Passing notes

Every so often I’ll go through my old journals, yearbooks, or junk boxes. It’s usually by accident and often as a result of my stumbling across these things while cleaning. That was not the case for my little pink box, which sits unobtrusively on my bookshelf.

This little pink box is special because it houses notes and letters I received from my friends in middle school and high school. To some extent, this is embarrassing (you’ll just have to take my word for it and have your own adolescent flashback). And yet, I look at the relationships I had with my friends then, and where I am with them now, and it’s heartbreaking. We were always told that things would change, but at the time we felt almost invincible.

After re-reading every single note, I found myself wondering, do adolescents today still pass notes like this, or is everything facebook, Twitter or text messaging?

I was 15 when I got my first cell phone (with limited texting abilities). And facebook? Try MySpace, and even then, that wasn’t until I was a senior in high school. Facebook was only for college students when I was in high school, though it opened up to the general public while I was in college. Cyber bullying and social networks were still in their infancies.

As a result, my friends and I would chat online after school (good ol’ AIM) and call each other often. But while we were in school, we passed notes.

Most of my notes came from two people who used to be my best friends – “Kimmy” and “Kenny.” My friendship with Kimmy more or less ended early on in high school because of religious differences – I grew up in a very Christian community and because my mom, sisters, and I were not part of the Christian faith, we were not widely accepted by those who knew of our beliefs. Kenny helped me through my hardships with Kimmy, though years later he also ended our friendship because of religious differences.

Regardless of how these relationships turned out, the little pink box contains a series of memories that I can’t imagine parting with. I’m glad that I thought enough to preserve these memories in their truest forms. These notes also help provide a little bit of perspective and things to consider: What was important to me then? What is important to me now? What did my friends have to offer? How was it different from what my friends offer me now?

Not surprisingly, the notes consisted of people we liked, people we dated, extracurricular activities, silly games. But they also consisted of criticisms, fears, and losses.

Then again, we were still just silly kids passing notes…

Sixth grade girl wars

Alyssa walked with her head down, a small curl bouncing against her temple with each step. Cassie chattered endlessly beside her about Carla’s new haircut, the sweet sound of Trevor’s voice on the phone last night, and Debbie’s hooker-red lipstick.

But Alyssa’s own thoughts were louder than her best friend’s words. Humiliating memories from the night before flashed through her mind in great detail. Cecilia’s smirk and raised eyebrow – perfectly tweezed – as she watched Alyssa attempt to button a flowered chemise blouse over her thick midriff. The tight grip of the sleeves bit into Alyssa’s skin and her cheeks burned with embarrassment. Debbie stood beside Cecilia, her arms crossed over her chest and a Cheshire Cat smile plastered on her face. Alyssa, eager to turn the attention onto anyone but herself, told Debbie she should get her teeth fixed if she was going to smile like that.

“What, and look like you, Train Tracks?” Debbie retorted quickly. Alyssa pursed her lips and let her shoulders sag in defeat.

Scoring an invite to Cecilia’s slumber party had come as a bitter-sweet surprise to Alyssa. Cecilia was pretty and popular. She had honey blond hair, bright blue eyes, clear skin, and perfect teeth – all the things Alyssa didn’t have. Alyssa’s dull brown hair frizzed in a half-hearted attempt to curl, her cheeks spotted with imposing zits, and her mouth clamped shut by the rubber bands woven along her braces. And she was tall. Taller than many of the boys in her class, with wide shoulders and feet too large for her long, skinny legs. Any time she complained about her appearance to her mom, her mom would sigh, tuck a frizzy curl behind Alyssa’s ear, and say, “I’m sorry Sweetie. Thirteen is the armpit of every woman’s life. I promise, it gets better.”

But Alyssa didn’t see how. The awkward misery seemed endless, every day worse than the day before. While dressing for the slumber party, Alyssa had stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, examining her imperfections. She pinched the skin on her stomach and sides, just above the waistband of her flowered skirt. She had to wear skirts. Pants were never long enough to be anything but high-waters on her.

“Flab,” she had mumbled to her reflection. “Fatty, fat flab.”

Alyssa felt even worse while standing in Cecilia’s room that night. Cecilia retrieved Alyssa’s shirt from the floor and held it out to her, letting it hang from the tip of her index finger as though it was infested with bugs. The other girls giggled, except for Cassie, who kept her eyes trained on her feet.

“Here,” Cecilia said, disdain dripping from her lips. “I don’t think my shirt is going to work for you and my mom will be pissed if you stretch it out.”

“I think it’s too late,” Debbie sneered. “In fact, I think she’s already ruined it. You shouldn’t have bothered trying to help her. What a waste.”

“Come on, guys,” Cassie pleaded. She didn’t want to anger Cecilia and Debbie, but she couldn’t stand by and watch them tear her best friends to shreds. Three other girls sat on the floor, busying themselves with nail polish and makeup, trying to avoid drawing attention to themselves.

Alyssa and Cassie had been best friends for as long as they could remember, ever since Brad Buntmann had pushed Alyssa off the swing during recess one day at preschool. Cassie helped Alyssa to her feet then spit her gum at Brad, lodging it in his hair without his knowing. The next day he returned to school sporting a brand new buzz cut.

“And someone should really tell Bethany that she shouldn’t wear button-up shirts,” Cassie babbled, her stringy blond hair laying limply against her backpack as she walked. “You can see her bra through the gap in her shirt and she looks like a skank.”

They were walking past the ball park now, the noon sun beaming down on them. Alyssa and Cassie had lasted through the rest of the slumber party without too many more problems, though Carla had awoken with “I ‘heart’ Trevor” painted on her cheek with nail polish and Annabell’s leg warmers had been frozen. Painstakingly, Alyssa had stayed awake until the pranks had ended.

Cassie stopped and rested her hand on Alyssa’s elbow, worry drawing her mouth into a slight frown. “Hey, you okay?”

Alyssa realized that she hadn’t said a word to her friend since they left Cecilia’s house. She shrugged. “I’m fine. Tired, I guess.”

A butterfly perched on the top of the chain-link fence behind Cassie, its delicate wings slowing to small, deliberate movements. Alyssa and Cassie never talked seriously of their fears – only joking half-truths – but they knew. Cassie knew that Alyssa only offered closed-mouth smiles when she got her picture taken so that no one would remember her as “Train Tracks.” Alyssa knew that Cassie never stopped talking when they were together because in her house there was no one around to listen to her.

“Are your scissors still in your backpack?” Alyssa asked suddenly.

Cassie raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, in my pencil pouch. Why?”

“Can you help me with something?” Alyssa lowered her eyes again. “Can you cut the tag off my shirt? It itches,” she added quickly.

“Sure.”

Cassie slipped her backpack from her shoulders and reached into the front pocket, unzipping the plastic pouch that kept pencils, pens, erasers, a glue stick, and scissors. Alyssa dropped her backpack to the ground and turned, lifting her hair and piling it on top of her head, curls springing from beneath her fingers.

With a swift snip of her scissors, Cassie clipped the tag from the neckline of Alyssa’s shirt and lightly patted the material back in place. “All set,” she said triumphantly.

“Thanks,” Alyssa said, releasing her hair. She picked up her backpack and watched Cassie as she tossed the tag over her shoulder, then returned her scissors to the plastic pouch.

Alyssa knew that cutting the tag off her shirt wouldn’t keep the other girls from making fun of her thicker body, but she hoped that ridding herself of the reminder of her size would help her feel better.

There’s a hole in your shorts

Elizabeth held her breath, her back pressed against the tree, her arms rigid at her sides. Dry, dead leaves crackled and crunched and twigs snapped in the clearing beyond, the sounds dampened only by high-pitched giggles and low whispers.

For a moment, Elizabeth couldn’t breathe, as though a boulder had been placed on her chest. She was flattened, too stunned to react. In her state of disbelief, all she could do was nothing.

Slowly, Elizabeth started to regain her bearings, blood rushing to her face, boiling just under the surface, her skin tingling. She peered around the tree, fists clenched. The two bodies rolled together, unaffected by the direct contact with the rough ground beneath them. The lovers were oblivious to any other presence, engulfed in a false sense of solitude. Her husband Eric’s bare skin pressed against the pale and petite body of a young woman. Elizabeth didn’t have to see her to know who she was. Melody had been calling too frequently, even for a concerned school teacher. Elizabeth’s son Trent was mischief, but his five-year-old pranks didn’t warrant the level of attention and worry that Melody feigned.

That morning, Eric had griped about needing to help his brother Alex repair a hole in the fence in his backyard. Elizabeth hadn’t noticed anything unusual about the chore, but why did Eric seem so reluctant to help his brother? They often helped each other with repairs and projects and always seemed to enjoy each others company in the process.

Splatters of color stood out along the edge of the clearing – hues of bright pink and purple, blue, and white. Elizabeth blinked the haze from her eyes, forcing them to focus. A dainty lace bra hung from the dry branches of a nearby shrub, a sheer skirt and dark blue T-shirt strewn carelessly among the leaves.

Brightening, Elizabeth surveyed the ground around her, searching. She located a long fallen branch and carefully lifted it from its resting place along the underbrush. The sounds behind her grew louder and hurried. Elizabeth took a few small steps from behind the tree, now in view of the clearing. But she went unnoticed and the sound of her footsteps were inconsequential, covered by the dramatic cries now only ten feet from her. She tried to block the sounds and the sight for her mind, reaching out with the branch. Elizabeth systematically lifted each article of clothing from its resting place, adrenaline and intent urging her to collect the items quickly and quietly.

The last item Elizabeth retrieved was Eric’s blue plaid shorts. A small smirk flashed across her face as she returned to her hiding spot behind the tree.

Before Eric left that morning, Elizabeth had kissed him goodbye and told him she was off to the grocery store. She slipped in her car and parked down the street, waiting. As Eric backed his dark blue sedan down the driveway, Elizabeth started her car and merged onto the street, careful to stay as far behind him as she could, hoping to go unnoticed. After turning onto the expressway she was able to put two cars between her and her husband, and she relaxed. Not even ten minutes later, she pulled up beside the parking lot of her son’s school. Eric’s car was parked in the back corner of the small parking lot, in the shade of nearby trees. A little white car was parked two spaces to the left. Eric had already disappeared from sight. The rest of the lot was empty, and the street was quiet on this sleepy Sunday.

Elizabeth sat in her idling car, her heart in her throat. She felt a chill wash over her and she shivered. After several minutes, she collected herself and then parked her car along the street across from the parking lot.

In a daze, Elizabeth stepped out of her car and across the street toward Eric’s sedan. Near his car was a lightly tread path leading into the small wooded area behind the school. From the start of the path she could see the gate surrounding the playground. In the distance, Elizabeth heard a slight laugh and a faraway voice, like the tinkling of a bell.

And then, there she stood, her back against the tree with her husband’s and his lover’s clothes gripped in her hands. She quickly tucked the clothes under her arm, except for Eric’s shorts. She scanned the ground quickly, then snatched a thick, snapped twig from the ground near her feet. Elizabeth pressed the sharp end of the twig, the point that had snapped, against the fabric on the front of the shorts, just next to the seam of the zipper. After a brief struggle, a low, quick ripping sound danced in her ears and she saw the twig poke through the material. She tossed the twig to the ground and ripped the hole open wider. The draft would do him some good. With a satisfied smirk, Elizabeth peered again around the side of the tree and lifted the shorts in the air, preparing to toss them into the clearing.

But she stopped short. What am I doing? she thought. I shouldn’t leave him anything to cover his betrayal. Elizabeth started to tuck the shorts under her arm with the rest of the clothing when something caught her eye – a low branch on the side of the tree where she stood. Elizabeth bit her tongue to stifle her laughter – or her tears – she wasn’t sure which.

The sounds from the clearing were growing progressively more quiet and she knew she was almost out of time. Without another thought, Elizabeth fed the waistband opening of the Eric’s shorts over the low branch on the tree, the end of the branch sticking out through the hole she had made. The shorts hung just high enough off the ground to resemble a flag at half-mast. She then turned, a silent tear sliding into the corner of her slight smile, and walked back up the make-shift path to the parking lot.

“What the hell?”

Elizabeth had taken only one step onto the pavement of the parking lot when she heard her husband’s exasperated cry followed by a string of curses from the trees behind her. She quickened her pace and pointed the remote key at her car, then threw open the door and jumped into her seat. Her heart pounded in her chest, the beat thudding in her ears. After a deep, calming breath, Elizabeth started her car, rolled down her window, and slowly guided her vehicle onto the empty street. Then, one piece at a time, Elizabeth reached for the clothing in the seat beside her. Item in hand, she extended her arm out the window, and released each article of clothing into the breeze until she was watching the last piece of damning evidence dance in the wake of her path.

The “LOVE” Bracelet

On July 11th I blogged about this great idea I had about writing stories, true or not, about objects that I find when I’m out exploring, walking around – whatever I’m doing or wherever I am. Well, here it is.

My first discovery I found among my own things in my bedroom. I’m anticipating moving again soon and I wanted to go through my things for donation. On the top shelf in my closet I had a pink, yellow, and orange tie-died bag with several miscellaneous items – a deck of cards, a couple of pencils, a small picture frame, and this bracelet.

I was “given” this bracelet while sitting in class in the fifth grade – my first year of middle school. I don’t remember what exactly was going on in class. We might have been preparing for a new lesson, a movie, discussion, or just taking a break. The classroom was set up in five or six sections of grouped tables, six students per group. The boy I liked was sitting across from me and he slides this bracelet to me over the table.

My memory is a little fuzzy, but from what I can remember, we slide the bracelet back and forth across the table a few times before he told me to keep it. It wasn’t until that point when I read the bracelet and realized it said “LOVE.” I felt like he was trying to tell me something, and I treasured that bracelet.

At my middle school, there was always an end of school social on the last day of school. At the social there was typically a “marriage booth” where couples could “get married” or friends could get friendship rings, and the like. A friend of mine told me that the boy I liked was going to ask me to the “marry” him at the social. The boy found out that my friend told me about it and he shied away from me. I had very little direct contact with him for the rest of the year. My little crush on this boy simmered below the surface for several years, coming to the surface from time to time, though nothing ever happened between us.

The bracelet disappeared and reappeared sporadically over the years. For the longest time I had thought that I lost the bracelet entirely. To see it turn up again today, after near 14 years, is pretty incredible to me. It’s worn out and tired from half a dozen moves, but it’s intact and still makes me smile to think about my childhood crush. We talked about the bracelet at one point years later and he denies that it was ever intended for me, but only he will ever know the truth about that.