Author: Simon

During the Lubbock years I had a healthy relationship with girls as a whole, once I got over that awkward period of novel emotions and endless jibing from my parents, and accepted the naturalness of physical attraction.  Of course, in those early days, consorting was limited to hand-holding, sneaking hugs, and private conversations; but at the time, such simple actions held profound meaning.

So when we made the move to Toledo, and disrupted my friendship circle, and forced me into a vastly different culture (the Midwest is very different from West Texas), my solitude and slowness to adapt didn’t earn me too much positive attention from the Ohio variety of girl, which spiraled me into a new form of loneliness I had never before experienced.  A couple years of general sexual rejection would certainly be a rough spot for anyone in their adulthood, but it was especially tough during adolescence.

But there was one evening I was at a small gathering.  I had some friends by that point, and while the group was never terribly wild, it was still a nice respite from the overly-controlled atmosphere at home.  And there were girls who would talk to me.

I ended up alone with one particular girl, a pretty and flirtatious redhead, homely yet her eyes hinted at something enticingly troublesome.  She was, however, a freshman, and in those high school days that was strangely important to not be seen with an individual of such low social class, however falsely fabricated the concept was.  That image of status was sufficient to prevent me from pursuing her, for better or worse, though rather silly in hindsight.

But on this night, we walked together in the fading light and found ourselves alone, behind some trees.  We loitered there for a moment, facing each other.  She looked at me expectantly.

To this point, gentlemanly conditioning or pure cowardice had limited my physical involvement with young women–at least the ones who didn’t reject me outright.  But for the first time since Lubbock, I didn’t feel those reservations.  And I was older than I was in Lubbock.  Social activities had advanced beyond simple hand-holding.

Girls were also more developed by then.  I distinctly remember the pleasant novelty of my hands on her waist, pulling her feminine curves against me.

The rest of the experience requires no elaboration, suffice to say it was still restricted to educated white middle-class upbringing and expected social norms.

After that night, I still saw her at other gatherings, but I don’t remember talking with her much.  And eventually, as what happens to so many acquaintances over time, she faded away.

This memory is, unsurprisingly, very vivid to me, as I’m sure most of us have a similar story.  But…

One day I was organizing the basement and found my high school yearbooks.  I thought I’d look her up and see how well my memory matched the photo.  Except…I couldn’t find her.  She didn’t exist in any of the 3 yearbooks from my time there at that school.  It’s possible she attended the other high school in the city.  Circles of friends often overlapped districts.  But it is odd that I wouldn’t have remembered that part.

There’s a bit of a mystery here, possibly hinting at my level of sanity in those formative years, but I think I’ll just leave the mystery alone.

–Simon

It had snowed.  Enough to cover the grass.  It never snowed that much in Lubbock.  I was privy to the scene first, as for reasons that still escape me, thawing the family rabbits’ water bottles in the pre-dawn days of winter was my job alone.  And in order to be ready for school on time, I had to rise before my sisters.

After the completion of the chore, I admired the rare moment of scenic beauty.  It almost seemed a tragedy to walk through it, so I made some snowballs at the lawn’s periphery.  The snow packed well, as it was barely below freezing.  I rolled some larger snowballs.

But there wasn’t sufficient time to build.  I needed to get ready for school.

The snow would be long-since melted by the time school let out.  So I did what I often longed for whenever I saw movies with snow in them.  I walked across the lawn.  It was my first recollection of such an experience, and for that momentary transit, I felt like I was truly in the wilderness.

Then I saw my sister’s judging stare from the window, obviously displeased that I had destroyed the perfection.  But it was jealousy.  She didn’t wake up early enough to have time to play in the snow, so instead she channeled her disappointment at me, for having the audacity to ruin the one way she was able to enjoy the snow: from the window.

It was my snow and I didn’t have to share it.  It was my moment.  It was my experience.

I smiled knowingly, and mockingly, back at her.

And the snow was gone by the time school let out.

–Simon

I had an idea.

If the summation of life’s experiences determines the uniqueness of the individual, then that individual is essentially defined by fragmented recollection of chance events.  And if the mind degrades with time, those records are obviously misconstrued, which means my ego is based upon…corrupted and incomplete data?

Anyway, I thought I’d write some of those mental images down, for if those brief experiences are still remembered from the lengthy chronological stream of my consciousness, they must have had a strong emotional influence at the time.

Let’s explore that!

–Simon