Memory Shuffle #2 - Mandy

As time moves forward, recollection of past events breeds hazy, swirly memories. Like old VHS tapes, warped with bad tracking, trying vainly to compete with continuous, streaming high definition. Sometimes, we only remember basic concepts or a general summary of events built from our own unique perspectives. Do not worry - this is normal - we have not actually forgotten anything. Our childhoods are not lost to the devouring dark. They just lack pertinence. Relevancy. Buried underneath layers of fresh associations connected to the daily digest of new material. Important material. Sometimes all it takes is an old song, a familiar taste or smell, for the veil to part and for everything to come rushing back. What is interesting is when a memory does not conform to the model, when a memory of something or someone is crystal clear without any current relevancy. So, when I say that I should not remember Mandy, it is not because I disliked her - it is because I have not talked to her in over four years and I do not understand why my memory of her is clearer than everything else (well, ok... maybe not everything else. But, the rest I at least understand).

In fact, I rather liked Mandy. "Fond of", in retrospect, might be a more accurate turn of phrase. I was never romantically interested in her, but that is not to say she was not attractive, intelligent, or animated. Certainly animated, but kind of plain at the same time. I imagine most people would have passed her by, but then again I think that was mostly because she was new and particularly quiet around people she did not know. She matriculated at the beginning  of my senior year of high school, so I imagine she was not quite on the radar, as well. And, she sat at our lunch table. Randomly, actually. The only thing I cannot quite remember is when exactly she showed up. I do remember, however, that she sat next to me for three months before I remembered her name. That was not so much her fault - your narrator is just horrible with names.

Mandy was all about two things: horseback riding and sex. She used to joke that taking guys' virginities was a favorite hobby of hers and she was pretty open about her sexual experiences. Our table frequented a lot of sex talk, a lot of it joking around, and, of course, she and her boyfriend (Justin, a tall boy who I was friendly with) would talk about their sex lives. It was a lot like a "The Lovers" skit, except not nearly as creepy, more to the point, and featured a lot less PDA (so, really it was not like the skit at all). Sometimes the sex talk got to be a little much, but ultimately it was a pretty funny, surreal experience. And that was part of what was cool about Mandy - she tried to maintain a sense of ownership over her sexuality as opposed to being ruled by societal standards marked by the phrase "slut". Other people may have called her that, I am not really sure. We never did.

Another thing that was clear about Mandy was that her home-life was not so great. Her parents were interesting characters, I think. I do remember that their landlord lived with them. I also remember that their landlord was an asshole. I recall that conversation pretty distinctly. I think he used to try things, definitely said a few things, that would effectively exclude him from Honorary Gentlemen status. A less-than-stellar human being. And Mandy found solace in her horses. She would be outside at times when I drove by, as her house was on the route I used to get to the main highway. Her horse did not have a large amount of room to run, but it seemed to work for them and it looked like she legitimately enjoyed her time in the field. These would be small glimpses into a world I would not have seen otherwise.

A good memory I have featuring Mandy was a trip we made to a concert after I graduated. We got into a truck with Justin and drove out to the "Projekt Revolution Tour." Given, these days I would not be caught dead at another one, but at that time I was pretty stoked and got to see a nice set of bands I had never seen before. I saw Snoop Dogg there - that in itself was an experience. I remember we got our pictures taken for a memento necklace made to look like a press-pass for a magazine. Sadly, I think I lost it awhile ago. It was a good picture, baring the fact that I was obviously very ill (be careful of what you eat in 3rd world countries), and it showed us all just having a really good time. It was one of the first big-venue concerts I attended. And I was, and still am, grateful.

A talked to Mandy a few times after that, ran into Justin and her at a homecoming game during Freshman Year fall. But, after a while we kept in contact less and less (as is the trend). I think our conversations were limited, at that point, to me drunk-IMing her and pestering her. She, rightfully, got fed up with it. Unfortunately, I have not talked to her since. I found out a little bit ago that she married. I stumbled onto a status update of hers on Facebook, saying something to the effect of, "My husband's got the sweetest ass in the world," with her voice ringing out clear as day. I laughed out loud, of course. It makes me happy to see that she is, at least by Facebook standards, doing well for herself.  Who knows? Maybe we will bump into each other a few years down the road and catch up. I trust that her life will be doing just fine then, too.

Memory Shuffle #1 - Dean

Normally for me, sentimentality towards the convention of reunions and educational institutions of years past escape me. Not that I’m beyond understanding why – it’s just that once I’ve moved on, it tends to be a fairly permanent situation. Maybe I just never decide to put much emotional investment in such things or, perhaps, whatever emotion I do invest I prefer to share with the people in my life currently (or at least recently). Either way, it’s odd for me that I would suddenly start recalling memories from those times. Particularly as the year of my ten-year Middle School Reunion approaches – a fact revealed to me only in the past day or so. Call it vibes, chakras, feng shui, internal clock, lingering emotion, unconscious recognition, random neuron firings, whatever: I felt that it was best to address these memories here and amongst gentlemen. My first memory is of specific interest, especially since it’s about someone I never really knew.

Dean was a fairly large boy. Corpulent isn’t quite the right word, but it’s certainly the first one that comes to mind. His hygiene was questionable as he always seemed sweaty, his hair greasy, his elbows crusty (seriously). He stunk a little, as it was, and there wasn’t much variation in his clothing. He wore a lot of big shirts (often the same big shirt), baggy jeans, wrestling paraphernalia, and the occasional hat. He wasn’t particularly bright, either. And he was on my bus route. Like most kids who attended public schools, I rode the bus in the mornings and afternoons. Our bus was overcrowded and not all the kids were as well-adjusted as your delightful, charming narrator. It goes without saying that kids can be cruel.

Dean’s weight and hygiene became a part of the daily musings of the busload; attacks only alleviated by Ms. Karen the Bus-Driver and his continual retreat into a world of television wrestling. Anyone could tell that he enjoyed wrestling thoroughly. He had several “Degeneration X” t-shirts and Undertaker shirts. He was constantly throwing out the “Suck It!” symbol and flipping off the sky. When he was frustrated, he would roll his eyes back into his head, evoking the qualities of his favorite wrestling anti-hero. This, of course, just added more fuel to a fire set by a group of kids who didn’t understand that most of what they made fun of were probably the symptoms a difficult home life. I never heckled him, but I didn’t stand up for him either. No one really did. Shocking.

I had a conversation with Dean once. I didn’t really want to talk to him and I don’t really understand why I did. Recognition of his humanity, maybe. I definitely don’t remember what it was about. Seriously, in my head, we open our mouths, and I hear nothing but a low “maaaaaaaaah”. Weird. It certainly didn’t improve my opinion of him. The following day was the last day of classes. And the kids decided to step it up for the occasion. Kids roared over his dismay, cajoling, cackling, like hyenas. Right before his stop, someone lobbed a paper ball at him and hit him smack in the back of the head. Bulls-eyed. He looked around to a bus full of possible perpetrators. Wounded. When he looked at me, I raised my arms. And the only thing I was able to say was, “Hey. It wasn’t me.” Someone's response was, "Look out, man! He's gon' eatcha!" Ms. Karen pulled the bus over, threatened a suspension or two, which seemed to stop everyone. Well, until someone lobbed a milk carton across the bus and bad milk splashed all over the poor kid. Dean was covered in warm, stinky cow-milk, kept in someone’s pocket for god knows how long for this specific occasion. And he shut-down. No wrestling threats. No eye rolls or profanities. Just blank. His sister, however, flipped a shit.

Dean had an older sister who rode the bus with the middle schoolers because she had to attend a court-ordered alternative school. She smoked Kools (or Camels?). She was 16. And, she had anger issues. A whole lot of yelling, complete with its fair shair of “fucks”, “shits” and death threats, concluded with a sworn promise that when she left the bus, she would call her friends, get in a car, chase us down, and kill us. All of us. It got the bus to shut up for a few minutes. They left the bus, and we made our way down the road. The next stop was a ways farther. Suddenly, a rusty old red car came around the bend, speeding up behind us. Dean’s sister was driving, moving as fast as the car would go. The bus collectively shared a “holy shit” moment. At about 10 feet away, the car backfired and spewed out smoke. Gray smoke started pouring out of the hood when the car made a sharp U-Turn in the opposite direction. The bus stopped at a stop sign about 5 seconds later, and we made our way. Quietly.

I never saw Dean after that. It’s weird when a person who takes up that much space disappears. I heard rumors he moved away or that he transferred to a school where he actually had friends. These days, I figure his fate turned out far direr. But, I suppose I’ll never know. If I were to go to that Middle School Reunion, I’d probably only be interested in seeing if he was still alive. But, then again, if he were, he probably wouldn’t show up anyway.