just being that close to her.

“Really?” she asked. “Okay, Pink it is. Pink for the signs and Pink for you.”

I didn’t object. I supposed I could have been called worse.

“What are you doing here, Pink?” Pippa finally got around to asking.

“Er, well,” I continued to stammer, “I thought maybe I could help with your campaign.” I hoped I hadn’t come off creepy or suspicious.

“Can you write big letters?” Her cousin asked.

“Big pink letters,” Pippa added.

“Not well, my handwriting’s not great and my printing’s not much better.”

“What can you do?” her cousin asked suspiciously.

“I’m good with ideas.” It was a weak answer but at least I could think on my feet.

“Okay Pink, what have you got?” Pippa asked.

I was stuck now. Stuck with the name and stuck after touting myself as an idea person. I had nothing. I could only think to ask “what do you want?”

“Good thought Pink. What do I want? I want something that says I’m here so don’t miss your opportunity to vote for a great candidate.”

“She is a great candidate, you know,” her cousin thought to add.

“Something that says don’t let this opportunity pass you by?” I was only restating the obvious but it bought me time to think.

And what I thought of was Robert Browning. I muttered “Pippa Passes.”

“What’s that, Pink?” Pippa asked.

“It’s from Robert Browning. It’s “Pippa Passes. We studied it last year.”

“I wasn’t here last year.” Pippa didn’t offer much else about that. It would take me a while to pull the threads together about her backstory before coming to my school.

This was my chance to shine. It was why I had upgraded to advanced English. I liked the classics. “It’s a famous story about a girl named Pippa who brightens the lives of everyone she passes. It contains the famous line ‘God's in his heaven— All's right with the world’.”

“Is that where that’s from? You’re a treasure trove of information, Pink. But instead of Pippa Passes let’s put Pippa’s Passing…”

“Pippa’s Passing. Take note. Don’t let your chance go by. Give her your vote,” her cousin added.

“Thanks Pink, you really are good with ideas. I’ll have to read that Browning story. Pippa’s Passing. I like it!”

“Nice one, hot shot,” her cousin added, if not a little reluctantly.

“Call me Pink,” I replied. I wish I hadn’t. I don’t know why I did. The name stuck after that. Sure, I can remember that but I can’t recall Pippa’s cousin’s name. It’s not important.

Not only did Pippa pass, she lost. Bright pink letters and a campaign helper named Pink didn’t translate into votes.