some of it's true

In the eighties, everything was extravagant. Big hair and makeup to shoulder pads; it was all INXS (see what I did there.) Ninth grade was an uncomfortable in-between sort of a stage. I'd left the cradle of middle school and hopelessly needed to establish myself as a grown-up high school parachute pants-wearing mullet-promoting kind of guy.

Somehow I had gotten elected class president that year. I'll never understand how that happened to this day. Halfway through my campaign speech, I forgot what to say. During the eternal pause, I contemplated exiting the spotlight and fleeing the country. I managed to conclude the address and figured I'd at least wait to drop out of high school at the end of the day.

Once the results were in and I'd learned triumph was mine, everything would change. I must have won over my fellow students with my immense charm and rugged good looks. From this day on, I would be one of the popular guys in school. Hallway romance and bro respect would never be an obstacle again.

One of the various responsibilities of the class president is organizing the ninth-grade dance. Making certain all of the balloons are inflated and securely knotted is no laughing matter. Amid my civic commitments, I still managed time to daydream. This event would surely catapult me into the MCHS popularity hall of fame, unlike any righteous dude before me. I imagined hundreds of Madonnas, Olivia Newton Johns, and a sprinkle of Cindy Lauper's all lined up to dance with the number one gnarly most bitchin' class president ever.

Nada, There was no eye contact, no connection, no slow-motion moment between two star-crossed lovers, nothing. The first hour into the dance, I knew it would be a long night. I awkwardly stood around attempting to act all presidential but once a dork, always a dork.

Finally, the evening was concluding, and in ten minutes, the lights would pop on, and I'd lead an expeditious clean-up so all of the volunteers could go home. Halfway through Endless Love, I would start picking up chairs so I could forget about this night. Then I felt the tap on my shoulder. I turned around without delay, thoroughly anticipating seeing Mrs. Dinsmore ready to discuss the custodial plan for a speedy exit. To my wonderment, it was Brittany, and she wanted to dance. She envisioned connecting in slow motion over Lionel Richie like two star-crossed sweethearts. Brittany was no Madonna. She certainly was not an Olivia. Not even a scanty reflection of Cindy Lauper; she wasn't popular at all. If I danced with her, I would lose any ground I had earned this year, desperately attempting to obtain immortality amongst my peers. I stared dead into her eyes and said no. I wandered off and commenced folding chairs.

This past Thanksgiving, after dinner, I sat around with family and friends. We played a game called what would you change. It's been thirty-five years, and the ninth-grade dance still disturbs me. I'd give anything to convince my teenage self to accept that last dance of the evening with Brittany. At the moment, I believed it would wreck some hollow reputation. Now I regret not simply saying yes. I had no idea if my dismissal even phased her. Regardless, I should have danced with you, Brittany, and if I could change my error, I would. Regretfully this is a lesson I've had to learn multiple times throughout my life. Sure, my mistakes have led me to my place in this world, but what I did to Brittany was cruel. I was a mean boy—shame on me for being selfish when life is too short for that nonsense.

Tonto sails through the air, landing in a Buckeye tree before it could plummet back to earth. "Dang it," I yelled out loud while looking over at The Lone Ranger. The poor guy was already missing his mask because I couldn't wait to reveal his identity when Mom brought him home. Now thanks to me, he also lacks a sidekick. "I guess we'll have to wait for him to fall out, Kemosabe," I said before escorting my trusty ranger out of the woods. His foot was a bit deformed thanks to our fluffy calico, Muffin. I learned to put my valuables safely away in a drawer following the terrible incident.

Whenever wind whistled through the trees and up the hill, it sounded like something was attempting to speak to me. My imagination allowed me to believe it was the voice of Indians who once set up camp in the area. I could hear them laughing and dancing in the breeze as it swirled over blades of grass, providing welcome relief from the Tennessee heat.

After returning home, I placed my Lone Ranger next to my Spidey comic and Stretch Armstrong before sliding the drawer shut. I caught a whiff of the fried chicken cooking in the kitchen before stepping outside to smell the freshly cut lawn. It's odd, but I'm not sure which odor is more pleasing. With a few minutes left, before dinner, I decided to play a little more. The bus ride from school gave me plenty of time to do my homework and the weekend is ahead of me, so I have to make the most of it. One of my brother's old golf balls was partially buried in the ground under a hedge in the front yard. It's where I kept my arrowhead stash, so I knew it was there waiting for me. I plucked it from the hiding spot tossing it into the air as I approached the house. After winding up, I pitched the ball onto the roof and watched it drop to the next level, enter the gutter, and roll from the spout back into my hand. "Chris, you are going to break a window," came from inside as I returned the golf ball and headed in for dinner.

After we ate, I took my bath as fast as possible because I didn't want to miss The ABC Friday Night Movie. I dried off and hurried to my bedroom just in time to watch Curse Of The Black Widow. The only light in my room came from the tiny black and white television set on top of my chest of drawers. I got up to use the bathroom, relieved that a commercial gave me a break from the suspense. I'd left my pants lying around and decided it was best to pick them up before getting lectured. An arrowhead slipped from my pocket and fell to the floor. I must have picked it up earlier when I was outside. I dropped the relic on my dresser and continued watching tv.

By the end of the movie, I was frightened to death. The television would stay on tonight because there was no way I'd drift off otherwise. Pretty strange sounds come from an old house when it's quiet, and everyone is sleeping. Dad always told me it was nothing to worry about because older buildings settle and make noise. His words didn't help much as I made sure every inch of my body was entirely under the covers. Even with the sound of voices coming from the television, I could hear knocking and banging upstairs while faint rattling emerged from the hallway outside my door. It was difficult reminding myself it was only the house settling. "It'll be okay if I can fall asleep," I thought as the bumps and pops grew faint, and I nodded off.

Jumping from my bed in confusion, I frantically looked around while gathering my senses. My dreams were interrupted by white noise when the station signed off for the evening. Relieved, I got up to turn the volume down so I could get some rest. The soft glow from my RCA guided my steps back to the safety of my makeshift cocoon. Before reaching my destination, a strange vibration rung from the floor entered through my feet and made its way to my ears. Frozen in complete silence, I did my best to catch a breath while the worst-case scenarios flashed in my head. I heard it again! This time the unwelcomed jangle weakened my knees and forced me to sit on the edge of my mattress. Light crept halfway up the wall exposing the doorknob. With my insides shaking, I stared into the darkness waiting for the horrible racket to reemerge. My pulse finally began to return to normal right before I saw it.

At first, the doorknob shook a bit; then, it began to turn. The sound reminded me of two stones rubbing together underwater. My muscles stopped working like I'd looked into the eyes of Medusa and turned to granite. Again the knob moved but with more force this time. All I could do was wait for whatever was on the other side to enter and show me its face. Some time passed before I worked up enough courage to stand and approach the monster. "Okay, on three, one-two," and before I could say three, it turned again! Without hesitation, I grabbed it and flung the door open. Raising my arm to cover my face, I peered into the dark hallway, revealing nothing. Peeking out to look around the corner, I could see the steps leading upstairs with no one in sight. Slamming the door shut, I leaped back into bed and wrapped myself up in the blanket once again.

Somehow I managed to get a little sleep, and I was thankful to be still alive to complain about how tired I was. After brushing my teeth, I noticed Muffin standing in front of my bedroom entrance. She stood on her hind legs and used her paws to rattle my doorknob. The cat ran off when she saw me approach. Shaking my head in embarrassment, I realized I had discovered the terror that haunted me a few hours earlier. Now that life made sense again, I decided to grab my arrowhead and return it to my collection outside. As I strolled toward my dresser, hairs raised on the back of my neck, and I noticed the antique was missing. The Tonto I'd gotten stuck in the tree yesterday was sitting in its place. Something came into my room last night to return my toy and to take what belonged to them.

It was one year before the big graduation day. A gallon of gas was .91 cents, and I couldn't stop listening to Guns N' Roses. Big hair was in; speaking of big hair, I could afford to see Big twice at the movies because tickets were $3.50. Welcome to the summer of 1988.

My first car was a 1971 Volvo. My brother, Larry, tried his best to make me believe it was a cool car. "Looks a lot like a Mercedes," he told me. I think it lasted about a week before falling apart on the way to work one day. I ended up buying Larry's 1985 white Cutlass with a vinyl roof. I'm guessing he gave me a good deal because he felt terrible about the "Mercedes." That Cutlass was Sweeeet! The first thing I did was purchase some shiny rims and install a decent radio. Summertime here I come!

My group of friends was the best. We may not have been the most popular kids around, but we had swag. I surrounded myself with a pretty smart bunch of guys. They say if you hang out with the wrong crowd, people automatically assume you're some sort of a hoodlum. I'm not sure if there is any truth to that. I can, however, tell you that when you hang with the smart kids, everyone believes you are a genius. It put me in some awkward situations because I spent a ton of time trying to convince my peers to cheat off someone else, or they were going to fail. So I was classified as one of the nerds. I was alright with this. Let's be honest, I could have been called much worse, so I wore it as a badge of honor. Looking back, the title of dork would have fit me much better anyway.

A young man can only sit around with his buddies talking about girls so long before finally working up the nerve to make an actual move. Trust me; we talked about the opposite sex all of the time. Sure we hung out, went to Funland arcade, and went bowling. We were teenage boys, so we were terrific at multitasking. I could pick up a spare easily while talking about Keli. I could break my old Galaga record while describing how perfect we would be together. The whole group knew it was all talk. Each one of us was guilty. None of us could ever work up the nerve to ask a girl out.

I guess when a guy beats himself down so much, it can have the opposite effect. We get to the point of totally giving up then something miraculous happens. Inspiration hits us like a fat kid hits the candy store, and we finally grow a pair. I had made up my mind to make the call. I was not going to wait for the new school year to start. I was prepared to begin my summer romance with her, with Keli.

I could read a phone book. I knew what street she lived on! We had entered the friend zone my junior year, so I had a few details. It was way before Facebook, so I had to do things the hard way. I dialed the first digit with confidence. By the time I was on the last couple of numbers, my spirit was barely strong enough to hold the receiver to my ear. I recall how mortified I was when the ring sounded off. I can remember saying to myself, "she must not be home," and prepared to hang up. With each ring, I relaxed a little more, thinking she wouldn't answer. Out of nowhere, I hear the sweetest sound on the other end "hello," she said. Immediately I slammed the phone down. That was enough! That was it! My heart was pounding, and my hands wouldn't stop shaking! Damn it! I was such a loser.

Looking back at the summer of 1988, I realize how wonderful it truly was. I had my friends; I had the car; I was invincible. Maybe I didn't have the nerve to call Keli, but that gave me another summer with my buddies to build memories I'll never forget. It's a shame we can't recognize the good old days while we are living them. I wouldn't change a thing about that year. I finally worked up the nerve to ask the girl out, by the way, but that's a story for another time.