Symbolica’s Confessions:
Rich, The Bitch
*(written in 1996 at the age of 16)*
Can you remember the feeling of falling of love? Who the hell cares about my love life? It’s weird, psychotic, and pretty much a fruitcake. I mean, how can a love story end so dull? Hell, he didn’t even know my love for him. If you, the reader, feel prejudice towards this story as a result of the psychotic sexuality I contain, that’s just too bad. I mean, after all, this story contains strong homosexual feelings: "Parental Discretion Advised."
I remember the first words he spoke to me: "Do you like alternative?" That question came out of his mouth as a result of an assignment that Mrs. Hamel gave us students. The class: Drama. I responded to the question with an affirmative answer. Then he walked away to ask another person another question. I thought he could have been a freshman because of his height, yet his whole demeanor seemed elder to me. His pale skin seemed a sexual aspect of him, making him seem all the more like a vampire. I wished he would suck my blood. His seat stood the second to last seat in the second to farthest row from my row. At this time, I feel amazed that other people did not notice me watching him.
I dreamed of Rich. I dreamed of teasing him to get sexual favors from me. I remember one dream in which I spoke to him in the office (little did I know that he would be an office aid in the school year of 1995-1996) and teased him with the phrase "I have a secret." Rich, the one junior who I couldn’t get my mind off of.
Rich seemed mystical, as if he had telepathy or something. One time, Mrs. Hamel was talking to Rich as I entered the classroom. My friend stood near to their conversation, so I pretended to exist in preoccupation with my friend.
"Rich has been sort of quiet since this new girlfriend of his," Mrs. Hamel chuckled, juggling her large belly.
I could not help but take a glance upon the handsome lad. My glance, to my surprise, earned a return glance on his part. His blue eyes practically enveloped me. I feel amazed that I didn’t come on the spot. Just a glance, though, filled with no apparent malice or passion. I wanted to kiss him so bad then.
Two class periods later, I sat down in my seat in Mr. Hallock’s Honors General Science class (the second seat from the front of the second row from the door). I watched out the open door from my seat to watch the passing students who rushed to their fourth period classes. Just when I had began to complain to myself about how strange my freshman year seemed, Rich passed slowly by the open door. My mouth opened in a wide "O," my heart burst into a ritual blast. As Lauryn Hill said, "Compared to Toni Braxton, I thought I’d never catch my breath." Rich looked in the room and turned to stare directly into my brown eyes. It was like waves crashing on the beach sand. I felt as if I were having an orgasm, or even multiple orgasms.
Sometimes I did receive a slight chance to engage in conversation with my heart-throb. For instance, one rainy day after break, Mrs. Hamel ran a little late to open the door; she rushed from the teacher’s lounge. While Hamel (or "Hammer," if you ask me) rushed, Rich stood next to me underneath an umbrella. He asked me if I knew where Mrs. Hamel resided at the moment and I answered negatively. Out of that small conversation, I felt on Cloud Nine for weeks. I feel ashamed to admit it, but I treated Rich as an angel or a god. The Lord knows why I felt the attraction to him, the Lord also knew I wouldn’t have him as Lover.
Another time, we worked in a group together. He asked me what contributions I could make to the group. I could hardly answer; my larnyx choked up. One day in our group, we tried to sit next to each other while in the circle. The two of us, in fact did sit next to each other . . . for ten seconds! Just as smiles spread across our faces and I opened my mouth to began a conversation, some heterosexual grabbed a desk and pushed the two of us apart from each other. Then the heterosexual tried to start a conversation about "pussy." Rich, as long as I knew him, never made crude heterosexual remarks to denounce any percentage of homosexuality in him. It seemed as if he contained some type of loyalty towards me. The other members in the group left to speak to Mrs. Hamel, leaving Rich and me alone. I, engaged in reading Interview With the Vampire (by Anne Rice), noticed Rich as he started to move his seat to make it squeak. He began to squeak it more and more, and faster and faster. Soon, he really got in the motion. Then he slowed down and ceased. No one else noticed this (as known to me) except sexually repressed me.
The point I'm trying to make in this story: love does not always complete itself. Rich and I never got together and macked down, but rather we grew apart and never spoke to each other my sophamore year (his senior year).He never heard of my personal devotion towards him, of how I would stare and examine every detail of his picture in the yearbook. Perhaps I asked for too much. Do I really deserve a stud muffin like Rich? Perhaps. My devotion for one person could expand its horizons endlessly if allowed. Maybe one day I shall know. I just feel so tired of hormones raging psychotically.
With concern and trust,
Symbolica