My god, I’m bored.
I’m going back to where it all began to begin in March. Buffalo, NY. The people I knew there have by and large stuck with me through all this, and make no mistake; I know it’s probably because of proximity. A little of me goes a long way, as they say. I am grateful for my Buffalo friends. My real friends.
However, there’s one person I would have thought would be all up in this Facebook hizzy. That person would be my first girlfriend, Laurie Klesat. I have not found her yet. She was pretty and nice. Innocent and summarily unprepared for my dysfunctional regimen of peace-keeping codicils. She called me “Little Tiger” and I used to call her…um…some other furry, non-threatening anthropomorphically neutralized creature. “Sweet Pig”? “Unicorny”? “Cocadrillo de amor”?
You know what my biggest dream was when I was a lonely high school loser, besides having a Siffredi-like countenance and a Reagan-esque self-assurance? It was to walk down the hallway holding my girlfriend’s hand. That way, everyone could SEE I wasn’t alone, or unlovable, or unkissable, or unhand-holdable. It meant a great deal to me. Sadly, I met Laurie at the tail-end of my senior year and by the time we were “officially” dating, I was out of high school for good.
Hey, if you know Laurie’s whereabouts, would you let her know that I’m here? And that Id love to get together and talk about old times. We could meet at the Mighty Taco near West Seneca West around lunch time. Then, after copious amounts of beef have been subsumed (she probably remembers that much about me) we could, I dunno, take a stroll by the old school. We could even walk in and reminisce about this and that.
Then I’ll ask her if it’s OK if we hold hands while we walk down the hall to the music room. Just like I used to dream.