Diaries I Read:
Sometimes I�m afraid that somebody reading this journal might think I�m obsessed with other people � people from the past � and maybe question my devotion to B. And then I�m afraid that maybe people will think I protest too much when I defend myself.
The truth is that I love B to death and I couldn�t be more devoted to him and only him. The people I�ve written about � J and Mike and Mike � really don�t matter. But the stories matter because they�re my stories. For better or worse, they made me who I am.
B and I don�t talk about our past relationships. For the most part, I think this is a good thing because a) like I said, they don�t matter anymore and b) there�s not much good that will come from knowing such details. Although sometimes I�m curious, I know that I�d probably obsess over any information he shared with me, so it�s best to just leave well enough alone.
The other reason maybe I write more about other people than B is that, for the most part, I want to respect B�s privacy. He doesn�t know I keep this journal, and I�m not sure how he�d feel about it. I don�t want to say anything about him or our relationship that would come back and hurt us.
So I guess lately I�ve felt like I don�t have all that much to write about. I�ve made it a rule not to write about work (except in the most general sense). I feel like maybe I write too much about my dog and people will start thinking I�m a freak or, more importantly, get utterly bored. And so if I choose not to share too much about B, that pretty much covers it. My life really isn�t all that complex.
Which leads to the question of the day: What should I write about?
Well, I�ll take this idea from another journal. I�m going to tell you about my first kiss. And, in fact, there�s even a poem to go along with this one.
I think I kissed a boy for the first time in fifth grade out by the drinking fountains after school. It was very carefully planned. But I�m going to tell you about my first French kiss.
There was a boy named Patrick Hay who I went to school with for years. Since kindergarten, I think. He was really cute, and we were friends. The funny thing is that he was never officially my boyfriend. You know, we never �went together.� I went with a lot of other boys in elementary school, but never with Patrick. There was a time, however, when we definitely had a little romance going. We would walk home from school together and goof around, taking an hour to walk the quarter-mile home.
Anyway, I ended up developing a giant crush on him, and for my 13th birthday, I had my first boy-girl party. Those were always awkward events, and basically they were just an excuse to play make-out games.
I remember very clearly that I was wearing a purple sweater dress with a 3-inch wide pink belt. I was very �80s and very hip. We went outside to play truth or dare because my parents weren�t �cool� parents and I didn�t want them to know what we were up to. There was absolutely nothing random about our truth or dare games. I had it very carefully planned out that I was to be dared to French kiss Patrick.
And so it happened. There really wasn�t anything remarkable about the kiss itself. I remember the setting perfectly � on the corner under the streetlight � but I don�t remember much about the feelings associated with it.
Soon after that, Patrick became one of the Popular Kids in junior high, and I suppose I was too goody-goody for him. He had a girlfriend named Audra who was VERY mature, and the rumor was that they did EVERYTHING.
Then Patrick went to a different high school, and then he moved to a different city to live with his dad, so we had gone our separate ways. I got over my crush on him.
Then one night during my sophomore year in high school I was working at Baskin Robbins. It was about ten minutes before we closed, so things were quiet and we were cleaning up and getting ready to go home. And who should walk in the door but Patrick. We both recognized each other immediately and were very happy to see each other. We did some friendly small-talking � nothing too involved � and then he left. It was really nice to see him.
Just a few months later, Patrick was killed. I�ve never quite gotten the whole story � I�m not sure if anyone KNOWS the whole story. Apparently he was out with some friends and another group of guys approached them and there were words exchanged, which turned into a fight, and one kid had a baseball bat. The story somebody told was that somebody tried to get away in their car and accidentally hit Patrick. But the doctors said his only injury was a blow to the head, which suggests to me that somebody hit him � maybe with a baseball bat. I guess it doesn�t really matter. At age 16, he was dead.
I went to his funeral with another friend I had grown up with. I had never been to a funeral before. Before we entered the church, we saw Patrick�s older sister walk up the center aisle and throw herself to the floor at the front of the church, screaming and sobbing hysterically. At the time, I wondered if she was putting on a show. But that�s probably just how she felt.
It was a really sad service. I cried a little. He had already been gone from my life for several years, so it was hard to know how to feel. I was definitely sad. To tell you the truth, it�s hard to believe that he�s really gone, even now. I feel like he should be out there somewhere, 28 years old like me, living his life and doing his thing. But he�s not.
I always felt like that brief visit in Baskin Robbins was a special little gift. A chance for me to say goodbye to a friend.
DEATH IN CHILDHOOD
When we were young
we walked to school every morning
along the greenbelt. The black paved path
trimmed in grass shining
from night�s dew and cool air.
We were separated from sky
by the eucalyptus trees,
their pale bark peeling in giant strips
like dead skin over sunburn,
narrow chalky leaves fell from above
when noisy crows danced in the branches
and croaked their tuneless songs.
Working at home - Wednesday, Nov. 17, 2004
Toronto - Tuesday, Nov. 16, 2004
On the way to Toronto... - Tuesday, Nov. 09, 2004
A Good Day - Monday, Nov. 08, 2004
Another letter - Thursday, Nov. 04, 2004