I made it to Birmingham with no problems at all. The security checkpoint people were pleasant and the lines moved quickly, the planes were on time, and my ipod was fully charged and loaded with my favorite This American Life episodes. The layover in Atlanta wasn't too short or too long and the gates were almost next to each other. I'd say it was a pretty easy trip.
While waiting for my dad to grab my checked bag off the conveyor belt mom and I went to sit on a bench to wait. There was just enough room between a tall pale guy and a woman - who both moved for us so we'd fit. Then a minute later the guy says: "Noelle?" Oh shit. I was back in Birmingham fifteen minutes and already running into people I knew.
He had to repeat his name three times before I recognized him. Mostly because the last time I'd seen him he'd had a huge mop of dark hair and was busy being a circa 88 skater boy. Not with a shaved mostly-balding-anyway head and in a really expensive suit and coat. I hadn't known him very well. He'd been trying to date my friend who was busy making and breaking up with an older skater type guy who played in a local punk band. Or something like that.
So we sat in baggage claim and chatted for about five minutes attempting to catch up after, god has it been almost fifteen years? Weird to catch up with someone you didn't know well and didn't neccesarily like in the first place. I didn't pack my bags and go racing back to Mountain Brook in 2000 for the reunion. We didn't even extend the energy to go to the one in Los Lunas and that's just forty-five minutes away. This is not exactly a time of our lives that we cherish or wish to relive. Ever.
Anyway, Mr. ex-skater boy cum pediatric specialist doctor was very polite to me and seemed to care about how my life has been going. And I was polite to him (after accidently blurting "oh my god what happened to your hair?" ooops). I certainly wouldn't want stupid things I did in junior high held against me. But one of my most vivid junior high memories involves him.
We were in advanced algebra in the seventh grade and the teacher wasn't there yet. Usual junior high before class bullshit was going on then out of the blue this guy stood up in front of the class and said "Who thinks Noelle is a fat hairy bitch? Raise their hand." I don't remember the reaction, or even my own reaction. I knew it was from Eddie Murphy's drunk father skit even then. Not an original insult, not even an original delivery, but just as hurtful to an awkward chubby twelve year-old girl with bigger tits than the teacher.
Thanks mostly to time, depression, denial, and a fair bit of drinking (coughanddrugscough) I don't remember a lot from junior high or high school. This one stands out among the few that have made it through. But that purposefully hurtful statement made in, what? 1984? 85? Twenty years ago. I shouldn't even remember it. Or who made it. But I do. And there he was being polite and successful in the Birmingham airport.
No it's not all his fault that I had a fat unhappy time in high school there were plenty of others who have reminded me before and since that day that I'm not nor will I ever be considered a skinny girl. I have depression, hypothyroidism, and some pretty serious genetic code to deal with and I fight it all the time. This is one of the permanent burdens of my life and I'm not sure if I'll ever be entirely comfortable with it. The good part is I also got intelligence, excellent skin, love, support, and good hair (coughandmoneycough) so I suppose having a genetic tendency to be fat is just part of the exchange right?
I try to at least be healthy and as long as I have a husband who loves me no matter what I weigh and I don't subject anyone to my upper thighs in spandex or clothes that expose butt-floss (which I don't wear anyway) I don't see why anyone should give a shit what I weigh. But I wish I could tell that to the little girl who ended up failing that algebra class because, among other things, she felt that maybe if she pretended to be stupid the boys would stop giving her so much shit.
I didn't say anything about that memory I just politely told him about how I ended up in New Mexico and my geeky husband and listened politely as he told me about his internship and interviews. Didn't see a wedding band. No girlfriend or wife or kids mentioned at all. Is it weird for me to feel a sense of relief that he might be gay?
I liked your blog today! I love your (coughinsertscough) they are funny! Merry Christmas!
Posted by: Surfcat at December 22, 2004 12:36 PM
I'm torn between saying that at least he's a better person than he was in middle school (he didn't pretend he didn't know you, he made room on the bench. Maybe he left the asshole stage behind completely in high school. Though surgeons are known to be assholes pretty often), and hoping that he's straight and unloved and will never get a girlfriend. No ring on a gay guy might mean that he and his partner haven't made it to Montreal yet.
Well, what I say and what I hope are pretty different a lot of the time. Nothing new there. It's funny- I've forgiven the guys who played keep away with my shoes when I was in middleschool -sorta liked them both the last time I ran into them- but I don't think I can hope the best for anyone that was ever mean to you.
Posted by: Jocelyn at December 22, 2004 12:57 PM
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