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Adolescence and
Romance (or Lack Thereof)
Adolescence
is typically rocky for boys, but mine started out with promise. When
I was in eighth grade, they let Mother out of the pokey and I left
Randy's house with great relief. I was even more grateful to be gone
when he was arrested the following week for possession with intent
to sell. Freed of the burden of incarceration, however, Mother went
downhill in short order. A month out, she went on a bender and
solicited a police officer at a convenience store. Mother went back
to jail and I fostered with a kind couple named Smithers. Mr.
Smithers worked at the pork packing plant and Mrs. Smithers kept
house. She had never had children of her own and was thrilled to
have me with them. She burned my ratty Members Only jacket and Levis
and commenced to make all my clothes from her quilting scraps.
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I was plagued with acne, courtesy of my father whose face my mother
had once described, in a fit of poetic whimsy, as "like the surface
of the moon, only not as glowy." Mrs. Smithers tried a home remedy
she swore would work like a charm: garlic paste, applied nightly.
Though Mrs. Smithers gently likened my smell to "a fine Italian
restaurant" it was really more "Pizza Hut dumpster." It did,
however, clear up the acne and after a few months the smell finally
faded. The scarring was only noticeable in harsh fluorescent
lighting.
Inspired by my lifelong love of all things Hollywood, I auditioned
for every musical in high school and landed roles like "Third
Sharecropper," "Man on Street" and "Boy in Crowd." When, in a
desperate bid for inclusion, I petitioned the choral director to let
me play an orphan girl in "Annie," Mr. Smithers decided my passion
had become an unhealthy obsession and further auditions were
forbidden.
When Randy (out on parole) announced he had "knocked up" Cheree
Bowman, I realized I was lagging behind my peers in the area of
inter-gender relations. I decided the senior prom was my chance to
breach the mysterious world of dating. I consulted my yearbook and
made a list of prospects. Penny Williams seemed most likely to say
yes. She was sort of pretty and rather smart, but possibly within
reach. She had smiled at me once at the pencil sharpener and almost
made eye contact several times. Sadly, I had greatly underestimated
the difficulty of getting a date while wearing quilt scrap overalls.
Next ....
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