I had lunch with an high school friend earlier today. For those that aren't aware, I went to a boarding school because public school couldn't handle all "this." Yes, yours truly, was once a pistol-packin mama minus the pistol. I spent more time in the nurse's office feigning illness than attending class. And throwing desks at teachers was also a natural response. Needless to say, my fellow boarding schoolers were of that elite mentally disturbed state.
My lunch date today was an old high school crush. When you're ill, you really aren't able to gauge other's illnesses. So this is one of those secret shame crushes. He was from Miami, worshiped Anna Kournikova claiming they dated, and he had that cute pin straight bowl cut parted in the center that was all the rage in the mid-90's. His parents would love nothing more than to see as married; apparently they think of me as a stable Jewish girl. They've got the girl part right.
In my high school, our version of "prom" consisted of dimming the lights in the gym, dragging in the tables from the cafeteria, and booking a DJ. Needless to say, your prom, even if you didn't attend, was 100 times better than mine was.
My mother took me to Fashion Bug to purchase a dress. When your family is poor and you weigh 250lbs, dress options are limited. I am no Molly Ringwald. I ended up with this maroon tent with sparkly flowers all over it. It was $3.00. I was terribly proud of it. I required a tiara as well; $5.00 at Claires. Oh I was splendid!
I remember hanging out my friends, dancing to Smashmouth and Lou Bega. I remember Dustin and his mohawk and Christina, who apparently was murdered several years ago. And Karen trying to take off her dress. And my crush, with his pin straight hair rocking out with his best buddy, a Neo-Nazi from Long Island. I finally asked/begged him to dance.
We danced to Green Day's "Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)" which is a TERRIBLE song to slow dance to. And an even worse song to give hope to new beginnings. I have pictures of him looking absolutely miserable, dancing with me. We graduated, a class of 10, and we went on our respective paths. His involved becoming a sports agent. Mine, well I'm still working on that. But at least I look good.
Through the powers of Facebook, he found me, and we've kept in contact over the past few years. We've lost touch with most everyone we graduated with. Apparently one girl became a nun. She doesn't have a Facebook.
We finally met after 10 years, last spring, for dinner with his parents at Fiorello's. So terribly awkward, but they acted as if I was their pride and joy. He's in town for the US Open, and wanted to meet for lunch today.
He doesn't know the city at all, yet he walks a good 10ft ahead of me, in his awkward style. Rest assured, dear reader, any attraction I harboured for him, has long gone. We ate at one of my favorite dinners, the Westway on 44th and 9th. Check it out. I once got drunk and made out with a guy on the corner of 44th and 9th. Ah, memories.
He seemed to think I was nervous, since I spilled my soda all over the table. Twice. I'm never clumsy like that. I wasn't nervous, just eager to finish this painful lunch, in which he constantly bragged about this and that, trying hard to impress me. He paid the bill, and insisted I walk him back to his ugly hotel in Times Square. We said our goodbyes, promising to see one another again, sooner than later. And I sashayed my ass out the revolving doors, and trotted away from the misery that is Times Square.
All in all, I suppose it was good to see the guy. Compared to many of our classmates, he's done incredibly well for himself, and I do wish him the best. He's like a bath; I'll see him once a year, whether I need to or not. After all, he's one of the only memories I have left of a painful high school experience. And as I've learned, using the pain for good, only makes you stronger. Loosing 100lbs and wearing a low-cut black dress and heels while embracing the pain does a world of good as well!
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