I thought for sure it was safe to start reading this thread now. I hate waiting. Patience is a very nice virtue I've no desire to acquire, especially now. I generally try to wait until a series is finished before starting it. Especially if it's really really good. The better it is, the less I want to start it.
I think I'll pretend I haven't read this. It won't work, but I'll try anyway.
If we're just a little over halfway through, how much longer before it's safe to come back to this thread? Any ideas?
(edit: all of which is to say that this is incredibly good reading, and I think I'm disappointed it won't be archived.)
Posts: 5948 | Registered: Jun 2001
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posted
Well... I'm going to try to post chunks every day or two. There really isn't much left to tell, though some of it is hard. Takes some time to organize my thoughts in the way I wanted.
(I may reconsider the archive thing, though I like the idea of it fading away. Like a memory. Because that's really what it is. Maybe when I'm done, I won't want to let it go away. *shrug* I'll wait and see.)
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(I hope you will reconsider the archive thing. I can understand wanting to let a memory fade away, but from this side of the screen, it's a very compelling, memory provoking experience. I remember a lot about HS that I'd forgotten by reading your story. Particularly the boy I dated in my Sr year, who was like Pondscum, very beautiful, but with doe brown eyes. He was (still is ) two years younger than I am. He is now a research scientist studying the nature of pain at U Dub, happily married with a baby daughter.)
I'm looking forward to the next installment.
Posts: 5948 | Registered: Jun 2001
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posted
Well, thank you. I appreciate the sentiment, but this isn't publishable anywhere but Hatrack, and I know it. I'm cool with it. I just needed to get it out, and I figured if I commited to it here, in public, I'd have to make good. So, here goes.
The end of my Senior year was a whirlwind of activities and banquets and meetings and things. I got half my braces (the back part) taken off a week before school was out, and the other half (the part that showed) on the very last day of school. Missed the Chemistry class party, which hurt the teacher’s feelings. She’d been my cousin Brian’s teacher at the Christian School before it closed, so I think she felt that I should feel a special connection to her. I did, but I wanted those braces off before graduation, dammit. I either got ‘em off on Friday, or I waited until the week after graduation. I was going to camp that week. So screw the Chemistry party.
Spent prom night on the phone with Pondscum, heartbroken over Beth breaking up with him. I was sympathetic, but he deserved it. He hadn’t been very nice to her at all. It’s funny to me how many people treat their boyfriends or girlfriends as a commodity rather than a person. Like it is more important what your friends think of the guy/gal than who they are or how you get along. Arm candy, if you will. I was guilty of it, too. If I hadn’t been afraid of what people would think, I’d have asked Pondscum to my prom, Freshman or not. He’d have gone with me, as just friends. It would have been miserable, everyone would have laughed at me, maybe, but it would have been more honest.
I kept in touch with Pondscum after graduation. He wrote letters to me at college, and I generally answered them. He had a crisis of faith because God didn’t heal Rhonda of her CP, despite all our prayers for her. He decided he was an atheist, in that petulant way some people come to that decision. Like, “I’ll show you, God! I don’t believe in you anymore. Take that!” I didn’t blame him, really. He was hurting. One letter came, signed, “With Love From Above” the next one merely said “Your Friend.” It was sad to see him so tormented.
So,I made a joke of it, because I could never be honest about anything, back then. I sent him a postcard with the opening line, “So, how’s my favorite pre-pubescent atheist?” I totally outed him with that postcard, because his mother read it. Oops. My bad. His father liked me, but his mother didn’t. I suppose I’d be wary of my 15 year old son’s 17 year-old ‘best friend who happens to be a girl’ too. Women are seldom trusting where their children are concerned. That’s not a bad thing, it just is. Last time I saw him he was holding hands with a very overweight bleached blond girl with proto-goth make-up.
I have no idea what ever became of him, but I’m hopeful. No matter how mature we seem, no matter how maturely we think, when we’re that young there are still a lot of paths we don’t even know exist. I gave him one of my smaller paintings. It was an abstract thing with a locked door on a vaguely squashed heart-shape. It was horrible. I called it “My Secret”. It had his name written in it so subliminally even I had to search to find it. He had said he really, really liked that one in particular when he’d seen my collection of color work for my end-of-term art project. So I gave it to him, and I was the better for it. That was the only secret I ever rid myself of while both keeping it and giving it away.
Advanced Art students presented our final projects to the class. Mine was all color drawings and paintings, since most of my best work had been with pencil and charcoal. Color intimidated me, so I had made it my project to produce ten pieces that used color effectively. It was hard for me, and I loved it. My results were only so-so, but as Robert Browning said in Andrea del Sarto (I read it that year in Dr. Pierce’s English class) “Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, Or what’s a heaven for?”
Rick Mathes’ was mostly paintings, IIRC. He did one that really impressed me. Evidently, it was a scene from Kiss of the Spider Woman, which I didn’t see until years afterward. He worked in the Main Street offices for a while, and even produced one or two of his own fashion designs. He’s not around town anymore, I’m fairly certain. I hope he went far, far away and is happy. I saw him once, at a distance in a crowded Wal-Mart not far from ETSU two days before Christmas. I was visiting family for the holidays. He was with another fella, and didn’t look particularly pleased. But who would be pleased to be in Wal-Mart two days before Christmas? I considered fighting my way through the crowd to say hello, but he was moving fast in the opposite direction. I let him go and wish him well.
Chris’ project was a film. The retired art teacher had a vhs to vhs editing machine that he’d let Chris use. He’d shot it in the woods over several weekends. Basically, a girl went walking in the woods, where she met and talked with a very, very tall woodsman. The Woodsman was evidently very wise, leading her Enlightenment before disappearing mysteriously.
Or so I assume. We didn’t hear any of the dialogue, because in his attempt to give the video a Jethro Tull sound track, he over-wrote the other sound entirely. *shrug* Stuff happens. It was still the product of a lot of work, though I would have liked to know what they were saying. Not because I thought it would actually be a revelation of wisdom, but for the insight it would give me into Chris’ brain. The words a person writes… reveal a lot about them, even when they don’t mean them to. Which is maybe why I find writing so liberating, like walking around naked in my living room. It’s honest and plain –what you see is what there is – even if it isn’t meant to be honest at all. You can’t really hide when you write, and if you try, it only kills the writing. Or so it seems to me.
The real genius of Chris’ film was that he’s stolen the FBI warning from a VHS tape he had at home. We all got a kick out of that. Seeing Chris’ project was the closest I ever came to seeing one of Ronnie’s movies. I don’t recall that Ronnie ever offered to let me see one of his movies, at least not when we were in high school. That miffed me a bit. That and the fact that he never asked me to be in one of them.
Just as well, I suppose, since we all know what happens to most chicks in slasher flicks.
One day as I was going to 7th period, the principle walked up and asked to speak with me. I had never spoken to him directly, though I had of course seen him at the Honor Society dinner and the Top Ten dinner and so forth. Never much cared for the notice of authority figures. Makes me nervous.
“The end-of-year Honors Assembly is tomorrow, you know.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“To keep things within the time we’ve allotted, we don’t want the students to come up on stage to receive their awards.” I nodded. “If you get called up for an award, come to the bottom of the stage and we’ll hand it down to you.”
“Got it,” I said. I think I was still trembling, but getting over being afraid I was in trouble for something. He told me I could go on to class. “Thank you, Sir.”
Somehow, I was still shocked to receive the Art Award. The principal had told me how to accept the award because I was going to get the first one given out, and everyone would do whatever I did. I should have known the things were given out alphabetically by subject, but it didn’t occur to me. I got one other medal, but I don’t remember what it was. Something language arts related, I think. I was a darling of the English departmet, too, though it hardly mattered to me at the time. They gave me a Cross pen for Science League, which I treasured until I loaned it to my (future) husband in college, and he lost it. I suppose I forgive him.
White robes for graduation. No braces on my teeth. Remember the Drama class reference to ‘coming out of my shell’? It wasn’t really a shell – more like a cocoon – and I was nearly out. Still a bit bound down in affected timidity (a hold-over from Christian school’s enforced meekness, I suppose) but on my way. I was third in my graduating class, with two Bs (DriversEd, and Geometry- which I dropped after four weeks but still got a grade for the first six weeks(two weeks worth of missing homework grades). Still bitter over that, just a tad. Isn’t that silly?) which meant I didn’t have to do anything special at the actual graduation. They didn't let students give speeches or anything, like they do some places. Or, you know, in the movies.
A girl named Teresa was Salutorian. She was a Lit Geek and Drama Geek, to boot. Very quiet but super cool. I mentioned her before, when I referred to her as ‘one of the Hermiones’ in Speech and Drama(back when I thought this story would be much shorter). I met up with her again, after our first semester away at college. Remember her.
Ronnie had told me his family was throwing him a graduation pizza party, and he wondered if I could go. Of course I agreed. I was sure it would be a blast, and I’d get to know some of Ronnie’s mysterious ‘other friends’ who helped him with his movies and stuff.
posted
Hmm. The Word doc I write it in only has about 21,000 words so far. *headdesk* I had no idea how long it would take to work out my issues. Must be more effed-up than I thought.
Do want to finish it before Thanksgiving. I'm writing other stuff, too and mostly using this as an exercise. No real input from the filter/editor parts of my brain until I post it. Plus, there's the whole taking care of the family thing.
I doubt you can bribe me, but the encouragement helps.
Posts: 9293 | Registered: Aug 2000
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I don't know. I have a feeling if I caught you really hungry and tired and cooked for you, I could get you to do a lot of things. Posts: 21182 | Registered: Sep 2004
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For a moment I tricked myself into thinking this was the last one. I think it was the graduation bit. I'm simultaneously appalled and relieved that it wasn't the end yet.
Even if you wouldn't want to publish this exact story, you could fictionalize it somehow, and I bet it'd be amazing. You really are a very compelling writer. Posts: 952 | Registered: Jun 2005
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oh darn, I guess I'll have to find someone else to bribe with knitted hats, I love knitting kids hats! KQ I'm already starting to think about hats to knit Emma and the baby, but I sort of want them to be matching, even if the baby is a boy, so i'm waiting till you know (or it's born) to decide what exactly to do (don't worry, no pink hats for a boy)
Posts: 5362 | Registered: Apr 2004
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a jayne hat for a newborn? gah the insanity! I'm about to make one for a male friend (rhaegar the fool actually, the one spinning me in my foobonic album)but I suppose it'd be ok for a baby, I like little cotton hats more.
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ok, lavender is great, I love pink, but that's ok, my grandma never made me anything pink until I was 8 because she kept hoping my hair would turn red.
Posts: 5362 | Registered: Apr 2004
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I admit it. kq probably could bribe me. She can make an incredible omlette with, like, found objects. Posts: 9293 | Registered: Aug 2000
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There is more, I've just been busy with Liam's birthday party and all that. Sorry. If you must tarr and feather somebody, let it be me. Posts: 9293 | Registered: Aug 2000
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At the risk of getting pounded by friendly editors, I'mm going to post this fairly raw. May have some howlers, and I did get a bit maudlin at the end. Not that this is The End, mind you. There is more to come, but this bit is bittersweet for me.
Here goes:
I was all turned around about Ronnie’s graduation party, as I have said. He said he’d come by to pick me up, since it was going to be held at his grandmother’s house in a place called Upper Shell Creek, which is so far up in the mountains that it is nearly North Carolina. Quite a bit closer to Boone, NC than it is to Elizabethton, TN, where we lived (more or less).
His car was huge. He called it a “land yacht”, and the name suited it. It wasn’t just Ronnie who came to pick me up. He wasn’t even driving.
His car was packed with people. He hastily introduced me to everyone as I got in. None of it penetrated, though. I believe his older brother was driving, but there had to be eight people in that car, if you included me. I think there was an aunt and a couple of uncles. The aunt was in the backseat with Bonnie (Ronnie’s mother, if you recall) and Ronnie. I squeezed in between Ronnie and the door. I was probably 15 lbs underweight at the time (or so my doctor kept telling me, all stern looks) but it was still quite close. Ronnie had his arm around me.
He greeted me with a kiss on the mouth. With tongue. While sitting next to his mother. O_O I meeped a bit and withdrew to the few centimeters of personal space I could manage. No one in the car seemed the least bit discomfited by Ronnie trying to suck face with me.
So, I babbled. I talked to everyone. I went on about school stuff that I didn’t even care about. It was a long ride.
Finally, we got there. It was a house way up in a place called Ellis Hollow, his father’s ancestral homestead, at least on this continent. There were folding chairs set up all around, and outdoor tables. Some folks were playing horse shoes. As he led me around to introduce me to his relatives, I realized we were the only two people under the age of twenty in attendance.
He took me into the house to meet his grandmother. She was putting something in the oven, and looked up as we came in. She was small and weathered, but her hair was still salt and pepper, and she seemed to be in the best of health.
When Ronnie introduced me, she said, “What?! This is the girl you told me about? Why, she’s not homely at all! She’s purty!”
Ronnie went absolutely crimson, and I started to laugh. He whispered in my ear, “Don’t believe anything any of these people say.”
“You’d better not mess up with this one, Ronnie,” his grandmother continued, playfully scolding. “Bonnie wants grandkids someday.”
I soon gathered that everyone in Ellis Hollow (or, at least everyone at this party) always spoke with a gleam in their eye and their tongue in their cheek. I was very entertained; I could have bundled them up and taken them home with me. I was sure my mother would love them all.
There was his uncle Henry, who worked as a lineman for the phone company. He often worked with my mother’s cousin, who I only knew by his nickname, Jar Fly. I do NOT know why they called him Jar Fly, but when I found out Uncle Henry worked for the phone company, I had to ask if he knew him.
That started a series of long, extremely funny stories that involved a lot of sharp wit and dangling by the ankles from telephone poles. I was in stitches.
Just as he was about to launch into another story, his wife strolled by.
“Now, Henry! What did I tell you about this girl? She’s a nice girl, and we don’t want to scare her off.”
“Yes, dear,” said Henry, hanging his head in mock shame. “I’ll be good.”
His wife nodded curtly. “What did I tell you to say?”
Henry toed the ground and looked bashfully at her.
“Come on, now, Henry.” She was cooing now, like coaxing a child. “Just like you practiced.”
Uncle Henry took a deep breath and glanced at me. He toed the ground one more time, then said in a very practiced, artificial (and quite theatrical) tone, “Hi. My name is Henry. I am fine. How are you?”
I laughed until my face hurt.
“I tried to tell you,” Ronnie said. “They’re all crazy.”
We ate pizza and tossed horse shoes. We’d listen to Henry’s stories for a while, then his wife would walk by and give him a theatrical look. He’d put on his backward hillbilly persona and say, “Hi. My name is Henry. I am fine. How are you?”
I didn’t want it to end.
But all things do end, eventually, which is sort of what this story is about. It doesn’t matter how they end or when they end, so much as how you live when you are in them and how you remember them when they are over.
At least, that's what I think.
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posted
She wants to set a record for longest record, both in words and time, and she doesn't want anyone beating her record anytime soon, or... ever. It's all planned out.
Posts: 109 | Registered: Oct 2004
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Things have been busy with Halloween and all that. Haven't written. I didn't really feel bad about it.
Then, I started getting all sleepless and ragged again. Dreaming of bright orange hair and the young woman I was, skin so pale it never bore a freckle. Blue veins running through it.
Wake with a soft curse on my lips, get up and stare into hollow, baggy eyes. Then yesterday I'm driving back from buying new socks for Robert (how do his feet grow so fast?) and I realize REM's Don't Go Back to Rockville is playing on the radio, and my face is cold.
It's cold because it's wet. I've been crying, and I didn't even realize I was sad. Wounds heal, even the old ones, even the self-inflicted ones. But, sometimes they just heal over, and you have to open them up again, maybe even debride them. It hurts more than just dying from infection, but is significantly less permanent.
I'll do it, I tell myself. I'll do it. Open up the ugly, stinking mess that separates what I was born with from what I have chosen to be.
The next bit is funny, really, but I have just recently come to realize there's a lot I don't want to tell that I'll have to, for this to make sense. But I won't have to go there for at least tow more postings, sho where's the rub? I just didn't think it would be this hard.
Next up: Camp and my Birthday party.
Posts: 9293 | Registered: Aug 2000
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Olivet, I'm really enjoying this thread and this story, and occurs to me that my enjoyment is vaguely obscene, as it is obviously born out of some pain of yours that I've yet to understand. Taking pleasure in even old pain of someone I like strikes me as wrong.
So if you want to stop, it's okay with me. Posts: 5948 | Registered: Jun 2001
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posted
I can't stop now. I appreciate the thought, though.
It's only really painful when I contemplate quitting. Like one of those pitcher plants where the bee enters and the spines get it so it can't back up?
Do not reverse. Severe tire damage.
I'm actually feeling great as long as I do the writing. I've created a Mystical Misery machine for myself.*sings*Just keep writing, just keep writing...
posted
what is a landmark thread exactly? I've already worked out it's not like when you get to a certain amount of post since Olivets number for this is a bit random, though I thought I'd heard that's what it was a while back so I'm confused.
Posts: 75 | Registered: Oct 2005
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It can be a certain number of posts. Or it can be when something happens in your life (wedding, graduation, birthday, death, etc.). Or it can be just whenever you feel like you have something you want to share. There are no real rules when it comes to landmarks. Posts: 3801 | Registered: Jan 2000
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Olivet's was for 6 or 7 thousand I think, but it's taken her a while. Most it's just when you get to 500, 1k, 2k, 3, and so on, though I don't think anyone has done every single one. There are also people who write them about weddings, graduations, parent's death, stuff like that. They were started by Papa Moose, and now lots of us do them. The catch is they are usually archived in a different section of the forum, so they never go totally away.
Posts: 5362 | Registered: Apr 2004
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Was it 6 or seven though, I don't remember, though I know that you switched to Olivetta about the time I registered, posted under that over a year, then came back to this in July.
Posts: 5362 | Registered: Apr 2004
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Well, when you posted your first post or two on this thread I read them and found the story compelling just like everyone else, but for some reason I didn't come back to it until now. There went my whole evening, reading all 4 pages! Olivet, thanks for opening up your memories, heart and mind to us here on Hatrack. I am SO hooked now! You are a wonderful writer.
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![[Smile]](smile.gif)
) two years younger than I am. He is now a research scientist studying the nature of pain at U Dub, happily married with a baby daughter.)![[Wink]](wink.gif)
So, here goes.![[Big Grin]](biggrin.gif)
![[Razz]](tongue.gif)
![[Kiss]](graemlins/kiss.gif)
