Memories of Girls I Fell In Love With In Spring
In first grade there was Kathy. She was a bossy wildflower in a stain proof dress. She had a certain way about her. She was an extremely fast runner. Faster than me anyway. But with her devious female ways she eventually let me win a race to boost my ego. Even though I knew she was letting me win, I still bragged to her I beat her. The concept of her being nice to make me feel good was so foreign to me. I was totally confused by it, and her, and so began to follow her around the playground like a shadow with untied shoe laces.
In the sixth grade there was Devon. She was quiet and demure but enjoyed what an idiot I made out of myself. She hated me at first, but when spring sprung her mood shifted. We sung songs together and she asked me about the time I snuck a beer. She was a funeral parlor owner's daughter, had an intimate relationship with the notion of rebirth. I kept asking this guy who lived near her what she was like. He kept saying why don't I come by his house, we'll find out. But I was too much of a wuss. Later that spring she was hanging around near one of my youth baseball games. I hit a double in her honor. She was so impressed by this that she stopped referring to me as, "Scum." This was my new nickname with the other girls.
In the 11th Grade there was Meg. She was a tall drink of water, smiling, desperate to rebel. We hooked up in the neighbor's house I was taking care of. For such a prim looking girl she had moves that were outright nasty. I fell in love with her instantly. But our spring love was prematurely cut back by her parents ubiquitous grounding of her to keep us apart. We were reduced to hooking up every 7th period in the dark room of the photo lab. I can attest that love does not grow under that sickly dim bulb illuminating a closet infused with photo developer chemicals. We drifted. It was tragic. Like pretty much everything in 11th grade.
Freshman year in college it was a foreign born princess called Hillary. She brought me to my knees in supplication and constant entreaty to get into her pants. This was when I learned how deadly love can be. Hence the maxim: 'Never fall in love after 18.' We would wrestle in her dorm bed until dawn. Up all night with it. She finally giving it up before it got too bright and her modesty was revealed to be a fierce demon lover. Fights were frequent and we insulted each other most horribly. But we were not yet experts at love so our salvos frequently misfired. There is too much to be said about this one. She would require a few hundred pages to get it right. Suffice to say: if you meet an 'old world' girl be prepared to play the game 'old world.'
After college it was a most metaphorically 'springtime' love affair. She was a wicked north country girl named Susan. I believed myself to be immune to her charms. I was wrong. We danced by ourselves in her stuffy apartment to the accompaniment of a boombox playing her mix. Later that night, much later, we made out, red lipstick smearing. I was toast. It was funny, because soon after that night I got very sick. I was layed up in bed for a week, unable to eat a damn thing without it hemorrhaging multi-orificial. Then on Easter Sunday, we went to dinner together. I still felt like death and had lost ten pounds. But I gorged myself on ham, potatoes in cream and cheese, asparagus, cake, ice cream and about 50 jelly beans. I was terrified afterwards what would happen to my body. But perhaps she put a spell on me because I kept it all down, literally the color returned to my cheek (My lips had started to turn blue.) We flopped down on my bed and she gave it up like nobody's business. I was shocked and awed by how scrumptious she was. Right then I knew, "Love is kind of crazy with a spooky little girl like you."
In our next edition of Spring Time Lovers: The 'round the way girl' and 'the coffee shop girl with far away eyes.'
Until then...open your blossom and let stingers tickle your pistils...
In the sixth grade there was Devon. She was quiet and demure but enjoyed what an idiot I made out of myself. She hated me at first, but when spring sprung her mood shifted. We sung songs together and she asked me about the time I snuck a beer. She was a funeral parlor owner's daughter, had an intimate relationship with the notion of rebirth. I kept asking this guy who lived near her what she was like. He kept saying why don't I come by his house, we'll find out. But I was too much of a wuss. Later that spring she was hanging around near one of my youth baseball games. I hit a double in her honor. She was so impressed by this that she stopped referring to me as, "Scum." This was my new nickname with the other girls.
In the 11th Grade there was Meg. She was a tall drink of water, smiling, desperate to rebel. We hooked up in the neighbor's house I was taking care of. For such a prim looking girl she had moves that were outright nasty. I fell in love with her instantly. But our spring love was prematurely cut back by her parents ubiquitous grounding of her to keep us apart. We were reduced to hooking up every 7th period in the dark room of the photo lab. I can attest that love does not grow under that sickly dim bulb illuminating a closet infused with photo developer chemicals. We drifted. It was tragic. Like pretty much everything in 11th grade.
Freshman year in college it was a foreign born princess called Hillary. She brought me to my knees in supplication and constant entreaty to get into her pants. This was when I learned how deadly love can be. Hence the maxim: 'Never fall in love after 18.' We would wrestle in her dorm bed until dawn. Up all night with it. She finally giving it up before it got too bright and her modesty was revealed to be a fierce demon lover. Fights were frequent and we insulted each other most horribly. But we were not yet experts at love so our salvos frequently misfired. There is too much to be said about this one. She would require a few hundred pages to get it right. Suffice to say: if you meet an 'old world' girl be prepared to play the game 'old world.'
After college it was a most metaphorically 'springtime' love affair. She was a wicked north country girl named Susan. I believed myself to be immune to her charms. I was wrong. We danced by ourselves in her stuffy apartment to the accompaniment of a boombox playing her mix. Later that night, much later, we made out, red lipstick smearing. I was toast. It was funny, because soon after that night I got very sick. I was layed up in bed for a week, unable to eat a damn thing without it hemorrhaging multi-orificial. Then on Easter Sunday, we went to dinner together. I still felt like death and had lost ten pounds. But I gorged myself on ham, potatoes in cream and cheese, asparagus, cake, ice cream and about 50 jelly beans. I was terrified afterwards what would happen to my body. But perhaps she put a spell on me because I kept it all down, literally the color returned to my cheek (My lips had started to turn blue.) We flopped down on my bed and she gave it up like nobody's business. I was shocked and awed by how scrumptious she was. Right then I knew, "Love is kind of crazy with a spooky little girl like you."
In our next edition of Spring Time Lovers: The 'round the way girl' and 'the coffee shop girl with far away eyes.'
Until then...open your blossom and let stingers tickle your pistils...
posted by RSS Spirit Combine | 10:40 AM
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