::shimmer and fade back to Atlee 203 (yes, a woman's floor, papered with bulimia and breast cancer posters; that's my root if I ever go to True Directions) at Franklin and Marshall, 1991::
If you've ever been to CTY, you know just how Lord of the Flies eleven year olds can get living alone, when their RA has stepped out for a bit. I was running from something or other when I ran through an open doorway, and slammed it behind me. Seth and Thomas' room. I'm pretty sure Seth was one of the ones chasing me, but Thomas was in the room.
I was a quiet kid, at times. I still am. One of the reasons I am probably such a netizen lies in that it is almost wholly textual. No sounds of speech; only my music and whatever it cannot drown out. Thomas wasn't a quiet guy, exactly, but he had a distinct private side.
I must've asked him if it was okay to hide out, and he was cool with it. We chilled, and had one of those secret side talks that you can only have when it's just you and another person and the wind. Thomas was the guy who started the whole "Whoa, Eggbert!" thing when someone farted (I'm pretty sure, though maybe it was Seth). We had Eggbert cartoons and everything.
I also thought, just the other day, about Jeniffer (with two f's) from high school. I used to bow when I saw her (we are talking kowtow, down to the ground, no matter where I was—and you know how I am about dust and dirt on my clothes) to make her feel special. I wonder where she is. I wonder if she realizes just how much my actions meant, in realms outside simple love and wanting. I wanted of her, not from her. I wanted her happiness, and she often obliged. Girls that smile, braces or whatever regardless, rule the world.
I could do a google search for her, though I'm sure that people misspell Jeniffer on their webpages more often than her parents did on her birth certificate. Still, the two f's was her singular trademark swimming in a sea of Jens. Originality is king.