Sydney Greene zipped in and out of my line of vision so fast I might have imagined her presence except that she was black, about five-foot-ten and in the pale, anorectic world of Bidwell-Coggin, a hard one to miss.
The first time I set eyes on Sydney Greene she stole my breath and made my heart race and I think if I had truly been a dyke with a small “d” I would have gone for her. It was at an open house the year before Zach started and Andy and I were sitting in the auditorium waiting for Sydney, dean of students, to address prospective parents. She stepped forward on the stage, underneath the theatrical lights like a magical mocha witch of Narnia that C.S. Lewis deleted from his first draft. Sydney’s hair, arranged in a wild tangle of braids, was brightened to a shocking shade of honey blonde. She wore a suede suit and three-inch heels that revealed a curious tattoo in the curve of her ankle. It was a sassy combination of professional yet deliciously edgy amidst all those rich looking parents in their camel hair coats and just the right boots who were jostling to get front row seats in the auditorium.
The first time I set eyes on Sydney Greene she stole my breath and made my heart race and I think if I had truly been a dyke with a small “d” I would have gone for her. It was at an open house the year before Zach started and Andy and I were sitting in the auditorium waiting for Sydney, dean of students, to address prospective parents. She stepped forward on the stage, underneath the theatrical lights like a magical mocha witch of Narnia that C.S. Lewis deleted from his first draft. Sydney’s hair, arranged in a wild tangle of braids, was brightened to a shocking shade of honey blonde. She wore a suede suit and three-inch heels that revealed a curious tattoo in the curve of her ankle. It was a sassy combination of professional yet deliciously edgy amidst all those rich looking parents in their camel hair coats and just the right boots who were jostling to get front row seats in the auditorium.
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