Write

As I laid down last night, the story started to unfold. I remained in bed and I lost it. I remained because there is this paranoia I have that if I get up it's going to leave anyways. I think honestly I am going to do vastly better if I just get a Dictaphone and start rambling to myself at 11pm.

So tonight when faced with 3 hours of free time on my hands and a city completely horrible to travel in - I managed to dig myself back into my house after two days of being gone - with the help of my dad - I decided to write. I started to try and dig out the stories, the original stories of K and the feelings that started all this. Because the thing was he was not it, he was a fixture, but there were dozens of other all consuming, life enthralling crushes - secret and public before, during and after him and none, not a single one was him. Maybe he was just too old, maybe he was just too untouchable - he was after all the significantly older brother of a girl I was just barely remaining friends with. She was skyrocketing up the social order and I was not so keen to do so, seeing what it required of her.

Two paragraphs:

"I remember passing the Sunday pot roast staring past him at the velvet striped wallpaper, trying to figure out what it was that was different about him than J, the boy that was currently occupying just about every girl to girl confidential discussion and plan. I wanted to kiss J. I wanted to find a way to steal him away from the Grade 5 harlot, and capture his rugged heart. I didn’t want K anymore then I wanted the water chestnuts in the mayonnaise, pea and iceberg lettuce layered salad, but somehow I was supposed to, I just could not understand why. Not yet. I remember being captivated by a feeling far deeper then all the excitement my Grade 4, Barbie doll playing heart could understand. Maybe that was because I was still of the belief a kiss could change my world forever, that a kiss would transform me. Who cared if I kissed a frog? Who cared if he was ever going to be a prince? He sure wasn’t going to be at this age, and I would be lucky if he didn’t publicly embarrass me after the kiss. I believed, I absorbed, I consumed the notion that a kiss would make me a woman or at least a teenager, maybe make me beautiful, maybe even make K look at me other then is baby sister’s awkward Sunday lunch tagalong friend. Every chance I could I would be there at the large round table with the assortment of adults and teens and C and me."

"C eventually altogether ditched me, and as much as I wanted our mothers to hold us together, my mother’s friendship held me to a girl who believed that kisses were an unnecessary part of life. A girl for whom the finesse of boy corralling and coercion had never been learned, just like she had never learned that tying your bathing suit straps together with a hair elastic was social suicide for us cuspers." So my chance at getting to K through C was forever lost, lost like innocence we thought we still had. "

Yes, this does reflect real life for me, with child perceived, memory solidified indulgence, but if C, K or even bathing suit massacring S were to read this they would see themselves, through my eyes of course. I would add some kind of post-amble about if this is you and you take offense comment, but hey I know C and S don't read and if K did well I would be surprised and concerned given the fact that well nothing has been said about it.

PS - I've found our PC related theme song - check her out, it's been on here before, but well I was listening to her again and it fits.

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