Hallucinations of Yesteryear

Every teenage girl has crushes.  It's just part of being a teenager, these strange and slightly romantic feelings about other people. I was no different. I mostly worshipped from afar, however. I was content to stare at the boys of my dreams surreptitiously in the cafeteria, or follow them at a discreet ten paces to their next class. It was never long until I moved onto the next fellow. Most of the time, the objects of my affection didn't even know that I was interested in them, and that was probably for the best. There was no telling what sort of MTV drama would have occurred if they had known. I wasn't really interested in an actual relationship with these boys, anyway, except in my head. Where it was safe, and nobody got pregnant.  As far as I was concerned, my actions were perfectly harmless for all involved.

And then there was X(name changed just because I can't remember how to spell it).

X and I had several classes together, and sat next to each other, and hung out with the same group in the library every morning. We were just friends; that was my thing.  But along the way I developed a huge crush, that didn't go away. I wasn't about to admit it to anyone, but I enjoyed talking to X.  He was funny, and his attempts at speaking high school German were downright endearing. I found myself thinking about him way more than I normally would, at odd times, and I admitted to myself that I...liked him. In that way. I finally decided to take a significant emotional risk, to let X know how I felt. I gathered up my courage and asked him to the Prom. I was careful to frame my request as a joke, just in case.

When he turned me down, I was secretly heartbroken.

But I moved on. I'm a survivor. I left the state and had other grand adventures involving other boys and ended up married and happy. I always had fond memories of X, however.  He was wrapped up in warm feelings, like an old comfy sweatshirt.  He became something shiny I would take out and admire every so often, remembering fun times. 
  

Except memory is a tricky bastard.  It's been thirty years since high school, and like Indiana Jones says, it's not the years, it's the miles.  Lots of miles on this brain of mine.  My memory of what X looked like ended up crumpled and blurred in my head, until he looked a lot more like...Edward Norton.  A young Edward Norton. Where Edward Norton's image came from will remain a mystery, but for years, that's the picture that came into my head when I thought of X. 

And then X finally posted a picture of himself on the Book of Face, and he looked nothing like Edward Norton.  Not even close.  I sat there, staring hard at the screen. I squinted my eyes, tilted my head. Nope. Not Edward Norton. I even had the eye color wrong!  Also? X did not age well. His former tall and lean body, those nice arms...all gone. Instead, a formless potato shape, similar to my own.

The reality of X, after all these years, was disconcerting.   Am I a shallow person? No, I don't think so. After all, I haven't aged well, either. I recognize each and every scar, gray hair, and wrinkle as badges of honor, marks of distinction, and I wear those with pride. I am sure that X has similar badges.  We've earned our scars.

But I want my old memory back. I want my fond and treasured memories of when I was seventeen, before life ran me over twice and flung me in a ditch. So I am waiting, not so patiently, for my memory to crumple and curve and distort in a more pleasant story.  Maybe not Edward Norton this time, but close enough.