Highschool Files / note 3

Jessica,

Hi. Thank you for complimenting me on my shirt. No one ever compliments me, except for Any and you. Todays a good day I can already tell. I love the rain. I hope it stops so we can go to the beach. It probably won’t though knowing our luck. Oh yah today is Amy and I’s 11 month Anniversary. That’s a long time. I’m glad I spent it with Amy and no one else. Well I better go Mrs. Craver is trying to teach something. Bye.

Dave Foley #4

“team honda”

 

Have a nice day!

🙂

* Freshman year letter from my first childhood crush, Dave Foley – deemed “David David” by my brother when his mother remarried a man with the same last name in grade school. A boy I denied liking all through fifth grade (I was still too much into dolls to be concerned much with boys) even after he rode his bike all the way down Main street to surprise me (and my parents) at a showing of the Bette Middler / Woody Allen marital comedy “Scenes from a Mall.” A boy who got his foot run over by my mom while exiting her white Maxima at a movie theater drop off. Who gave me my first Valentine gift – a Snoopy stuffed animal holding a box of chocolates, explaining that his mother “made” him, and offered to carry me across Grand Blvd. when I refused to visit his house a block away because I was scared of crossing such a busy street.

He lived in a big old white house with a trampoline and a baby sister, loved Volkswagens and dirt bikes. Up until 7th grade we remained great friends in an innocent, unofficial boyfriend girlfriend kind of way but our friendship continued to dwindle when he met Amy in seventh grade. Who was loud, fond of red lipstick, tight velvet dresses, and permed hair. An outgoing cheerleader who liked watching Grease. Not Woody Allen. And in every other way, a seeming opposite of everything I was at that age. They ended up dating much longer than 11 months. In fact I can’t remember them apart at all all through high school and as much he was consumed and in love with her, he always seemed oddly attracted to me in a way that appeared to confuse him more and more the older we got. I didn’t wear makeup. Or watch musicals and like to dance. And yet he could’t help but laugh whenever we were together. In the strange way teenage attractions can exist without ever finding real means of romantic contact the way adulthood attractions rarely do.

In the end, Amy went away to college, broke his heart, and he ended up married to a women who bore a striking resemblance to her. Shaky details I can glean from the flimsy teases that Facebook has to offer.

All I know is there is something to be said for a boy with clean penmanship, proper punctuation, and the will to make a 5 mile bike trek to watch a weird movie a fifth grade girl said she was dying to see. Even if it meant sitting behind her in the dark glow of that empty theater pulling her hair when her parents weren’t watching.

*note footnote: Mrs. Craver (mentioned here) an early 30s, soft spoken woman with a penchant for floral rayon skirts would later be rumored to have made a habit of “teaching” the handsomest boys in junior year math class more interesting things than the geometry she was hired for. Oh the stories they still tell . . .

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