Sophomore Year: Some Wild, Wacky Stuff
Click Here To Read My Freshman Year "Memoir".
Oh yeah, I'm kicking this off by listening to Natalie Imbruglia's "Torn".
Like I said before, I love iTunes. One buck equals so many memories.
***
I turned 15 in the summer of 2000. Those that have noticed my birthdate should not be surprised by this turn of events.
About one month after that, I found myself naked on the floor, rubbing my body against a member of the opposite sex. Her name has long since disappeared from my mind; all I remember is her long blonde hair, the dorky glasses she wore. The fact that she liked me, as I played basketball at the court some ten miles from my uncle's summer home. We were visiting that same uncle, and I had managed to slip away. We ended up at her house, in her room, where she kinda assaulted me with her breasts and mouth. Neither of us had a clue what we were doing. I remember her being really, really skinny. Pale. I remember the act being awkward, going on for longer than it needed to. I must say, being scared definitely keeps one going longer.
And yet, her name escapes me.
And... yes... I did have sex before I ever had a girlfriend. I actually had sex before I ever even really made out with a girl, for fuck's sake.
... Er. Not a pun.
I headed back to school that fall with a different viewpoint in life. The ghost of Mike Wile's death hung over my head, as it had since I had found out about it. It was beginning to affect my way of thinking -- due to his death, I suppose I grew up. I stopped being involved in petty things. I learned to concentrate myself on what I enjoyed and was good at. Sure as fuck, I was a new man.
My schedule for sophomore year was severely out of wack. Perhaps if the school had put me into algebra instead of pre-algebra, perhaps my later involvement in that class (that'll come junior year) would not have been so bad. This was also the year of health education, of the PSATs, of many things I do not look back and envy my old self having to suffer through. I do believe sophomore year was my worst year of school, perhaps ever. The fun was sucked out of my life that year. I remember the school just being finished up as we entered the doors that September; the new addition of the world's ugliest modern art display had joined the lobby, and would remain to be an eyesore well after I left. This was the year of great teachers, though. The year of Tanguay, Daniels ("J.D.!" Aislin will squeal if she ever reads this), V-J, Lewis... and then, on the other end of the spectrum, Wood, who perhaps managed to make me fail Psychology (a subject I am actually extremely good at, proficent in, and really do enjoy) by way of his monotone voice. Never have I had to listen to one man drone on that long...
Lewis, on the other hand, as it would turn out, was pretty much a crazy conspiracy-theorist. This guy rattled off more points of how fucked up the law system was than you could believe.
The first half of sophomore year is muddied; I remember coming in with a darker mindset that year. I also remember starting to do yoga and looking into Buddhism, which I would eventually accept as my chosen religion to practice. I had grown up in a non-religious household, which made this especially odd. My father had rejected religion after spending 12 years of his life in the private Catholic school system. I doubt he's ever really believed in a God, and I thank him quite a bit for never having pressured me or even bothering with religion in our family.
I have no real idea of what I was listening to in the latter months of the year 2000. The Strokes were still a year off from explosion, U2 was readying their album -- I do think I was listening to The Battle of Los Angeles, Nothing's Shocking, and OK Computer around then.
I settled in with the same friends as I always had; but something new had caught my eye that year. She was short, brunette, with dazzling blue eyes and a bright cheery smile. Her name was Meghan. It had to have been October when I first noticed her (and her ass -- oh, what an ass!), one lunch period. Little did I know what the future would hold between her and I, where the paths would intersect and change my entire social structure. All I knew was that she had a cute round butt, was startingly pretty, and that my heart jumped a couple beats when I saw her. This was where my old crush, the one that held top honors, broke off in my head. She was the new #1. The problem with simply going up and talking to her was simple: I had absolutely no guts. I was (and still am) very troublesomely shy around girls the first time I'm around them. Afterwards, my demented personality hits, and I'm fine. But that first time is tough.
I did nothing about this until about February. It was time for that week's vacation the school affords the students in that month; I had written a whole long stupid letter, one of my own.
Let me explain why it's so important that I wrote it myself. Back in 7th grade, a friend of mine had taken it upon himself to write a letter to the same crush I talked about earlier and in my freshman year. It ended with one of the most biblical-epic type of "playground" battles ever (this "playground" was merely the school's parking lot, left wide open after the school had gone from being the high school to the junior high), me crawling out on my hands and knees, and getting teased about it for the rest of the day.
Anyway... I remember it being just before lunchtime. I was heading off for Health (it was Friday, which meant we were going into the weight training room), the note clutched in my hand. Meghan had a locker some twenty or so lockers down from me.
I walked down, handed her the note, and walked off. My footsteps were much more in time than my heartbeat was as I headed to class.
I got a response through the office later that day. She was vague at best with it. As it turned out, she had just gotten together with someone, and didn't bother to tell me about it. This man was more instrumental than I thought. But I'll get to that later.
By midyear, I had failed Psych, and was doing generally good in my other classes, especially English and Pre-A. It was all too easy. PSATs were simple for me; I knew I would score high on the English parts, and probably okay at best on the Math seqment. And that's pretty much how it went. However, I'd already decided I wouldn't be taking the SATs the following year. I had no intentions of continuing my educational career in a regular college.
There was a girl that hung around Meghan. Her name was Melissa. (Murkling knows of her. Which is hilarious, for some reason.) Pigtailed, somewhere between goth and raver, and absolutely wacky, Melissa was my future best friend.
I was sitting around one night when the thought crossed my mind to call her. Mind you, I didn't know Melissa. At all. I was someone who hung around with someone she knew. But, for some reason, I reached for the phone book and found her number. I dialed it.
And we actually talked for an hour. Straight out of the blue. It was one of the better things that I've done in my young life, because without her, I'd have missed a lot. And I'd have never met Aislin, which would have meant I'd have never met Gwenyfver or zombiesdontrun or darthspielberg and deep down, would've never bothered with this site. Recently, she had the chance to become a SuicideGirl, but she seems to have not bothered to take that chance.
This, sophomore year, was comparably insubstantial. Between the things I'm talking of now, there was absolutely nothing.
The year itself ended swiftly. Meghan was dumped by her boy for someone his own age, and she was a bit distraught by it. I gave her a small note telling her that he sucked, and she thanked me. Our friendship would begin there, and it would sort of rumble around, turbulent and filled with misdirection, over the next couple years.
I don't remember how I felt on the last day of school that year. I do remember seeing my former crush, as she left, in shorts and pigtails -- and not caring. I remember spending the first day of summer sleeping in until noon, doing yoga, and playing video games.
I remember having a short conversation with one of the people on the girls' soccer team a couple days before school ended -- a conversation that would prove prophetic to my first taste of post-grad sex.
I remember 2001's first six months being, well... boring.
Yet around the corner, there was more. A blonde bombshell, you could say, was a month or so away. My hectic junior year was ready to begin. My life was about to turn and head down a direction I never really expected.
But that's for next time, isn't it?
Music I Listened To Writing This:
Click Here To Read My Freshman Year "Memoir".
Oh yeah, I'm kicking this off by listening to Natalie Imbruglia's "Torn".
Like I said before, I love iTunes. One buck equals so many memories.
***
I turned 15 in the summer of 2000. Those that have noticed my birthdate should not be surprised by this turn of events.
About one month after that, I found myself naked on the floor, rubbing my body against a member of the opposite sex. Her name has long since disappeared from my mind; all I remember is her long blonde hair, the dorky glasses she wore. The fact that she liked me, as I played basketball at the court some ten miles from my uncle's summer home. We were visiting that same uncle, and I had managed to slip away. We ended up at her house, in her room, where she kinda assaulted me with her breasts and mouth. Neither of us had a clue what we were doing. I remember her being really, really skinny. Pale. I remember the act being awkward, going on for longer than it needed to. I must say, being scared definitely keeps one going longer.
And yet, her name escapes me.
And... yes... I did have sex before I ever had a girlfriend. I actually had sex before I ever even really made out with a girl, for fuck's sake.
... Er. Not a pun.
I headed back to school that fall with a different viewpoint in life. The ghost of Mike Wile's death hung over my head, as it had since I had found out about it. It was beginning to affect my way of thinking -- due to his death, I suppose I grew up. I stopped being involved in petty things. I learned to concentrate myself on what I enjoyed and was good at. Sure as fuck, I was a new man.
My schedule for sophomore year was severely out of wack. Perhaps if the school had put me into algebra instead of pre-algebra, perhaps my later involvement in that class (that'll come junior year) would not have been so bad. This was also the year of health education, of the PSATs, of many things I do not look back and envy my old self having to suffer through. I do believe sophomore year was my worst year of school, perhaps ever. The fun was sucked out of my life that year. I remember the school just being finished up as we entered the doors that September; the new addition of the world's ugliest modern art display had joined the lobby, and would remain to be an eyesore well after I left. This was the year of great teachers, though. The year of Tanguay, Daniels ("J.D.!" Aislin will squeal if she ever reads this), V-J, Lewis... and then, on the other end of the spectrum, Wood, who perhaps managed to make me fail Psychology (a subject I am actually extremely good at, proficent in, and really do enjoy) by way of his monotone voice. Never have I had to listen to one man drone on that long...
Lewis, on the other hand, as it would turn out, was pretty much a crazy conspiracy-theorist. This guy rattled off more points of how fucked up the law system was than you could believe.
The first half of sophomore year is muddied; I remember coming in with a darker mindset that year. I also remember starting to do yoga and looking into Buddhism, which I would eventually accept as my chosen religion to practice. I had grown up in a non-religious household, which made this especially odd. My father had rejected religion after spending 12 years of his life in the private Catholic school system. I doubt he's ever really believed in a God, and I thank him quite a bit for never having pressured me or even bothering with religion in our family.
I have no real idea of what I was listening to in the latter months of the year 2000. The Strokes were still a year off from explosion, U2 was readying their album -- I do think I was listening to The Battle of Los Angeles, Nothing's Shocking, and OK Computer around then.
I settled in with the same friends as I always had; but something new had caught my eye that year. She was short, brunette, with dazzling blue eyes and a bright cheery smile. Her name was Meghan. It had to have been October when I first noticed her (and her ass -- oh, what an ass!), one lunch period. Little did I know what the future would hold between her and I, where the paths would intersect and change my entire social structure. All I knew was that she had a cute round butt, was startingly pretty, and that my heart jumped a couple beats when I saw her. This was where my old crush, the one that held top honors, broke off in my head. She was the new #1. The problem with simply going up and talking to her was simple: I had absolutely no guts. I was (and still am) very troublesomely shy around girls the first time I'm around them. Afterwards, my demented personality hits, and I'm fine. But that first time is tough.
I did nothing about this until about February. It was time for that week's vacation the school affords the students in that month; I had written a whole long stupid letter, one of my own.
Let me explain why it's so important that I wrote it myself. Back in 7th grade, a friend of mine had taken it upon himself to write a letter to the same crush I talked about earlier and in my freshman year. It ended with one of the most biblical-epic type of "playground" battles ever (this "playground" was merely the school's parking lot, left wide open after the school had gone from being the high school to the junior high), me crawling out on my hands and knees, and getting teased about it for the rest of the day.
Anyway... I remember it being just before lunchtime. I was heading off for Health (it was Friday, which meant we were going into the weight training room), the note clutched in my hand. Meghan had a locker some twenty or so lockers down from me.
I walked down, handed her the note, and walked off. My footsteps were much more in time than my heartbeat was as I headed to class.
I got a response through the office later that day. She was vague at best with it. As it turned out, she had just gotten together with someone, and didn't bother to tell me about it. This man was more instrumental than I thought. But I'll get to that later.
By midyear, I had failed Psych, and was doing generally good in my other classes, especially English and Pre-A. It was all too easy. PSATs were simple for me; I knew I would score high on the English parts, and probably okay at best on the Math seqment. And that's pretty much how it went. However, I'd already decided I wouldn't be taking the SATs the following year. I had no intentions of continuing my educational career in a regular college.
There was a girl that hung around Meghan. Her name was Melissa. (Murkling knows of her. Which is hilarious, for some reason.) Pigtailed, somewhere between goth and raver, and absolutely wacky, Melissa was my future best friend.
I was sitting around one night when the thought crossed my mind to call her. Mind you, I didn't know Melissa. At all. I was someone who hung around with someone she knew. But, for some reason, I reached for the phone book and found her number. I dialed it.
And we actually talked for an hour. Straight out of the blue. It was one of the better things that I've done in my young life, because without her, I'd have missed a lot. And I'd have never met Aislin, which would have meant I'd have never met Gwenyfver or zombiesdontrun or darthspielberg and deep down, would've never bothered with this site. Recently, she had the chance to become a SuicideGirl, but she seems to have not bothered to take that chance.
This, sophomore year, was comparably insubstantial. Between the things I'm talking of now, there was absolutely nothing.
The year itself ended swiftly. Meghan was dumped by her boy for someone his own age, and she was a bit distraught by it. I gave her a small note telling her that he sucked, and she thanked me. Our friendship would begin there, and it would sort of rumble around, turbulent and filled with misdirection, over the next couple years.
I don't remember how I felt on the last day of school that year. I do remember seeing my former crush, as she left, in shorts and pigtails -- and not caring. I remember spending the first day of summer sleeping in until noon, doing yoga, and playing video games.
I remember having a short conversation with one of the people on the girls' soccer team a couple days before school ended -- a conversation that would prove prophetic to my first taste of post-grad sex.
I remember 2001's first six months being, well... boring.
Yet around the corner, there was more. A blonde bombshell, you could say, was a month or so away. My hectic junior year was ready to begin. My life was about to turn and head down a direction I never really expected.
But that's for next time, isn't it?
Music I Listened To Writing This:
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
who is mike wile? i used to live in south berwick and that name sounds familiar