I Do Not Sneer At What You Taught Me, But . . .

 . . . Nor Do I Cry Over What You Did To Me.

I realized it’s been nine years.

Back when I was in eighth grade, in January of 1996, I had a friend named James.  I’ve mentioned him on here before.  He and I also had a secret friendship, but this one was based in the root of popularity, that entirely fickle and stupid thing.  I was the school’s scapegoat, and had been for as long as we both can remember, and while he wasn’t exactly the most popular of people, he wasn’t in my position, and didn’t want to be.  So it was just understood that we didn’t talk in school.  But secretly, (or maybe not as secretly as I thought,) I pined for him.  I honestly believed I was in love with him.  And maybe I actually was.  Love comes in all forms, including dysfunctional.  And while I do say I was in love with him, it was thoroughly a dysfunctional love.

On this day in 1996, I was at the bus stop, and the guys, including James, and I were having our usual snowball fight/knock down game.  I had my long hair back then, and at one point while I was standing with my back to a bush, James and another guy about ten feet to my left, another in front of me, and something else to my right, I leaned down to pick up a snowball.  My hair fell down, covering the left side of my face, and I didn’t see who threw the iceball that hit me in the head.  I staggered to a standing position, and looked at James and the other guy.  I said something like, “Damnit, you jerks!” meaning all of them, but looked at James when I said it.

And that was the end of our friendship.  No matter how many times I apologized over the coming weeks, and months, no matter how many different ways I plotted to talk to him, no matter how many things I could think to give him, or excuses to call him, nothing worked.  And I was in Hell.  I couldn’t believe what had happened, and for a long time, I blamed myself, I loved him, I couldn’t picture mself going on without him in my life, I hated him, I was angry at him, I wanted him back, I thought I’d lost the only guy I would ever love . . .

I was really messed up back in eighth grade.  I just couldn’t deal with losing him.  I’d known him for nine years.  From when I met him as a four year old, to when I was 13, in eighth grade, and lost him.

Well, it’s been another nine years.  (Damn.  I’m old.)  And I’ve thoroughly been over things with James for years.  But he actually as an important person in my life, and since I’m a sucker for anniversary things, whatever they may be, and I realized that today was the nine year mark of all of that, I decided to write on it.