Once in a while he pops up in my head.

We were high school freshman.

Too young to drive.

So our mom's took turns picking us up from practice after school & sometimes on Saturdays too.

We weren't really friends.

He was even shyer than me.

Was that the reason for the tiny crush I were sort of getting on him?

He was small (like me).

He wore thick glasses & was sort of bookish in a serious way.

(unlike me who wore no specks & my bookishness tended toward the goofy).

He name was Robert...never Rob or Bobby.

We'd sit in the back of the car & make whichever parent was driving feel like a taxi driver or a chauffeur.

I'd try to get him to talk to me & when that inevitably failed I'd chat up the driver.

He surprisingly showed up at the freshman dance.

I was thrilled & in my little kid-like excitement I asked him to dance.

No...he said, & looked at the floor.

I was crushed...but I had my pack of girlie friends to fall back on.

I could see his friends kidding him from across the room.

Shoving him in my direction.

Nope...he danced with no one that night.

He always looked lost to me.

But somehow I knew that he was sweet & funny & I wanted to know him.

I still remember that day is biology class.

You know when class is interrupted for any reason it's usually not good.

I remember the look my teacher came back into the room with.

His face was white as a sheet.

He just got the news that Robert had died.

The administration came up with some ridiculous story

about Robert accidentally getting tangled in some rope

while trying to perform a trick or something.

Um...what?!

That made no sense.

The school offered free counseling.

Which no one took advantage of

Why would they?

No real issues would be addressed

because the fact that Robert actually hung himself

from the big tree in his back yard

never fit neatly with the official scenario the school handed down to us.

There's still a place in my heart that hurts for him

& that spot in my soul that wanted to know him will probably always ache.

Labels: Childhood, Ouch

(He looked like that only with longer hair, no scruff & a nicer smile)

The previous post reminded me of someone from my past.

Just someone I went to school with.

His name was Winston J. & I wouldn't call us friends.

In grade school we were put into an "exceptional child" program together.

I'm still not sure if we were selected because we were brilliant or slightly retarded...not that it matters...we were lumped together...like it or not.

I kind of think we were used as lab rats to see if children can learn without desks & rules & set curriculum (not to mention a teacher that shouted at us constantly & seemed to like when you'd cry...I can still hear her saying to me...as I sobbed & snot ran down my face & onto my favorite purple sweater with the multi colored buttons that absolutely clashed with my slobber...she'd say cruel things like..."that's it...let it all out"...I mean, really? How condescending is that?).

Years later we found ourselves in homeroom together every morning during our freshmen year of high school. They'd group us alphabetically (because doing it any other way would require more thought than they wanted to give). We were both "J"s...so we'd find ourselves sitting next to each other first thing in the morning for every day of high school & that was that.

We'd chat about our weekends or he'd pull my bra strap back & let it go so it would make a loud sound & give me welts that were hysterical if you were him & scarring if you happened to be me.

One day I asked him what he did on the weekend & he said he partied with Michelle. I looked at him blankly (because it was early in the morning & also, I didn't know who Michelle was). He explained that I'd know her as Mrs. Series. Hmmm...that was odd...our French & Spanish teacher from grade school was Mrs. Series. Huh? He was partying with THAT Mrs. Series?

We were 14 & she was...MRS. SERIES. My brain couldn't compute...but now that I look back on it...she was about 28 & separated from her husband...& he was 14 & exceptional...that makes it ok, right?

Labels: Childhood