Monday, 28 June 2010

8/12/97

heather

8/12/97
I think they should make a picture book about the first day of college like they do about the first day of kindergarten - only instead of numbers and letters and apples and new friends, it would be a cartoon version of spring break where everyone is trying to reinvent themselves to get laid. Day one, I met (re-met) that guy Jay from orientation who kept calling all summer. I met a guy named Jonah who is like a poor man's Anthony (less pecs, less Catholic). I met Eric and Ken who both look like Ken Dolls. And they all wanted to go out ("go off" they call it here), and that was before our new team even started our pick-up game. (First day and I'm going to go ahead and call a starting position for myself.) Then some time after lunch that pecker head Chip came by my room asking Cindy if "Blake" was here and I had to go through the whole story about how Blake was a bball player at my HS - who throttled Chip's team, by the way - and we shared the same # and bought the same shoes. So Chip just thinks it's the funniest damn joke to keep saying it. Cindy was not impressed.

He wanted to go for a run and so I said I would because I'm a dumbass, and it was stupid because we were both acting like we knew where we were going and it's the first day for both of us in this one-cow town. We got lost and I think we probably ran six miles. He said he'd come by later and we can drive it to see but I think I'll pretend to be asleep. Then he wanted to play one-on-one and so of course I said yes to that. I told him about how the home fans at his gym SPIT ON ME the last time we played there and he seemed PROUD of it, and said he remembered I was in foul trouble in the first quarter. And I guess he must have been in the locker room or something because he didn't remember I scored 22 in the second half IN A BOX-AND-ONE thank you very much. So I beat him once and he wanted to play again and so I beat him again and he said three out of five and I beat him three and then just because he kept asking for it I beat him five. But check this out. Game five, he's down by four and backs me into the lane - I'll give it to him that he's ripped up, strong - but I was up in his grill hard, and he turned around and elbowed me in the face and I know it was ON PURPOSE. He scored, right, and took the ball to the top of the key (we were playing make-it-take-it) and asked me if I wanted to call the foul. Of course blood was just pouring out of my nose and all over my shirt and I said, "What foul?" because I grew up playing with assholes twice as tough as him. I beat him anyway and my nose was bleeding the whole time. He tried to take off his shirt for me to mop up the blood but it was covered in sweat and it was his HS basketball shirt so it was also probably covered in evil and I'd rather bleed to death than wipe my face with a LOGANVILLE BASKETBALL SHIRT.

I hope he's not in any of my classes tomorrow because I'm going to have at least one black eye and he'll probably think that's just as funny as when his classmates spit on me.

---

He was in one of my classes the next day. In fact, he was in all of my classes the next day, and the day after that. He told me later, our feet dangling off the edge of some unnamed cliff in the night, that I was the first girl to ever beat him at basketball. I smiled, reached for his hand in the dark. Because I knew by then he'd be my first everything.

15 comments:

mysterygirl! said...

Wow.

You are awesome. I wish I could be half this great.

Heather Anne said...

I was an arrogant bitch! That's the opposite of great!

Jennie said...

Um, it's not your fault you were awesome at basketball. It doesn't make you arrogant, it makes you observant. Hee.

me said...

Um I kinda hate him, and want to elbow him and spit on him. Thats all. But i'm going to church..so I'll try to think nice thoughts instead..

Sarah G

You can call me, 'Sir' said...

The fact that you wanted to do anything with the dude kind of floors me, but I love the idea of you beating him relentlessly, both before and after being bloodied.

Heather Anne said...

Jennie, of that's so ... delusional. I love you for it.

Sarah, he turns out to be one of the best guys in the whole world. My sister attacked him with a ping pong paddle once, if that helps.

Sir, it was probably the highlight of my basketball career.

scott said...

Sometimes your writing reminds me of Mark Twain.

Hello, Collective.

eclectic said...

This is so great! I curse the fact that I never kept a diary or journal or anything, AND that I was never in-your-face good at anything that mattered socially in school. But you were, and you wrote it down so I can live vicariously. And I'm living vicariously SO HARD right now that I have to go check to see if my nose is bleeding.

Abigail said...

This is the greatest thing I have ever read. These are my favorite parts:

I met a guy named Jonah who is like a poor man's Anthony

(First day and I'm going to go ahead and call a starting position for myself.)

because I grew up playing with assholes twice as tough as him.

lindsayrn said...

You are such a badass.

Ashley said...

I did a spit-take when I read this: "I met a guy named Jonah who is like a poor man's Anthony (less pecs, less Catholic)."

Oh, mythical Anthony!

(This was lovely, as usual.)

Heather Anne said...

Scott, it's 'cause I'm country, right?

Shari, don't curse it! It's embarrassing as hell! I should have burned these things years ago.

Abigail, I don't want to spoil the ending of the book (I suggest you read it yourself).

Lindsay, if I was half as awesome as I *thought* I was, I would have been playing ball somewhere bigger than a -- what did I call it? ah, yes -- one-cow town.

Ashely, You know what's weird about Anthony? He looks JUST LIKE one of Abigail's college boyfriends.

scott said...

Country? No, it's not that. Not directly, anyway, though there might be something causal or cultural in that.

The word that comes to mind is swagger. The tone of interaction is characterized by competition. There's a strong first person perspective and descriptions of others have a definite objective, otherness about them. Sexuality and emotion are in the subtext, almost apologetic or uncomfortable. This gives the tone a youthful, pre-sexual quality. But it doesn't feel like a child is writing, unfamiliar with adult themes. It feels like an adult is writing around adult themes in an idealized youthful persona.

I'm not quite capturing it, but it's something like that, and it reminds me of Mark Twain.

scott said...

Note to Self: Don't try to interact with normal humans when you're in pathologically analytical computer programmer mode.

Sorry about all this. I don't know what the hell I was thinking.

Heather Anne said...

Scott, I loved what you said! :)