Abigail M. Schilling

"You're really tall, I think you grew even more since I last saw you."

"Nah, these shoes have hidden heels. They're really tall--tall enough that I'm taller than D no matter what shoes she's wearing."

"You know, I don't think she cares if you're taller."

"Yeah she does, I'm pretty sure she wouldn't kiss me if I was shorter than her."

***

My date for Winter Dance in eleventh grade was exactly the same height as me when we were both barefoot. This plagued me, grated on me, made me worried about our future, our wedding photos, our kids.

And what was I going to wear to the dance? All formal shoes had heels and what if I was taller than him? What would I do?

***

"I love tall guys," her profile read.

And then after they started dating she changed it to, "I love tall guys, or guys as tall as me."

Later, her next new boyfriend was shorter than her. Her profile, long-since expired, didn't reflect a new change in sentiment, but when she stood kissing him, their arms grasping one another's waists, she didn't seem to mind his short stature.

***

I bought heels that were only one inch and eventually took them off because they hurt and I couldn't stand looking down into his eyes. I have no clue why this bothered me so much. Society I suppose.

College was an eye-opener in so many ways and none the least of which involved men. The variety featured interesting personalities, humor, intelligence all in one person and I was so overwhelmed by the options that height seemed to fade.

***

He wasn't taller than me and I loved him. His legs were shorter than mine; I once had to adjust his bike seat to keep my knees out of my face. We were eye-level most of the time and I started to forget what it had ever been like to look farther than that.

Occasionally, I wore heels (when I could bear the pain) and our hands slipped around each other's waists all the same. I loved him.

***

"I really don't think D would care if you were shorter."

We had talked and she loved him. We all do that, I suppose. Make unconscious compromises of things we considered standard. And we do it in the name of love.

But I'd venture to say they're not compromises. I'd venture to say that we've just been confused all along about the things we consider standard. And also the things we love.