little red corvette

"I guess I should've known by the way you parked your car sideways that it wouldn't last."

Julian Ashland. His car was shiny. And so fast. And the only thing smoother than the ride in that car was him. He was that guy. You know, that guy you see in all those teeny bopper movies. The hero. The guy that comes into a room and everyone knows his name and wants to be seen with him. The guy that the girls would mud wrestle for in front of their grannies just to hold his hand. Julian Ashland.

The first time he spoke to me, I could have died. Like right there in the hallway at school. Could've missed science lab, been wheeled to the nurse's office, and awoken with satisfaction at just being talked to by Julian Ashland. But somehow I did not faint. From some ancestral strength deep in my soul, I smiled. We spoke about science lab and parties. About the latest rumors and the most hated teachers. It was only ten minutes, but it was great. I was coherent. I flirted and spoke in full sentences. And I found it easier to talk to him than I would have ever imagined.

The next day he was there again. More with the small talk and the flirting. But today he ended the conversation with an invitation to a movie. Again, I thought of fainting but found my knees were stronger than tree trunks. And I stood, I smiled, and said yes.

Things went from there. Nothing immediately epic like you read in the books but a consistent stream of dates, phone calls, hanging out, locker rendezvous. I was dating Julian Ashland. It was a beautiful time. Our conversations moved from general high school blues to our post-college hopes. Our time together became more intense and simultaneously more comfortable. It was a spectacularly easy, beautiful time.

And as quick and unexpected as it came, it went. He was there and then he was gone. The locker visits ended. The phone conversations were brief and tense. Dates were cancelled with an endless stream of excuses.

I imagine its the feeling one has when trying to catch a fish in an open stream. The solemn quiet while waiting, still and stiff, for a fish to come your way. The joy of finding a fish finally swimming into your hands. The battle of remaining calm enough to try to pull the fish out to face and being strong enough to hold the squirming fish in your hands. The triumph of thinking you've got a good hold on that fish. And the bitter, blinding disappointment when it slips through your hands.

But you should've known. After all that damned fish did have the advantage.

Julian Ashland. I think I'm past it now. The ride was great. The memory is perfect. Looking back, there was no real good reason why it should have started which makes it easier to accept how it ended.