That's the song I remember being played over and over at his funeral. That and "In Your Eyes" by Peter Gabriel. As I was there, with so many other members of our high school sophomore class, I found myself flashing back to the past - what little past we had - and smiling, yet at the same time feeling terribly guilty. I guess that's pretty common for a funeral, isn't it?
Rewind to 5th grade. He was the first guy I ever knew of who ever had a crush on me. I don't know how he saw me the first time, we went to different schools, but he told a mutual friend he liked me and apparently sent her off to do some investigating. She showed me his picture, told me he liked me and wondered what I thought. Well, I was in 5th grade and was madly "in love" with some other guy (who had no interest in me whatsoever), so I didn't really care about him. Our paths would cross - OM practice, I walk into the art room, he's practicing with his team and shoving oranges down his shirt. So very fitting for him. :) I rolled my eyes, he was embarrassed, and that was that. The annual district-wide Pioneer Day arrived. We all congregated in one school gym and had to dance the Virginia Reel. The boys had to choose their partners and he asked me. I was of course hoping for the boy of my dreams to come rushing to my side, but he didn't. I got this tall, lanky guy with a funny hat. Little did I know he was also very uncoordinated and also the class clown, so he was literally tripping and falling over his own feet. I was thoroughly embarrassed at the time, but now I look back and laugh.
More after the jump...
The following summer we ran into each other at our local church festival. Apparently I found him a suitable suitor at that point because I didn't run away from him in terror anymore. I don't remember much about that day, but I do remember him pulling me around by the hand. At one point he won a prize and picked a necklace for me. For a cheap dimestore plastic necklace, it wasn't too shabby. I also remember him pulling me into the playground area where his older sister happened to be. She of course made fun of him for having a "girlfriend" as any big sister in junior high would do, but we hung out on the swings and all was well. We exchanged phone numbers and he said he'd call me...and he did!
This is where the story changes and the regrets begin. We set up a time to meet downtown at the dime store. (Quite a date, huh?) I got there and waited for him...and waited...and waited...and then went home. I was devastated. The guy who had been pursuing me stood me up! Well, nobody was going to do that to me, so I called him demanding to know what happened. I think it turned out that his parents wouldn't let him go or something like that - a perfectly legitimate reason, but to the ego of a pubescent girl it wasn't good enough. (Remember, this was before the days of cell phones and texting, so there was no way for him to get a hold of me while I was waiting there.) I told him I never wanted to talk to him and hung up. Ugh...
6th grade began and we were now in the same school. I still remember the first day at recess - he was chasing me around wanting to talk. He was dressed up in his "first day of school" clothes as we all were back then. Of course, his were pastel and white as was the fashion for boys at that time. (Blech) I told him to forget it, stop following me, nothing he could say would make me forgive him, and he finally stopped...that day anyway.
The night of our first dance...ever. I was in total melodrama mode because the "boy of my dreams" was taking part in a kissing contest with his girlfriend and I was devastated. Then, here comes the other guy to pester me some more. I kept wishing he would just stop and leave me alone with my misery. "Smoking In The Boys Room" by Motley Crue was playing and I distinctly remember him saying, "You and I could go smoke in the boys room," to which I replied with a ever-so-meaningful eyeroll. He was so persistent...he was in my face at every turn, and instead of being flattered, I found it so annoying and I was pushed to the edge. I got so fed up, I didn't know what else to do so I told him to fuck off.
And he did.......for years.
I still regret it.
Forward to high school. Sophomore year. I remember exactly how we started talking again - he asked me for a stick of gum. Funny, why the hell would I remember something as trivial as that? Of course he followed it up with, "after all you put me through." I chuckled. As the school year progressed, I would notice and take note of him more and more often. He was right in front of me during our homecoming rally and the local paper snapped a picture of us cheering on our "team" during the contests. At one of our varsity basketball games, I talked to him a little bit in the bleachers and then wondered where the heck he was going when he got up to leave in the middle of the game. Why I would care - who knows, but it caught my eye. At the mixer in "the pit" that night, police officers came in and took a couple of girls aside who then started crying and though we were curious as to what was happening, more important things like who was dancing with whom distracted us and we kept on with the night.
The next morning, I got a call from my mom who was at work telling me that there had been a major car accident the night before, one person was killed, and three others were in the hospital. The person who died at the scene was in the class ahead of me. I didn't really know him that well, but my dad knew him, so it hit him pretty hard. The other three were in my class and included the guy I was finally warming up to again. He wasn't doing well at all and didn't know if he was going to make it.
The next week of school was surreal. Quiet. How often are the hallways of a high school quiet? They had counsellors on hand for those who needed it, students were excused to go to the visitation and funeral of the one who died. Of course, there were quite a few people who took advantage of that fact and took off just to go hang out with their friends. Two of the students were released from the hospital and the third remained. We were told it probably wouldn't be a good idea to visit him as he was in bad shape. I found that plastic necklace that he had given me during the summer festival and wore it around my wrist...until I lost it during gym class.
As I was sitting in one of the practice rooms in the choir room with one of my friends (I spent a lot of time in there), the intercom came on. At that point, our vice-principal started talking and we knew it wouldn't be good. We were right.
He was dead.
I slowly sat down on the floor, sliding down the doorway that I had been leaning against. I couldn't make things right, it was too late. I would never be able to apologize to him. I went back into the practice room, turned the lights off and sat there. People were crying in the hallways and those who weren't walked around in silence... silence again.
The day of the visitation came and I stood in line with my friends in the Catholic church so we could pay our respects to the family and say our goodbyes. It was a closed casket as we knew it would be, but I wasn't expecting all of the pictures - including the one from the paper of us during the homecoming rally. I was stunned. His parents commented on the picture once I made my way up to them. His father gave me the biggest hug...I always wondered why. I guess I'll never know.
Now we're back at the funeral. The songs playing over and over, echoing off the walls of the church. They invited people to get up and share their memories of him, but my fear of speaking in public got the best of me. I wanted to talk about the first time I saw him...with the oranges in his shirt, about his clumsy interpretation of the Virginia Reel, about how he was so funny and fearless and would laugh at himself, about how I was a total bitch to him and how I wished that I could take it all back.
But I didn't. I quietly sat there going between smiling with my memories and feeling guilty about the things it was too late to change.
A couple of weeks later, our family received a thank you from his family. Enclosed was one of his 4x6 class pictures. I still have it - along with the picture from the paper.
This all took place 20 years ago this week. I never would have remembered the exact date had it not been for school-mates posting it all over facebook. Do I think about him daily? No, but every time I'm at the cemetery I make a point to stop by his grave just because. And a couple of days ago my son brought home a notice that they would be participating in Pioneer Day next month. Dancing with him was the first thing that I thought of when I read it. And of course, every time I hear that Motley Crue song...
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