memoirs

I just realized that I don't remember the last name of my ex-best friend in junior high.

And for some reason - that's a bit of a relief.

I'm sure it's just a fluke. Right now, there are exactly 1,234,032 things that I'm trying to keep straight in my head and her name must not be one of them. It will probably come back to me at some inopportune moment.

But for now, I'm relieved.

She wasn't the best, best friend. When I look at my friends now - I wonder how lacking in self respect I used to be to let someone suck the energy and integrity right out of me - even at 13. The fact that I can't remember her name, is kind of nice.

But as always - I'm wondering if forgetting people...is a bad habit with me. It's a running joke that when/if I attend my high school reunion it will probably feel more like an odd office party to me than any sort of reunion. I probably don't remember 70% of the kids who took English, Art or Geometry with me.

And there are friends I've neglected to call...because one thing or another gets put before them. Friends I should take time to visit. Take vacations for. See more often. And I don't. And though I could analyze all that and try to figure out why - I just can't bring myself to do it right now.

At the moment, I'm reading a few different memoirs...and am working with my Grandmother on writing down all of her memories. I certainly could never write my own. I barely remember what I'm supposed to do today...much less what I said to who when they did whatever it was they did. I can't even remember their full names.

It was Erica something...

It wouldn't bother me in the least if I never remember that last name. But there are plenty that I'm letting feel as though I've forgotten about them...who shouldn't.

thanks for the memories

The picture...is painful.

There I am, trapped in black and white, standing at the end of a group of kids piled on metal chairs and a draft table. They're all gleefully happy to be in this photo of our sophomore year art club. I've got a half smile. I'm in a heavy flannel over a t-shirt, baggy jeans and big black boots.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....high school.

"You look like a kid who was mis-fit into a school she didn't belong in," Rachel says. It is then I realize - misfit could have multiple meanings.

Leslie, Rachel and I were sitting in Rachel & Mart's garage drinking gin and beer and looking through a box of Rachel's old high school year books, notebooks and papers. She'd graduated 1700 miles away and three years prior to us - but all kids in high school look the same. Trapped in a time that is no longer as cool as it felt when it was the present. Still...it sent thoughts of high school running through my brain and I sent Leslie back to her house to get all of our yearbooks.

I never bought any yearbooks. I hated the idea of walking up to people and asking them to sign it. Though I was flattered when I was asked to sign someone else's. But having to walk up and say, "wanna sign my yearbook?" made me feel as uncomfortable as sending back food at a restaurant. Or asking someone out on the date. Because if they secretly don't like you, they'll give a look that's dead behind the eyes and sign something generic like, "Jessica, great to know ya, Bucks Rock! Good Luck!" And if they really don't like you, they'll just say no. And either way, it's uncomfortable.

So there I was, in my Art Club glory. "You really grew up," Rachel says. And I am ecstatic to hear it. "I mean you looked so young, now you look like a grown woman." I push the memory of finding a gray hair recently out of my head - and take the compliment.

Looking through pages and pages of 'so-long-ago' stuff, we all fell into reminiscent moods. Rachel talked about her recent 10 year reunion and Leslie and I talked about dreading ours. Then we decided to get drunk before it, take Rachel with us and crash the hell out of it.

silent people

Years ago, I sat across from Kim in her office and recounted to her a, now horribly embarrassing, IM-style conversation I'd had the night before.

"I told him I loved him," I said, with a tone that was part 'See I am capable of love' and part 'I think I just crapped my pants'.

...

Imagine the sound of crickets.

...

Through countless conversations to follow, Kim would try to explain to me that A.) Telling the man in question that I loved him...was stupid and B.)It was stupid because I didn't really love him. What I did was obsessively crush on him. And I don't think I ever told her she was right.

I don't have many stories of love or relationships. This one, also, is a story of neither.

I thought I had loved him at the time. Maybe. Maybe I knew I really didn't. But I wanted to. Either way... When we were friends I remember him telling me of how he wanted to be a school teacher and settle down. He was all about settling. And I was all about trying to mold him into not being all about settling. Wouldn't he want to go to some inner city and teach kids? Or a foreign country? Wouldn't he want to see the world first?

No. Basically.

I told him that I'd fallen in love with him and then came the great 'silent era' when we were no longer friends because things had just gotten way too dramatic. I'd wondered why I couldn't get through to him until one day...I started wondering...why did I want to? And still sometimes I wonder.

But when I saw him last year, we sat at a bar and I remember my friends boasting that I was actually writing for publication. My name was being printed in papers and he seemed genuinely happy for me. And he'd taken up with friends I didn't know and seemed to be genuinely happy himself and I was happy for him. And then I went home - and hoped I'd never see him again.

I didn't want to jump back into that whole mess of emotion and practically scripted drama. I didn't want to wonder. I just wanted to forget.

Perusing Myspace tonight - as I do when I'm feeling particularly ADD and in need of a click-fix - I noticed a blog post of his that he'd gotten engaged. I see-sawed around sending him a congratulatory note before I decided not to. When it comes to some people - we should just stay silent...people.

He & I would have been one big joke. He's a settler. I am not. He's an idealist. I am not. He was not what I wanted him to be. I am glad I was not what he was looking for.

Still...I wanted to love him. And I suppose when we take stock in life - that's gotta count for something.