The family friends' daughters tease you, and you even get into a few fights here and there. You start becoming that guy, the one whom everyone came to see at lunch with their empty history worksheets. But your real friends, all three of them, are into the Pokemon-Playstation-WWF trifecta. A neighborhood girl makes fun of your "tight-ass pants" at the bus stop. A boy on the bus ridicules your lack of understanding of human procreation. You cry too easily from any making-fun of at school. But at least the teachers understand. Looking back, though, it seems rather ridiculous.
Who knows, give it another couple of years and something might have blossomed. Maybe your friends might have evolved some interest in girls and helped you along. But that's not the way it turned out; periodic downturns happened, and your father, after all, couldn't have worked for the petrol corp forever.
Thus were you displaced. You didn't exactly appreciate the idea, but starting over seemed accceptable enough. But you didn't know where to begin. In your first days, you eat alone, you draw alone. At some point you are photographed with oval glasses and a flattop, alone, which is later published for all to see in the yearbook. Oh, and you start wearing Hawaiian shirts.
Come to think of it, things went relatively well during this time. Sure, you couldn't catch a football to save your life, and your closest friends--despite similar interests of wrestling, videogames, filmmaking, and-ahem-pornography--generally treat you sans respect (though they had nice things to say on birthday cards). But there were girl friends, too. And the novelty of Instant Messaging. Basketball games. Other people's drama (come to think of it...there was a lot of that). Racing for mile times. Karaoke in public.Vans sneakers and an ill-fated attempt at skating. Books read: The Contender, maybe part of Shane, (ooh, The Dark Half three years before!) parts of a novel from the school library explicitly describing virginal sex). Here and there you are confused by flirting attempts such as compliments, physical and otherwise. You're already busy being jealous of other guys. Oh, and school goes pretty well, too.
It was not a good way to go. You pick a bad one to start out with; there is zero reciprocation, in spite of a grand gesture involving a handwritten letter and--oh jesus christ--your father's cologne. (The incident is remembered by one and continues to haunt you for years to come.) This marks the start of a familiar pattern: an interest develops, and you hold on and you never act on it for fear of what will happen. Only after months of wasted opportunities later does it dissapate. You do manage a date for the formal that year, though, via hotmail (natch). You rent a classy tux (surprisingly fitted, w/ mandarin collar), buy a corsage, and your parents pick her up. It's all very classic; nevertheless she leaves you for her friends at the end of the evening.
Somehow, you never learn what it meant to "go out". Did that mean your parents drove you out for a night of mini-golf at Funworks? Did that mean holding hands in the courtyard at lunchtime? You don't take the lead to find out, and, of course, no one stops along the way to clarify. There wasn't much mention of such matters among your friends.
"...The world is your oyster!" One teacher writes in your yearbook. (not the same one you purportedly jinxed to death.) You arrive late at graduation, wearing jean shorts, give a speech. You take a picture with the girl you fancied, which you treasure wistfully for years.
You can't help but notice how goddamn awkward you look trying to perch on her shoulder. There must've been a half foot gap between the two of you.
No comments:
Post a Comment