Old Friends and Blue Roses

When I was in high school they used to joke that there were the Feats of Brow. A selection of things I’d done because I was stupid and basically got shit lucky if you don’t factor in my penchant for argument and that I ooze charm.

One of them revolved around a girl name Kristen McCarthy. As was my lot back then, I played an effective wing man because I had ridiculous stories, could talk about anything (a discipline I’d studied when I asked a ripe young politician why he would watch a show as effeminate as Days of our Lives. “You need to be able to talk about anything.”), and I had a joke or two. In the course of that charge, I ended up saying, hey if I’m going to keep doing this for you, why don’t you set me up with someone I like. My rearing in Taunton taught me to be at least a superficial schemer. You don’t get anywhere without a plan.

We ended up managing to execute the date, and through the course of it somewhere I picked her up with a cheeseburger. At 26, I’m not proud of it, but at the height of the Austin Powers fame, I made a cheeseburger talk like the character Fat Bastard, and despite her vegetarian tendencies, managed to swing this into what at the time counted for a relationship.

She was the first girl to really break my heart for no good reason either. It wasn’t that serious, but I’ve never taken that sort of thing well. It’s a large part of the reason I’ve a bitter sod. A lifetime of thinking this one was going to work, and it never did. A year or so back I was with an old familiar group and they’d told me she was pregnant; a South American guy who didn’t speak English. I had to just shake my head. She had a wild side and went for guys who were generally troubled. If it weren’t for that cheeseburger I don’t think I’d have had a chance.

The other day our camping department put up a giant banner in our lobby and it stand to the left of my door. It’s a standard marketing piece, shots of kids from summers past and big, brass, letters saying what its all about, but I look at the same kid in one of those photos every time, because as much as I know it isn’t, she looks like Kristen’s 18-year-old twin. It’s more weird that I hadn’t thought of her, or that time of my life in a lifetime. I’m not the same person, in fact when I remember myself at that time; it seems more like a brother, than me. But there I am, in a world removed with a terrible haircut and oversized t-shirts. And there she is, sitting outside my office, as a reminder of so many things; who I was, how far I’ve come, how far off the path life can go, and the myriad of reasons she might have chosen that direction.

In all, it’s a reminder of why I write. Sometimes I’m working through problems when I sit down and write but sometimes its good to remind yourself of past failures and victories, to remind yourself of why you do what you do, where you ought to be going, and what drives you down that road. I was thinking I should give her a call to see what she was up to. I expect her to be alone with a kid, and sometimes you can use an old friend’s voice, or a good story to carry you through, but I honestly wouldn’t know what to say. She’s not on a different road anymore; she lives in a different state (metaphorically). I think maybe I’ll send her a single blue rose. She’d understand, and maybe for a half a second she’d remember who she used to be too.