Hallucinations of Yesteryear

Every teenage girl has crushes.  It's just part of being a teenager, these strange and slightly romantic feelings about other people. I was no different. I mostly worshipped from afar, however. I was content to stare at the boys of my dreams surreptitiously in the cafeteria, or follow them at a discreet ten paces to their next class. It was never long until I moved onto the next fellow. Most of the time, the objects of my affection didn't even know that I was interested in them, and that was probably for the best. There was no telling what sort of MTV drama would have occurred if they had known. I wasn't really interested in an actual relationship with these boys, anyway, except in my head. Where it was safe, and nobody got pregnant.  As far as I was concerned, my actions were perfectly harmless for all involved.

And then there was X(name changed just because I can't remember how to spell it).

X and I had several classes together, and sat next to each other, and hung out with the same group in the library every morning. We were just friends; that was my thing.  But along the way I developed a huge crush, that didn't go away. I wasn't about to admit it to anyone, but I enjoyed talking to X.  He was funny, and his attempts at speaking high school German were downright endearing. I found myself thinking about him way more than I normally would, at odd times, and I admitted to myself that I...liked him. In that way. I finally decided to take a significant emotional risk, to let X know how I felt. I gathered up my courage and asked him to the Prom. I was careful to frame my request as a joke, just in case.

When he turned me down, I was secretly heartbroken.

But I moved on. I'm a survivor. I left the state and had other grand adventures involving other boys and ended up married and happy. I always had fond memories of X, however.  He was wrapped up in warm feelings, like an old comfy sweatshirt.  He became something shiny I would take out and admire every so often, remembering fun times. 
  

Except memory is a tricky bastard.  It's been thirty years since high school, and like Indiana Jones says, it's not the years, it's the miles.  Lots of miles on this brain of mine.  My memory of what X looked like ended up crumpled and blurred in my head, until he looked a lot more like...Edward Norton.  A young Edward Norton. Where Edward Norton's image came from will remain a mystery, but for years, that's the picture that came into my head when I thought of X. 

And then X finally posted a picture of himself on the Book of Face, and he looked nothing like Edward Norton.  Not even close.  I sat there, staring hard at the screen. I squinted my eyes, tilted my head. Nope. Not Edward Norton. I even had the eye color wrong!  Also? X did not age well. His former tall and lean body, those nice arms...all gone. Instead, a formless potato shape, similar to my own.

The reality of X, after all these years, was disconcerting.   Am I a shallow person? No, I don't think so. After all, I haven't aged well, either. I recognize each and every scar, gray hair, and wrinkle as badges of honor, marks of distinction, and I wear those with pride. I am sure that X has similar badges.  We've earned our scars.

But I want my old memory back. I want my fond and treasured memories of when I was seventeen, before life ran me over twice and flung me in a ditch. So I am waiting, not so patiently, for my memory to crumple and curve and distort in a more pleasant story.  Maybe not Edward Norton this time, but close enough.

The Memory of a Moment

It was the summer of 1976.  We were living in Nuremburg, Germany.  Like most families who did not have a father ranked higher than a Major, we lived in an apartment building.  My family would sometimes drive to one of the other military posts for barbecues or other family friendly events.  The name of the family we visited that summer day escapes me, but back then all the kids played together whether we knew each other or not. We all knew that if we played together, the adults would begin to relax and we would have some unsupervised time. Today we were a group of ten, including my brother, and we were on a mission.  We gathered, and we eyed the prize.

This apartment building had a huge hill in the back yard.  

Covered in soft, luxurious grass that seemed to pillow our feet, the hill challenged our bravery with a sixty degree angle.  Most of us had to crawl up that hill on all fours; only the shortest of us could climb standing up.  Once we were at the top, we looked down from our precipice, our parents tiny and insignificant.  I could hear the radio blaring out the Bellamy Brothers' "Let Your Love Flow", and that song was forever paired with this hill on this day.   All of us stretched ourselves out along the summit, head to toe, in a long line.  There was some nervous giggling, but that was to be expected.  Childhood is not for the faint of heart, especially not when there are hills to conquer.

We all pulled our arms into our chests, closed our eyes.  I took a deep breath...and rolled off the summit and down the hill.  The grass felt cool at first against the skin of my legs and arms as I rolled, and I felt myself becoming more and more disoriented as dizziness overcame me.  The pleasant coolness of the grass became itchy toward the end, but that only intensified the experience.  All too soon, I was at the bottom of the hill, where gravity slowed me to a stop.  For a moment I lay on my back, looking at the slowly spinning clouds in the blue sky while I caught my breath. I sat up, and the world wavered a bit; my stomach protested, weakly. I heard laughter, and joined in.  We were all in the moment, and that moment was pure joy.

I jumped up, and we all scrambled back up the hill so we could roll down again and again, while the Bellamy Brothers sang our song.

Just let your love flow
Like a mountain stream
And let your love grow
With the smallest of dreams
And let your love show
And you know what I mean
It's the season


Mamakat's Writing Prompt:  2.) What one memory from your childhood always makes you smile, no matter what? (inspired by Not Just Another Mom Blogger).  <-----Look Ma!  I was inspirational!