Now let me think, I guess that's all...but by the way...Everybody's thinking of you
Third grade or fourth grade. It goes back that far. My memory starts at the end and retraces the footsteps, such as many hungover mornings and the clues and word-of-mouth anecdotes that arise throughout the day. My mom tells me a year later about a note she found in my pocket from a girl with the precociousness that girls usually have compared to boys.
"I almost ran it through the wash," she says. And that's a strange feeling. To have your mom more involved in your everyday life than the comfortable level of no involvement at all. I had forgotten what the note said, besides the gist. Which was something alone the lines of a request boyfriend-girlfriend sort of connection. But wordier and more innocent, because nervousness usually leads to roundabout banter
Flight came first because I had no other known reaction and that must've embarrassed her when I hadn't even blinked an eye. Memories of her are long gone, but I remember her as a tall, pretty blonde. Completely sure of herself. Bold. But I'm madlibbing all the adjectives because I'm egotistical in my old age. I can count all the girls that initiated first on both hands which could be interpreted as egotistical again, but I'm sure it's conservative. Probably disappointing as well. The age was never right, but I always dwell on the doors that slam shut after the most memorable hesitation in my life.
Junior high I was approached by a girl a class under and I froze. Politely declined, but again memories are fuzzy. Not being the person I am now, the definition of manners has shifted dramatically, I was probably a little teenaged jerk. The story takes a weird turn when I eventually wake up in sophomore year and hear a story of a blonde and a Vietnamese boy dying of carbon monoxide poisoning in a garage alone. Same girl, damn shame. Cute and a whole life ahead of her.
The instant reaction is at my age and limited knowledge: what the fuck is carbon monoxide poisoning? After that question's answered, the question is: could I have somehow saved her life, just by going out with her? We're looking at numerous scenarios here. Including the scenario that happened. I can't help remembering her at times when I have a memory of home. When I'm this brand of distant, I'm usually 2000 miles away. Occasionally, I'll see her face in the basement of that middle school, brick and square and frayed at the edges. All business approach, clothing style is a shotgun-spread of genres, wearing make-up in her early teens, must've meant she was still exploring what it meant to look like "you're not wearing it at all."
What is odd is, I only remembered the note that narrowly accomplished historical reference. Somehow this associated itself with a different girl across different schools. Her death still makes me shiver, though. That approach was the only time I ever spoke to her and her death was explained jokingly a year after by my father in my room who had no idea I had known her. If there's only one thing I've gained from this, it's that every moment is an opportunity to change the future. The future is quite uncertain but apathy is also abstaining from control. It's reckless. The story isn't quite about saving a life knowing sometime down the line she's going to die of carbon monoxide poisoning inside a stuffy garage. Honestly, the moral of the story on a societal scale escapes me--the moral I had to learn is best summed up by one of my heroes at this time in middle school, Wayne Gretzsky: "Statistically, 100% of the shots you don't take, don't go in."
"I almost ran it through the wash," she says. And that's a strange feeling. To have your mom more involved in your everyday life than the comfortable level of no involvement at all. I had forgotten what the note said, besides the gist. Which was something alone the lines of a request boyfriend-girlfriend sort of connection. But wordier and more innocent, because nervousness usually leads to roundabout banter
Flight came first because I had no other known reaction and that must've embarrassed her when I hadn't even blinked an eye. Memories of her are long gone, but I remember her as a tall, pretty blonde. Completely sure of herself. Bold. But I'm madlibbing all the adjectives because I'm egotistical in my old age. I can count all the girls that initiated first on both hands which could be interpreted as egotistical again, but I'm sure it's conservative. Probably disappointing as well. The age was never right, but I always dwell on the doors that slam shut after the most memorable hesitation in my life.
Junior high I was approached by a girl a class under and I froze. Politely declined, but again memories are fuzzy. Not being the person I am now, the definition of manners has shifted dramatically, I was probably a little teenaged jerk. The story takes a weird turn when I eventually wake up in sophomore year and hear a story of a blonde and a Vietnamese boy dying of carbon monoxide poisoning in a garage alone. Same girl, damn shame. Cute and a whole life ahead of her.
The instant reaction is at my age and limited knowledge: what the fuck is carbon monoxide poisoning? After that question's answered, the question is: could I have somehow saved her life, just by going out with her? We're looking at numerous scenarios here. Including the scenario that happened. I can't help remembering her at times when I have a memory of home. When I'm this brand of distant, I'm usually 2000 miles away. Occasionally, I'll see her face in the basement of that middle school, brick and square and frayed at the edges. All business approach, clothing style is a shotgun-spread of genres, wearing make-up in her early teens, must've meant she was still exploring what it meant to look like "you're not wearing it at all."
What is odd is, I only remembered the note that narrowly accomplished historical reference. Somehow this associated itself with a different girl across different schools. Her death still makes me shiver, though. That approach was the only time I ever spoke to her and her death was explained jokingly a year after by my father in my room who had no idea I had known her. If there's only one thing I've gained from this, it's that every moment is an opportunity to change the future. The future is quite uncertain but apathy is also abstaining from control. It's reckless. The story isn't quite about saving a life knowing sometime down the line she's going to die of carbon monoxide poisoning inside a stuffy garage. Honestly, the moral of the story on a societal scale escapes me--the moral I had to learn is best summed up by one of my heroes at this time in middle school, Wayne Gretzsky: "Statistically, 100% of the shots you don't take, don't go in."