She wore black high heels with rainbow striped socks that went up to her knees. She had a plaid skirt that was almost fully covered by an oversized Marilyn Manson t-shirt. Also hidden under this shirt was a pretty damn good sized rack for an 8th grader. Her eye liner was black and her eye shadow was a blue-ish purple. She had a pale complexion that contrasted with her dark hair, which was tied back tightly in a pony tail. Her large nose hooked like an eagles and commanded most of the attention on her face.
I can’t remember how it was we met. I don’t recall any mutual friends and clearly we weren’t in any of the same social circles. We would have hour long conversations on the phone that were fairly one sided. If she wasn’t asking me if I’ve ever done pot, if I ever want to do pot, or if I ever want to do pot with her, she was complaining about her Mom. ” She asked me yesterday if I’m doing drugs!? ugggh! Can you believe that?” she once said. I thought about this for a second. Besides the fact that she was indeed doing drugs, she also had the song “Smoke Two Joints” by Sublime on her answering machine. ” Can’t believe it” I replied, then added “What a bitch.” for good measure.
Needless to say she had a very brash personality. She knew where I lived and would pop by at any given time looking for me. A quiet dinner with the parents would suddenly be interrupted by a ring at the doorbell, followed by loud echoing laughter. “Um Brian there’s some . . . friends? at the door for you” my Dad would warily say as he walked back to the kitchen. “What a delight” I’d think to myself. My girlfriend and her weird freaky gothic friends just happened to be in the neighborhood and thought they’d stop by to see what I was up to. ” I’ll be back in a few” I’d shout out before I shut the door, leaving my half eaten plate of spaghetti on the kitchen table.
We would hold hands and walk to White Oak Elementary, the school I graduated from just two years before. I remember playing late afternoon hide and go seek games there when I was actually a student. Occasionally you would come across those shady, future high school drop outs that would roam around the playgrounds and fields. Our parents and teachers always warned us to keep a safe distance from these individuals, as if their scary appearance wasn’t enough. We sat on the top of the jungle gym and I watched . . (we’ll just call her Shmessica) smoke a cigarette. As Shmessica was smoking her cigarette I noticed some kids playing on the handball courts nearby. I couldn’t help but wonder if they thought of me as one of those scary older kids that you need to watch out for.
Shmessica finished her cigarette and it was time to make out. She tasted like an ash tray but kissing was so new and exciting I could care less. Hands on the waist? Maybe one in her hair? Ahh who gives a shit, you’re a seasoned pro just do whatever you want. There was nothing sweet or intimate about it, and it wasn’t like we were doing it in hopes that it would lead to something else. We just did it to do it.
One day in between classes Shmessica told me she was going to write me a note. We had written each other plenty before, averaging almost two to three a day, so I found it weird that she would announce this. “Um cool, I’ll um write you back” I told her. “No you don’t understand, I’m going to write you a NOTE. One of MY exclusive NOTES.” she said assertively. This sparked my curiosity. “Well I look forward to reading it” I replied. She then gave me a “just you wait” kind of smile.
At approximately 12: 30, on a Tuesday, just after lunch, I got it. I got the mother f’n NOTE! And let me just say, all the scrambled soft core porn and carefully folded up pieces of Playboy magazines I had hidden in my sock drawer could not have prepared me for what I read. She described in full detail what exactly she wanted to do with me. Polite acronyms were thrown by the waste side. Instead of shortening it with a simple BJ she went ahead and spelled it out entirely. As in, Brian Pratt I am going to give you a BLOW JOB. I’m not going to lie to you, after parading around the letter and showing all of my friends, I actually started to panic. I mean I was pretty sure I knew what a blow job was, well like 95%, but some of this other stuff had me confused. Could you actually have sex with a girls chest? Is 69 like her favorite number or something? Her face looks fine as it is what else does she need on it?
I buried the note under a sea of others I had saved throughout the years in one of my dresser drawers. When I returned to school and saw Shmessica I made no mention of the illicit piece of literature she had made for me. After a good ten minutes of small talk went by she finally cracked. “Did you read my note?” She blurted out in the middle of an awkwardly silent moment. “Yea” I said. “It was cool” She then made a funny smile that gave me the impression she was not satisfied with my response. “I mean hot” I quickly tried to recover. “Totally hot . . o man . . like . . the hotness of it . . well it was just really hot ya know? like when I was reading it I was all like . . woah this is hot!” She then perked up and gave me a “anything for you babe” kiss on the cheek. We never spoke of, nor did anything mentioned in the note ever again.
The whole time I was at school that day all I could think about was my Mom uncovering this steamy piece of romance hidden in my room. I pictured myself walking inside the house to grab a snack, only to find an unfolded piece of notebook paper on the kitchen table with my name and the cryptic message ” 4 ur eyes only, heart S ” written on the front. ” We need to talk” she would say. Then when my Dad got home we would all watch an educational video on sex and my parents would offer to answer any questions I might have on the topic. Horrified at this thought I walked straight home from school, grabbed the still hidden note from my dresser and started fervently ripping until it was nothing but confetti. I then gathered the remains and tossed them into a fire I had started in a tin can. It was the best way to ensure that no one could ever read it again, plus I saw it on Back to the Future part 2 when Marty destroyed the Sports Almanac and I thought I’d be overly dramatic about it.
A few days later, unrelated to this destroyed note, a friend of mine informed me of a rumor that was going around the Valley View Junior High School campus about my girlfriend. ” I heard she has herpes dude” he said casually like he was telling me what kind of cereal he had for breakfast. I called a group meeting ( i.e. got everyone together at the table during lunch) and asked them for advice. Some shook their heads and shrugged their shoulders in a “I don’t know” fashion, and the rest asked me just two questions. ” You’re dating Shmessica? . . Who the fuck is Shmessica?” Not wanting everyone at school to speculate that I might have this disease we were all just learning about in our health classes, I decided to break up with her. I waited for her to call me that night and when she did I gave her the bad news. It was one of the few times I have been on the other side of that conversation and it didn’t feel much better. I never told her it was because of an untruthful rumor someone had started about her, but she later found that out and we never spoke again. In High School she got a nose job, a tan, and a wardrobe of short shorts and form fitting t- shirts. I would see her walking the halls our senior year and think to myself, “God what I wouldn’t give to get another one of those notes.”