Childhood memories

The women from my childhood seem to be showing up in droves this year.

First there was Brandy, who I ran into at Starbucks right before I left the state. Was it two kids or three? Married for a decade. A little chubbier, a lot older, and a lot less flirtatious. Then again, I was a scrub that day -- it had been a week since I'd shaved, I was in gym clothes and a sweatshirt, and I'm pretty sure I needed a haircut.

I do remember actively choosing not to ask for her number. I'd hate to ask for it and then not call. I do remember offering her the seat opposite me and telling her she should stay and chat. She was off to work, however. So far off the radar now (I knew she got married years ago), but it is food for thought in this context.

Then there's Presh. Boy was that an internal roller coaster ride. I haven't spoken or even traded email with her since that day I saw her. I suppose I just don't know what to say... not wanting to hide the feelings seeing her evoked, yet certainly not wanting to convey them.

I wonder if I ever really told her. Not like that, I didn't. Of that I'm sure. The one that got away, I suppose. It's a bit strange to realize that I have one of "those".

Then this week there's Mary jam (a nickname someone gave her years ago. it never really took in a way that, say, "aflie" did). I saw her on the train on Thursday, met for lunch on Friday, hung out with her last night.

It was great. The double-edged sword that is a lifetime of history created an odd dynamic. We got together, and it was like old friends catching up. Instead of "What do you do?", we had "Have you seen so-and-so?", "Do you still go to the same church?", and "How's your mom?" to work with.

We trusted each other right off the bat. There were no axe-murderer or Fatal Attraction worries. Everything bad that we both hold back was already out there. We knew each others parents already, for godsakes, and so the Hitler explanation (my dad) and the busybody mom (hers) were simply passing references that needed hardly an explanation. There were certainly no eyebrows being raised nor wondering about just how psycho the other party might be. We already thought one another insane; the reality of any interim maturation was an improvement over the memory anyway.

But the history was a negative, too. The rumor-mill repercussions, the opinions of relatives (who could care less about a date with a stranger/potential axe murderer, ironically), and the vague idea that any drama would be magnified ten-fold hung over our heads. She held back flirtation and I reciprocated. I was less agressive and she kissed pensively. I've no doubt that we've collectively had sex literally thousands of times, and yet our initial romantic interactions were, like two virgins, clumsy and tentative.

It was nice. Nicer than I thought it would be. Cloudy from history, certainly, yet intimacy was immediate from that same history. It was downright refreshing to just "let it all hang out", because, again, she already knew far worse than the reality of the present-day me could ever rightly convey, even abstractly.

Now, the rumors will traverse the network of relatives pretty quickly. At least 3-4 people on both sides know that we "hung out".

Hopefully I'll have left the state again by the time it circles back 'round. Hey, it could happen. Even if Thanksgiving is this week... (gulp)