A few nights ago, Russ and I went to dinner with a group of friends. Our very good friends Dave and Mary sat across from us, and Mary was directly across from me. Mary is a sinewy gazelle. She is a lot like Mary Tyler Moore, but different..... in that Im pretty sure Mary Tyler Moore wouldnt call someone a cunt, if they cut her off while driving.
To me, just one more reason to shun THAT poser Mary, and to worship OUR Mary. She's classy, and artsy, and edgy....and if she happens to run into you in a Target unexpectedly.....she'll pretty much throws her bags in the air, punch the person next to her, and yell out a rape scream that will shatter glass, out of the pure, unadulterated joy that comes from the surprise encounter.
Here is her blog. Its much classier than mine, in the way that she really refrains from talking about assholes. How she does it, Ill never know. Ive worked the word "asshole", into a eulogy.
As the meal progressed, Mary and I got to talking about my recent high school reunion. Just a few days ago, I went back to central Maine for it. I grew up in a very small town, smack in the middle of the state. My town was essentially a paper milling town, with some smaller surrounding farming communities. There was also a J.C. Penney. Calm down lesbians, I can hear you salivating. Yes, please pack up your frowns, agendas, and budgeting paperwork, load it all into your Forester Outbacks, and gun it to central Maine. Youll fist yourself from the joy of living with tractors and endless pine trees.
And the constant fragrance of seafood.
While the area may be a diesel dyke utopia, the trueness of it, is that it is a seriously impoverished area. Pretty much nothing has changed in the past 60 years. There is little to no opportunity, and the way of thinking is very much...' it was good enough before, and its good enough now.". Its that very way of thinking that keeps Maine as beautiful, pure, and untouched as it is...... but it is the very thing that holds it back, and keeps people from getting in, or leaving. Most people live 5 miles from the house they grew up in, and very rarely travel much beyond that.
I.....on the other hand........felt the paper of my high school diploma hit my palm, I packed up my Rhythm Nation 1814 CD, and RAAAAAAAN the shit outta that place.
As I talked to Mary about my experience with the reunion, I found myself recounting to her the memories of my senior year. I was walking down the hallway one day, and I was attacked by 5 guys. They shoved my face into a wall, kicked me in the head and gut, and took off laughing. My braces had just come off a few days before..so of course being the huge homo that I am...my very first thought was...." Aw, fuck!!! There goes my new set of gorgeous, perfectly straight pearly whites!!!!" I collected myself as best as I could, and got up.
The thing that stings...even to this day...is that the friend that I was walking with, turned and walked away in the other direction...... as if nothing ever happened. He would never speak to me again. And the sad thing is, at the time......I didnt blame him.
By the end of the day, the entire school had heard about what happened, and no matter where I went, people pointed and laughed. I walked out in the middle of 5th period, and didnt come back.
The guys who did it, basically got a slap on the wrist. I had to quit school 4 months before graduating. At that point, some of the local papers had picked up on the story, and then some of the state papers. Every day it grew, and before long, some of my friends began protesting outside the school. I was like Norma Rae, but with New Kids On The Block haircut! I had decided to get my GED taking night classes, but quickly nixed that, as I found out that people were planning on waiting for me in the dark, if I did that.
Fucked up, right?
Eventually, I was talked into returning. Im happy that I did, and walking into that school on my first day back, was one of the hardest things Ive ever done.
The remaining months until graduation went by without any incident, until marching ceremonies, approached. I found out that a group of kids were planning on pelting me with eggs when I got up to get my diploma. I didnt want to go down like that...after everything that I had been through....especially in front of my family. I wanted to just go to the school office that morning to get my diploma, and skip the whole thing. My friends encouraged me to march with my head up high. Im the biggest pussy in the entire world, and Im also a complete doormat, and will do pretty much anything Im told to...so I caved.
I waited in line to walk up on the stage, and Ill never forget this. My hands shook so badly, that I had to keep them fisted into a ball. Sweat POURED out from underneath my cap. I moved closer and closer to the stage, and finally they announced my name. I walked up, already wincing, as I could feel the phantom eggs smashing into my face and chest. My plan was to walk/run....grab the paper....just get it over as quickly as I could, with as little egg on me as possible.
Its really pretty much a blur up to the point that the superintendent shook my hand. It was a firm handshake, that was forceful enough to let me know that he wanted me to slow my pace, and stop. I remember looking at his face, and he looked at me with such warmth and respect...that it jarred me out of the panicky fog that I had been in, for the past 15 minutes. I looked out to the crowd, and I didnt see eggs flying into my direction.
What I was saw was, a standing ovation. I heard people cheering. There were no eggs. Just support. Just love. I barely made it to the other side of the stage before I completely broke down.
Even now, as I type these words...my heart is racing ,and my eyes are misty. This story doesnt make me look sexy. It isnt funny. I very much feel exposed. I guess that I WANT to share this. If Im going to be dedicated to this project...its important to be real, and honest.
Sigh, deep breath.
I looked at Mary, and she grabbed my hand, and she had tears in her eyes. Just another reason why we love Mary, so much.
I want to end this by saying that, the first part of my life...my childhood..my teen years..my early adult years.... I endured abuse from every angle. I wont share it all now, though.
I would carry the thought through out my life, that if you take a tea cup and hurl it against the wall as hard as possible....you can try to glue it back together....
But it will never be as good as it was before.
I always saw myself as that tea cup, glued and taped back together as best as I could. But never as good as another cup who hadn't suffered such trauma.
It wasnt until recently, I realized that often, its the process of glueing yourself back together, that makes you better than you ever could've been before. Maybe even stronger and wiser, BECAUSE of being shattered apart.
Im still trying to get it right,and fit those broken pieces back together, just so. Ill keep you posted............
asshole! ( I couldnt resist)
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