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November 27, 2004
Cari
My late childhood was punctuated by a series of totally debilitating crushes on girls who may or may not have reciprocated my feelings, but I'd never know, because I never told any of them. At least not in language. My medium of choice was mix tapes and sulking. Fortunately, my life now is totally, completely different in every way.
On Thanksgiving -- yesterday -- I realized that things were going to be awfully quiet at my parents' house, since my only sibling's across the country and the dog certainly isn't much for conversation. I remembered Cari, a two on the three-level scale of high school crushes, three being Leigh Anne and one being all non-males, hermaphrodites considered on a case-by-case basis. Two is solid.
Hadn't communicated with this two in, god, it's been ten years now. Might as well do a little Googling, find an email address, send a missive into the dark void of the past, right? Just to see if she's in town. Or in state. Or alive. She probably wouldn't get the email, wouldn't remember me, wouldn't respond before I was back in the city.
She got the email, she remembered me, she responded in an hour. We met the next day at a little cafe. Hugged. "You look good," I said. She looked exactly the same as when we were in high school, with longer hair.
We got into her car and drove down the block to an identical cafe, this one open.
"I've moved so many times in the last few years," she said.
"Why's that?" I said.
"Well, you know, changed jobs. Got engaged and moved in with my boyfriend." I looked out the window. "Got disengaged."
Is "disengaged" a word? Because it should be.
We got coffees, sat in uncomfortable chairs, talked about friends and teachers neither of us had seen or thought about in ten years. When imitating people or expressing displeasure, she did this thing with her eyes where one would squint shut just for an instant, and we were back in Mr. Kaplan's AP English class, me in the third seat on the far-left row and she one row over in the very back. Three hours went by before she mentioned that she was dating someone in LA, just briefly, almost too briefly to even notice, just as briefly as one of those eye-squints. Had I misheard? I couldn't ask her again and she didn't go back to it.
She's been teaching high school English for the last five years; loves it.
It got dark. We drove down to Rossini's -- getting pizza the day after Thanksgiving. Criminal.
"You know, I had a huge crush on Leigh Anne," I eventually said.
She made some face that she might have made if I'd just declared that the sky was blue.
"Huge, though!" I said. "It was out of control. I was a little baby then. I knew nothing."
"Leigh Anne was into you, too," she said. "And Emily. They would discuss you sometimes. Stud of the literary magazine."
"Ridiculous."
"No, they would... but there was no rivalry."
One wonders exactly what level of lust two friends can share for a boy while expressing absolutely no rivalry.
"Well, that's nice. It's an ego boost, anyway." Long pause, too long, change of subject, I wanted to go back. "I had a crush on you too, you know."
"Well, not as big as your crush on Leigh Anne."
How can you tell when a girl is looking at you meaningfully and when she's just looking at you? I will never learn this.
"Fine, not as big... but remember that necklace I gave you?"
"Yeah, I still have it."
"And the mix tape?"
"It wasn't a mix tape, it was a whole album, and I liked it so much I have the CD now."
"Right. The Leo Kottke album. There was a reason for that, you know."
"And the card..."
Had there been a card? How pathetic had I been, exactly?
"I felt bad because I never remembered anyone's birthday," she said, "and you remembered mine."
I never remembered anyone's birthday either, of course, unless I really wanted to.
Finally -- it had been six hours -- she said, "Should we head out?" And yes, we should. She drove me back to my car.
"I think this was the best thing you've ever done," she said. "I don't care what else you've done." And it was just her way of being nice. But if I think of it just by itself, said in a different way, it seems like much more.
Posted by tony at November 27, 2004 12:36 AM
Comments
I believe Joseph Campbell was working on _The Boy with a Thousand Crushes_ just prior to his death, in which he discussed the recurring theme of unrequited lust in the young geek's cyclical journey from high school, through many trials, and eventually back to high school.
He would have appreciated your contribution to the archetype/monomyth. Nice job.
Posted by: brian at November 30, 2004 12:07 PM
Beautiful.
Posted by: Phil Villarreal at December 1, 2004 01:31 PM
Dear Stud of the Literary Magazine,
I came here looking for some videos and I found a reflection of my uncool soul.
What's the point of moving on when we can always wonder what might have been, or what still could be? A life free of emotional aching is overrated.
May your next Level 3 blow Leigh Ann out of the water.
Posted by: Scott at December 14, 2004 01:02 PM
