How long has it been since I sat down and committed to paper from so very volatile memory the names of those I’ve liked? Never, you say? Good. I woke up this morning with strange visions and Elvis’s Burning Love washing over. So here I go. They’ll be arranged in chronological order, so please bear with the sloppiness.
- 2nd Grade (K-1st, I was 6 and 7, okay?): Stacie K.
I think that was mostly because she was the only other Asian besides Charlie, and to like him beyond friends would not be good.
All I remember is that I couldn’t look into her eyes.
I was deep in the throes of despair from being in that cow’s class, Mrs. Van Matre, but if you force me to pick one, maybe Tammy D. Maybe. Maybe Lana.
- 5th Grade: perhaps Amy A.
The only one bold enough to lay hands on my person until this last year, at the all-nighter, when Amy Al. pinched my butt. Hmm. Maybe Lana.
- 6th-7th-early 8th Grades: Jennifer F.
There’s little else I can say that hasn’t been said before; her essential aesthetic perfection, her graceful ways, her (damn!) she’s beautiful reaction, her attitude, her niceness (sappy but true), her joy, her closed eyese in the sixth grade picture, but perhaps most of all, her down-to-earthness; she never let a bit of my worship go to her head. And you know, I don’t think I ever stopped.
- Mid-8th (my hormonal period): Tiffany M.
Though she was an awfully nice person, it seemed as if she lived in a little unreal world of her own. Please, I don’t mean it as seriously bad criticism or anything like that, but we all need to dream; some just do it more often than others.
Towards the tail end of that year, I guess you could throw in another: Stacy S. She moved, she liked, she signed my annual. Period. Throughout Junior High, didja ever know those people that you know would be basically impossible to approach? She was one. Tina T. was another. Both of them were so damned nice to me, ‘specially Tina. Hmm. Would I have (asked her out, you fools)? You bet. She moved, too.
- 9th-10th: Teresa K. (plus Stina for at least a week)
She was witty, she was funny, she was attractive. At least she was to me. Read 8912.08. But by Spring Trimester of sophomore year, she’d already started to fade. Then again, you have to see who she faded against; there were the likes of Alissa S. and, of course, she who much of this NewJournal has been devoted to her. But more on her later.
As for Stina, I think I’ve trod that ground already. I liked her for a week; at the end of the week, I had a dream (just a dream) that I, ah, er, she and I were making love and when I came, well, actually, just before, I woke up to find the like gone. No matter what you think, it was a loss.
Back to LTK? I know that it got started before 9th Grade Recognition Night (in other words, before NewJournal), because I was thrilled that I’d learn to dance from the one. What else can I say?
She makes me do things I don’t want to do
I don’t know why I should be telling you
— You Want Her Too, Elvis Costello/Paul McCartney
Alas; it was not to be. The death blow came when she admitted that she liked Adric. Lucky Adric. Poor me. But I think that’s quite enough of the self-pity, don’t you? To move on.
- 10th-11th-part of 12th: (ooh, another steady) that legendary one, Dani.
I’d first gotten the inklings in 9th grade, when she wore her hair almost vertically. I thought it was neat. Now that I look back on it, it looks almost hideous. She was, at once, both everything I’d ever known and nothing I’d ever seen. How could I help but fall for such a one, an exotic beauty who lived in the legendary Salnave district? she was the girl-Goddess next door. I even had dreams, full-color, vivid and very eye-opening dreams about her.
I daydreamed. I couldn’t help myself. And you do know that most of this NewJournal has been dedicated merely to singing her praises. D’ye remember when she swung by the Whitworth auditorium with friend and my heart nearly stopped? D’ye remember every day in Humanities when I’d be looking over to check if she was there and every day it seemed as if she was looking back? 9007.26 9106.01 D’ye remember the way she looked with the sunlight filtering through her hair, what with the reddish highlights? D’ye remember the way her blue eyes would sparkle, the way they’d stare, they way they could be nothing less than vivid remembrances of her soul? D’ye remember her almost painful shyness, unmatched by any besides my own?
How many conversations went unspoken? Would it have worked out? Unfortunately, with Dani, I’m left with far more questions than I have answers for.
Did I ever
open up my heart?
Let you look inside?
— This One, Paul McCartney
I tried to let her know (no, I never really was all that good at concealing feelings, especially these that run so deep for Dani, through deep, meaningful, exchanged glances. I could cite the hair, the legs (both long and nicely shaped), the looks, tbut more than anything else, I’d rather talk not about her absolute beauty, but of her inner peace, that which she seemed to have achieved very early.
Y’look at her and you say to yourself “That person’s on an even keel.” What was that saying — oh, yes — if I’d let my reach exceed my grasp, perhaps it could have worked. Unfortunately, I’ll never know. I keep on guessing; while it may have ended this last fall (it seemed as if my entire world had caved in on me, to be true), it could still start. while you may be different, you can’t just drop someone from your mind, especially if that one has represented the hopes, your dreams for an entirely blissful two years. Y’know, I even thought that she was put on the earth as a challenge to all people (male), whether or not people (male) would have the courage, or whether or not they’d be able to work it up sufficiently in order to ask her out.
I know that it was difficult enough to go up and work it up for an entire week before Valentine’s Day.
So, after mooching through Junior Year in a sort of spiritual bliss, I come to the latest (but, as the past dictates/indicates, by no means the last) chapter of this particular entry. But first, let me just say that I could envision Dani as the mother of a series of Amerasian love children. To be more specific, of Chinese-Americans. She was/is that beautiful, that sweet, that nice, et. al. shall we move on? This is, indeed, probably the most diffficult aspect of all to talk about, not only because of the disastrous results, but also because of the recentness of it, making the scars look fresh indeed.
- 12th: a two-way battle, decided by default, between Missy and Jodi.
Y’all already know the winner. Who lost? Me. (Damn this self-pity, it’s now starting to bother me). As I’ve said before, it went with the left brain rooting at first for Jodi, then switching and joining the right brain when it was shown convincingly that Missy could do much, much more than stare (but still look good doing so). It was a long, drawn-out battle; undoubtedly, Jodi could have won. I guess that Dani’s abrupt withdrawl from the availables sent my thoughts into a tailspin.
Do You Believe In Love?
I’m losing faith. Why? It’s like this: here I am, a pretty likable guy, and (well, I do guess that it is her faith getting in the way, as before) there I go, crushed ego and all, from all of my (in)action from that warm Saturday Night. I don’t know if I’d be able to live with either, though, because of the inevitable comparisons that would set in with one and the moodishness of (both) the other.
Y’know, when I started this some two and a half hours ago, I had no intentions to make this my longest entry ever, but if you look back at all of the long entries in the past, most of them have to do with this particular topic. So why do I find this the easiest subject to write about? All I can imagine is that sneaky someone will be able to pick this up in the future and remark that those guys in the Nineties weren’t all that different.
Eventually, all of us are going to come to the conclusion that yes, we do love someone. If that particular person reciprocates, then all will be all right. So please, perhaps there’s only been two of this group of fifteen (that’s it?! I’m no Wilt, so please, don’t accuse me of being TOO shallow) that I’ve loved.
Can I forget about them? I don’t think so. Will I forget about them? The love can only grow. The steadies. So now, I’ll freely admit that my first love was Jen F., the second was Dani G. I still do. I still might. But what did I love? Images? Please don’t trouble me so.
I guess the rest of the day could be summed up with the athletic activities that I’d done: Rollerblade and swimming.
I wish that this pen would behave a little better. So here I stand, without even a pen to write with, at the tail end of five pages of schmalzig stuff. So if you do read this, please remember that those I’d said for 12th Grade are still valid, if fading, while the other two that I’d talked about are also valid. And both seem (right now) just pale remembrances.
Patrick Litchfield, Joanna Lumley, St Regents Park, London (1970).
When I first set virtual pen to paper I had a hard date in mind for the end (30 June) of this senior year blog but I think I beat myself to it by a week here. I’m not convinced that I did it consciously but this helped close a chapter and get me ready for the next movement, so this is where I draw the line for Senior Year 1992. That’s it, see you later. Movie’s over. Go about your lives, citizens.
Well if you’re sticking around (and after that long, self-indulgent entry, I can’t blame you for fleeing) then you probably deserve some better explanation than just a simple “that’s all folks!” I think this was my boost for the summer: keep the memories alive, just two weeks after the last time you’ve seen these people, carry them through to August and the start of school and hold your hometown close to your heart. Cheney über Alles. It did work for a while, while the geographical distance was short and the days were long. I’d go prowling the summer night air after getting home from the store, no doubt you may have seen me passing through or passing by.
Then life happened. Six weeks into my new floundering existence as a full-time college student something clicked and I found a new home. After that first year I stayed on to snag a summer job, then started spending only bare weeks at home, impatient to get back at first to my Bay Area weather and then to my girlfriend, my fiance, my wife. Life happened, as I said. We’ve been married for twelve years now and thoughts of my life before fade into a distant haze that doesn’t bear up under close examination. Twenty years seemed like a long time before I lived it.
Something else that surprised me this year: I thought for sure I’d be drawing from this pool of memorabilia, which dates back to that rough period of time, but I can’t remember posting more than a picture or two. Contemporary stuff, sure, and stuff I found on the Internet that piqued my interest lately have been my touchstones; creative commons has created a vast pool of questionable stock photographs and the written word that I used to rely so heavily on in college seems to be filled with an endless stream of images and video, using technologies so new and amazing to 1992 that I might as well be writing in a magic book for all I knew then.
I’m glad I had the chance to share this, and I know that I’ve learned more about … everything? … since starting this. By everything I mean it: the world around me, the way I was, where I’m going; I watch the patterns of the past spin endlessly past me into the future, I see the same path to be trod by new feet and next generations and though I sometimes wish I’d tell them that they aren’t going to like that route, I know they’ll learn something from it, and grow up a little more, day by day by day.
My faith is renewed, my pace quickened; I’m smiling more now than ever. Magic? No. Just share.