Busted

In Lamar, the adults would put on dances to give the teens something to do. I was 12 when they had a summer dance in the empty swimming pool. I was not old enough to attend, so I hung outside the chain link and grooved along with the music and dreamed of MY turn to go to a dance.

School dances were a let down. Girls on one side, boys on the other - only kids "dating" were dancing. I found myself willing a boy across the room to ask me to dance. I would focus ALL my mental powers on him and if he did not ask me, I would go into a depression for days,

But the summer dances - oh my - anything could happen there. No theme. No decorations. No status. Just a crummy band in a dark hall with any kids from the area that were old enough to attend.

I must have been 15 or 16 when I found myself dancing with you. I had always thought you were cute, but because I had a thing for picking one guy at a time to work my "will" on, you'd never been one I'd sent imaginary mental signals too. I remember the cowboy boots you had on. I wondered if it was difficult to dance in them. Cowboy boots meant you lived on a farm, and I was a city girl. (in a town of what, 3000?) And asking me to dance with you was all it took. I was ready for whatever. You asked if I wanted to go "out for a drive" and I knew exactly what I thought you meant. We were going to make out. I was ready to try that out. Now I'd had a boyfriend and I'd made out, but never with someone I just met up with that night. It was daring. It was naughty. It was exciting.

Your car was something old, low, dark and unreliable. I was not sure where to put my hands or my face and even less sure if we were on the same page of what we were doing. Perhaps I was a bit confused, but I seem to remember it being fun in a "we should not be doing this" way.

It was late, and I was going to be in trouble for not coming home at a decent time. And there was NO WAY I was supposed to leave the dance with anyone. And I had left with someone I barely knew. And I had begun to worry that my leaving with you the way I did would mean I was "easy." You pulled your car around and somehow it ended up off the road and stuck.

That's when things get fuzzy as most painful childhood memories do.

We must have walked to find a farm with a phone.
My father must have come to pick me up.
I know we never went out again.
I don't remember you and I even talking after that.

Did you date my sister?

5, 6, 7, 8

I was uncomfortable being alone with you.
You were a cheerleader. You were popular. I was neither.

When you asked to talk with me, alone, I was certain it had to be a trick. I waited for the bucket of blood to drop on my head. I waited for the set up of "this boy really likes you...." I ran my hand underneath to check for gum before I sat. I was so uncool it was epic. Your click needed only to whisper my name in each other's ears and the laughter would spread throughout the lunch room. None of you ever TALKED to me.

Until that afternoon you and I shared a name, but little else.

It was about a boy. You had a crush on a boy and you desperately needed someone to talk too. It seems this boy was the captain of the football team (classic) and gorgeous and the boyfriend of your best friend, also a cheerleader. You had my attention at "I need to talk about Shawn." In our small high school everyone knew everyone else and those with gossip held court. And yet, somehow you knew I would not do that. Somehow you knew that I would actually listen.

I'm sure I must have told you to tell him how you felt.
I'm sure I must have told you to be honest with your friend that you liked her boyfriend.
I'm sure I must have told you that if something is meant to be, it will be.

You married Shawn.
Your daughter became a cheerleader at the same High School.
You have grandchildren with Shawn.
You still live there, I think, and you are still friends with the girl who was dating him.
Shawn went bald.
I'd bet you are still blonde.

Thank you for talking to me that day, Deb.

The way it wasn't

You loved him for who you thought he was.
You planned your wedding, named your children.

You photographed yourself as if you were looking into your future as his one and only, as if wanting it more than anything could make it real. You wished as if God was only granting one wish to one girl and that girl had to be you because you above all other girls deserved it. You deserved him. You were meant to be with him. Him. Him. Him.

If he was the person you thought he was, wouldn't he be with you now?
Wouldn't he be holding you at night and saying a million I love yous?

If he was the person you thought he was, wouldn't he have been with you then? Wouldn't he have met you in person, even once?

Maybe he really was that person.
Just not yours.

Starving

You are not starving for food.

Your hunger is for release from anxiety and depression. You feel if you eat everything you want you can fill that deep empty place inside then you can be satisfied long enough to forget your shortcomings. Pot and alcohol may relax your mind, but not your need to feed. What starts as a break from reality ends in you raiding the cupboards for anything there is a lot of. That's because you also have a fear of being without.

The larger you become the more the hunger grows. Another log on the anxiety fire. You workout and eat right during the day, but darkness outside and inside loosens your grip each night.

You need to find the strength to put out the fire or it will consume you - leaving you nothing but dust.