I was intrigued by Noah. Everything about him drew me nearer to him. From the minute I saw him, I wanted to know his story and thought he might be a person worth speaking with. I had transformed over the school years to a more creative outcast than a rebellious punk.
My junior year, I finally had a class with Noah. It was Creative Writing with Ms. Beck. The first part of the semester I observed from a distance. I had developed in somewhat of the comic relief in a classroom with such serious (by choice) topics. Noah had been conversing a lot with a girl in the class that had the same sort of appeal he did. It made sense to me, so I watched from a distance. The semester was relatively uneventful, and I eventually figured that he would never notice me or pay interest to me, so I moved on to playfully enjoying the class.
One slow day in class we were having a free-write / free-for-all day. I sat on the back counter unaware that I was being watched while I scribbled away in my notebook. Throughout the class time that day, I changed positions and locations frequently, sometimes stopping to talk with friends. The bell rang and I was met with a stack of white papers on my desk. I looked up with confusion, and there he was. He smiled at me, then walked away.
On my desk were page after page of sketches. Each one had me, in one position or another. They were drawn crudely, but accurately. It was obvious that the girl in the picture was me. And then, there were the pictures that were so obvious, I blushed as I looked at them.
There was me, straddling a desk and bent forward scribbling furiously in my book. A red triangle of fabric peeking above my pants and contrasting with my bare skin.
I later learned this was the first time he had taken a keen interest in me. It was a door opening to one of the most fruitful relationships I have ever had.
Monday, October 01, 2007
Extreme Dating
High School was a very interesting time in my life. Particularly the time that began after my initial experimentation with illegal substances.
I was drawn to the dark, the mysterious, and the forbidden. My first high school boyfriend was just that. Some hindsight would have been nice back then.
Jace* was in my high school studies class. High school studies was the school's attempt to keep student's occupied for the remaining half of the semester after driver's education. It was a lame attempt at that. For me (and for many others, I'm sure) it ended up being more of a cheerleaders/dancers-flirting-with-Mr. Collins type of class. Mr. Collin's was a basketball coach-- young, clean shaven, and not a bad looking guy. All the girls saw this and clung to him. In my rebellious adolescents the only good this did me was to further distance myself from my classmates and make me dread that class. I sat near the door and Jace sad dangerously close to me. We talked a few times, and eventually hit it off. He had long dark hair and wore dark clothes. He reeked of cigarette smoke and frequently sat with the same disgusted and distant gaze on his face.
He asked for my number, and I gave it to him freely. We spoke on the phone a few times, then it was decided that we should hang out. His neighbor (a friend of his) and he came to pick me up and we headed to Little Mexico (a.k.a. Old Town Midvale). I had never crossed those train tracks before now, and this first crossing assured me why I prefer the east side of town. The homes were decrepit and unappealing, the streets were dark, and there were people outside everywhere. It was a leap out of my comfort zone. But, I was rebelling and decided that location could fit into that realm. Of course, I hit it off with his mom. She was certain that I was a good thing. (Now, I can see why.)
For some reason, we ended up "babysitting" his neighbors little kid while she went and ran some errands. We walked to the end of the street to a small forgotten park and talked and flirted. We talked, and smoked, and talked, and smoked... and eventually did much more. It was official-- we were "together."
Jace's long hair transformed into a jet black 8 inch mohalk when he wanted it to. Of course, this intrigued me, but only distanced him from the rest of the school. Things were somewhat awkward for awhile, as if in an elementary school relationship. Finally, he shaved his head and began wearing combat boots and camouflage pants to school, and I decided that his "punk" look had disintegrated into a "skin-head" look that I didn't appreciate.
Jace taught me more about high school and high school studies in the method of extreme dating than the pretty-boy Mr. Collins ever could have imagined doing. But alas, I was not cut out for 8 inch mohalks or skin-head appeal. I went back to being a lonely punk girl without any sexual side effects.
*name changed to protect identity.
I was drawn to the dark, the mysterious, and the forbidden. My first high school boyfriend was just that. Some hindsight would have been nice back then.
Jace* was in my high school studies class. High school studies was the school's attempt to keep student's occupied for the remaining half of the semester after driver's education. It was a lame attempt at that. For me (and for many others, I'm sure) it ended up being more of a cheerleaders/dancers-flirting-with-Mr. Collins type of class. Mr. Collin's was a basketball coach-- young, clean shaven, and not a bad looking guy. All the girls saw this and clung to him. In my rebellious adolescents the only good this did me was to further distance myself from my classmates and make me dread that class. I sat near the door and Jace sad dangerously close to me. We talked a few times, and eventually hit it off. He had long dark hair and wore dark clothes. He reeked of cigarette smoke and frequently sat with the same disgusted and distant gaze on his face.
He asked for my number, and I gave it to him freely. We spoke on the phone a few times, then it was decided that we should hang out. His neighbor (a friend of his) and he came to pick me up and we headed to Little Mexico (a.k.a. Old Town Midvale). I had never crossed those train tracks before now, and this first crossing assured me why I prefer the east side of town. The homes were decrepit and unappealing, the streets were dark, and there were people outside everywhere. It was a leap out of my comfort zone. But, I was rebelling and decided that location could fit into that realm. Of course, I hit it off with his mom. She was certain that I was a good thing. (Now, I can see why.)
For some reason, we ended up "babysitting" his neighbors little kid while she went and ran some errands. We walked to the end of the street to a small forgotten park and talked and flirted. We talked, and smoked, and talked, and smoked... and eventually did much more. It was official-- we were "together."
Jace's long hair transformed into a jet black 8 inch mohalk when he wanted it to. Of course, this intrigued me, but only distanced him from the rest of the school. Things were somewhat awkward for awhile, as if in an elementary school relationship. Finally, he shaved his head and began wearing combat boots and camouflage pants to school, and I decided that his "punk" look had disintegrated into a "skin-head" look that I didn't appreciate.
Jace taught me more about high school and high school studies in the method of extreme dating than the pretty-boy Mr. Collins ever could have imagined doing. But alas, I was not cut out for 8 inch mohalks or skin-head appeal. I went back to being a lonely punk girl without any sexual side effects.
*name changed to protect identity.
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