Jenny: October 2007 Archives

You brought a butterfly knife to school and let your hair hang in your eyes.  You said you wanted to be a cop, because you liked guns.  Combat boots and heavy metal tshirts every day. 

You were blind in one eye from an honest-to-god running with scissors accident.  You had white blond hair and played the drums in fourth grade.  I hear you turned into a wannabe thug.

You had thick glasses and sweaty palms, but you were the only other kid who loved square-dancing during PE in fourth-grade.  I asked you to "go" with me.  We lasted two whole days. 

We were neighbors as toddlers.  With your earthy, gravelly voice and sticker-covered bedroom door, I was jealous of you.  I remember your 'thing' for John Travolta.  We played on the wooded slope behind your house. 

We were possibly the most obnoxious couple ever - all our friends agreed.  You loved your posse of friends, Italian convertibles and red-headed women.  When James died, you stayed with me and talked until dawn.