A Most Peculiar Man

When I was a junior in high school, I still felt like a little freshman. My high school life up to that point had been socially uneventful. I didn't go to parties—never got an invite to go to any. Didn't smoke—not enough time and it was an expensive habit. Didn't play sports—I could never see myself willingly getting up at four in the morning to get to school for practice and THEN repeat it again that afternoon.
My fellow students probably would have said I was a great person, really, but there were not a lot of people who tried to test that hypothesis. I would not say I was introverted, overly shy or repulsively ugly; but there were signs early on in my freshman year that I was not going to be “the popular one”.

I did not have any luck with the opposite sex either. Whoa...shocker there, eh? (what, you couldn’t tell?) I’ll admit, I may not have tried as hard as I could have…but as I said, it was difficult to step out of my self-imposed cage of isolation for it was safer to stay on the sidelines, even though it hurt to see everyone else finding that right connection. I had to wonder if the person for me was at some other school..some other city? State? Country? Perhaps there was another planet out past Alpha Centauri?

Anyway, my first real ‘date’ was the homecoming dance during my freshman year. It was during crafts class when I was asked if I was going to homecoming. I replied that I would be going to the game but not the dance. Then someone asked me if she found a date for me, would I go. I shrugged and replied, “Sure”. Then that same person asked a girl sitting on the opposite side of them room if she would go with me. The girl's name: Teri Stephenson.

I did not dislike, feel repulsed or had thoughts of screaming and running away in abject horror of Teri. That being said, I didn't really want to go out with a girl whose glowing characteristic--the one that could have been written on her senior page in the yearbook--was to badmouth people around her. Behind their backs or straight to their face—she didn’t care where she fired the shot. I admired her spirit and gumption to tell it like it was and not care about hurt feelings; but, I had no real feelings for her. We weren't enemies, or friends for that matter, just classroom acquaintances.

What could I have done? To avoid looking like a creep in front of the class I agreed to go to the dance with Teri, which was not painful or embarrassing until the actual night of the occasion when my friend, Mike Thomas and his date, Danielle Gebhardts, accompanied Teri and myself to a restaurant called “Clinkerdaggers”.

Dropped off by my parents with reservations already in place we entered the rustic and, I suppose, “trapped in the late 1800’s appearance” of the “Old Flour Mill” building and sat down. This place was not like “Zips” as there was only one thing priced below $10: a simple starter salad. Mike and I had pooled up money for this and we both hoped that our dates were light eaters.
We each ordered an entrée along with the aforementioned starter salad and ate while attempting to avoid subjects where any form of explicit language could come in. No such luck in that endeavor. It all went downhill from there.

I looked at Teri from across the table and I tried to see someone I could talk with and maybe hold her hand, to start with…I mean, she was wearing a beautiful blue dress; not revealing in any way and her earrings brought a shine to her face. Yes, I’ll say it: she looked very pretty. But, through all of that, the fact that Teri Stephenson could put up a nice veneer meant nothing once she started on certain subjects. She spouted out slander, libel; I heard words I had never heard in the Bible and even now I’m still afraid to run them through Google. My attempts at changing the conversation to more polite topics were ignored.

The main course was brought out at about the same time Teri was talking about an incident that occurred one late night in Spokane that involved firecrackers, someone’s car and a watermelon. I believe she ate only three bites of something that I still cannot pronounce the name of, let alone fathom why she got it to begin with. Altogether, dinner cost us about $155…not including the tip and the scowling looks from the wait staff.
To add further insult to injury we hardly danced with each other and she had pictures taken with another guy…and I paid for them. Not wanting to sit against the wall and not wanting to test the theory of 80’s high school movies, I left the dance early and walked the mile back home in the dark.

I did not try to go out with anyone at all after that. In fact, I didn't do much of anything except eat, breathe, work on my assignments, work with the drama club and went to a few school concerts; but that was my limited interaction with anyone during the next year. You could call it a social coma…or you could call it what I did: my existence.

Unfortunately, that did not work entirely as planned. I still had to look at other people; people who may (or may not) have helped me if I was on fire and it was difficult to avoid one particular person, because he rode my bus: James Tyler. He was arrogant, talked as if he not only lived in the gutter but also was the mayor of it. His language was so blue Larry Flynt’s face would turn red; and he never took silence as a reason to quit.

Our little relationship began on my second day of high school and continued well into my junior year.
I would get on the bus and sit in one of the few remaining seats in the back, all of them usually one seat removed from James. An example of his “light conversations” occurred the Monday after homecoming:
“Hey Lawry,” he stated…
…and I ignored him.
“Lawry.”
Still didn’t look at him.
“I saw you at Homecoming. Who did ya’ take?”
I didn’t respond.
“Did she give you any?”
Even at the age of fourteen I knew what that meant (I had watched Cinemax at one time). The issue was how you answered the question: “No, and I didn’t expect her to.”
“You should have at least gotten into her dress. You know?”

I shook my head at his comment. I couldn’t turn and give him a dissertation on love, romance and sex because I had no real idea about any of them. Well, I knew—through books, of course, about sex and I had an inkling about love. Romance? Only what I saw in movies because I had not crossed into that zone...for a lack of trying.

Okay, for the record, I had crushes on a few girls but I admired them from afar. I didn’t lust after them (I had no idea what that meant at the time), but I would look, I would see and I’d wonder things about them…like what would they like to do in three to four years when I actually had the courage to talk to them either by carrier pigeon, smoke signal or quipu. Maybe graduating to using a phone.
And yes, it would go without saying that I hadn’t had a real girlfriend. Yes, yes, I know that in the grand scheme of things it should not have mattered. Years later in life I could look back and say “Oh come on, it wasn’t that bad. Besides, look how ‘so and so’ or ‘what’s her name’ turned out. You did well, man.” But at that time, during junior high and high school I couldn’t help but think I was the possible template for the “forever alone” meme.

“Man, you missed out. She probably would have let you rip those panties off.”

A lot of times I had to wonder who James would have married one day. Would she care that he openly expressed total disregard about women? Would she be appalled if they had a daughter, knowing what he said about girls at that time? Would he approve of some guy talking about her like that? I’m still amazed he never got slapped, punched or kicked in a strategic point on his body up to that point.
“They all want you to do that, you know? You tell them they’re pretty and when you’re alone with them…”
Thankfully, the bus ride into town was a short one, as I was the last stop on the route to Reardan.

Ahh, yes, Reardan, Washington…looking back I can say that it was a small town, but since I did not live in-town and I kept myself alienated from a lot of things I couldn’t see it for more than what I thought it was: a blink and you’ll miss it blob on the local highway. Yes, that’s shallow. Yes, that sounds like something an ignorant teenager would say…and you would be, absolutely, without a shadow of doubt, 100% correct: I was an ignorant teen. It’s said that ignorance is bliss at times and it was best to stay blissful to avoid having to come up with any emotional responses.
So, for almost half of my high school career I made it a point to stay hidden…well, maybe not a point, but it was safer than to go and stick my neck out and have it cut off by somebody. When I started junior year I felt a little bit of relief…as James started driving a car to school so I had a few minutes of peace every morning.

I spent more time in town hanging out at Mike house after school and on and off every weekend. He lived a stone’s throw (across the street) from the high school so getting there was not an issue and, if I really had/wanted to, I’d walk home. We spent some of our time walking around the town but for the most part we hung out in his room reading books or taking turns playing “Sonic the Hedgehog”, as we did that Saturday morning.
"You ready to work concessions?"
"Don't remind me. I have to do it on Friday."
Our first home football game and my number came up to help run the concessions booth.
"Goes toward prom."
"Like I'm going to go to prom."
"If not this year the next, right?"
"Yeah, like you did?"
"The DragonLance Convention doesn't happen every year, you know."
"Mike, would you just drive a lance or some legendary sword through my chest so we can get this year over with?"
"Wow, there's Mr. Positive Thinking. He doesn't take a day off, does he? Oh and legendary swords would incinerate you on contact."
"Even better. This year is going to turn out just like the others…only now I have to be seen: front and center at sporting events. Why don’t we have concessions at music concerts or drama club?"
"Again, Mr. Positive Thinking speaks another affirmation."
"Every day is going to be a repeat of homecoming."
"No, the popcorn’s cheap and you’re not buying it for them. Besides, Teri doesn’t go here anymore."
"Her cousin does."
"And her cousin doesn't like you. Not like she's going to throw herself at your feet."
"What if I wanted her to?"
"I say you're pretty messed up in the head but for you, that's normal."

After breakfast, which consisted of two handfuls of corn pops, we took to the streets. Reardan, being a small town, I suppose you could walk through it in about 30 minutes at a brisk pace or drive through it in 10 seconds or so, depending on how fast the police could catch up to you. We turned the corner and onto Oak Street to see a small moving van parked in front of one of the houses. This was a strange sight: as no one ever really moved into town...unless they had lived there before. If now, then they would pack up and leave in the middle of the school year, usually during important group assignments…and leave with all of your report source materials. Just saying.

“Did you know someone was moving in?”
“No, and you know, I can't recall being on the town welcoming committee either so don't--”
We walked down the street, taking care to watch who was moving in. We also tried to be as nonchalant as possible…and since we were teenagers that was out of the question.
We saw a woman in her, maybe early 40s—not sure, I was never very good at figuring out ages-- moving boxes from out of the van. It appeared that she had moved quite a few by herself, judging by the boxes stacked along the walkway and next to the garage. I can’t say what possessed me at the time to do it, but for some reason I crossed the street.
“Good morning. Welcome to Reardan, " I stated in a helpful but ‘hey, I'm not a creepy guy’ kind of voice.
Mike just waved.
“Do you need any help?” I asked. "We were just in the neighborhood..."
“Oh could you please that is so kind of both of you.
We just grabbed boxes and took them inside the small two-story house. We kept this up for about an hour allowing the woman to stand on the side. She kept a questioning sort of expression on her face, as to try and understand why we were helping out. Whoever heard of teenage boys helping without an ulterior motive? She asked us for our names and we volunteered but neither of us pried to ask for her name.
“What do you think of Reardan?”
“We like it or at least I do, very home town-ish.”
“We?”
“Myself and my daughter, Ceci.”
I had to hide a slight smile. Daughter? But the internal smile faded as I thought…maybe she was in kindergarten or a toddler…and if that was the case then, so be it; at least we helped a young-ish, single, maybe, mother, with moving-in and feeling a little better about her new neighborhood. Then, maybe later, we could go after the ‘tying a noose around our neck’ merit badge.
“She wanted to take a break and walk around town a bit.”
That helped a little…she was not a toddler…or in kindergarten after all. However, maybe in junior high. But, there was a glimmer of hope that maybe we (I?) could meet her and just put all of the guessing to an end.
“There she is.”
The three of us turned to look down the street and a teenage girl, dressed in shorts, T-shirt and running shoes. She looked like a runner and if I described any more of her to you you’ll want to, possibly, search for me and then slap, deck, or punch me for commenting, so I’ll just state she looked...nice.
It was fortunate that we stopped to help. Normally, if one teenager sees another teenager that they don’t know they either ignore them or give the "hi, I really don't want to talk to you but I will acknowledge you for now" gesture. With the two of us here she had to at least acknowledge our existence. Speaking to us would be bonus points, but not expected.
She ran up to her mother and stopped as she noticed Mike and myself.
“Ceci, this is Mike and Andrew. They've helping us move in.”
“Hello," Ceci answered to us and I followed her every step, incognito, of course. She had a slight accent…I couldn’t place it. It wasn’t a “howdy” or a “I do declare” tone…but it was not from “around here”.
“College?”
“No high school. The one up the road, right?"
“Senior?” Mike asked.
“Sophomore.”

Which meant I actually may had have a chance. You see, we kind had a pecking order in school. That may not be the best way to say it; but usually if the girl was older than the guy then you had no chance. Now, there were exceptions to the rule but I never had a chance to test it.
“I start Monday. Could I ask you to maybe help me out with my first day?”
“Sure, I would be happy to," which was actually a partial thought. In its entirety, I actually said: ‘Sure, I would be happy to let you do anything as long as I’m with you. You could chop off my head and you could rip out my fingernails. You could also give me a small kiss on the cheek or whatever you want to do. I’m game!”
Ceci waved to us and then walked into the house. We continued to unload the van.

It was late in the afternoon when we pulled the last box from the truck. The living room was crowded with boxes, all systematically arranged around a couch and a set of shelves.
“Do I owe you anything?”
“No,” Mike replied as she looked to me for confirmation.
“Just glad to help,” I said as I took a step back.
“Thank you, thank you very much. Nice to see people willing to help,” she replied as she waked to the front door.
“Oh, you’re welcome.”
She then went inside and closed the door.
“She must of been the most popular girl in school,” I said after a short delay. “I take it that you looked her over.”
“I couldn’t help it and I so solemnly do swear I will be the first person to talk to her on Monday morning. I will run from my house just to catch her when she walks in the door.”
“You live ten miles from town.”
“She's worth the blisters on my feet”
“Whatever,” Mike answered as we started our way back to his house.
“Sure. ‘Whatever’ I saw you looking too. You cannot honestly tell me that you don't think she looks beautiful.”
“Yes…but I’m not the one planning to bark up a lung to be ‘the first’. Were you thinking about her the whole time?”
“There was one moment where I thought I was going to drop a box on my foot.”
“So, what’s your plan, Romeo?”
“I'm not sure. It won’t involve swords—“
“Or romantic poetry.”
“I can write poetry.”
“I wouldn’t tell her that…yet. Why don't you just go talk to her again tomorrow?”
“Shouldn't I have a reason to go back to her house?”
“Join her on a morning run.”
“How about you come with me?”
“Nope. Not interested in a fool’s errand. Knock yourself out though.”
“All I have to run in are sandals.”
“I thought you said she was worth the blisters?”