May 14th, 2002 - 10:00 p.m.

Sigh, memories of a younger youth. Ahem.

Ah, Nostalgia. Puma jeans and green sneakers. Florescent plastic. Cheese sandwiches at the Polish deli. Owned by a tired looking middle aged Polish woman, her hair always arranged, but messy, shiny eye makeup an odd contrast to her aging skin. Probably named Helga or Svetlana. Chocolate covered gingerbread of the Katarzynki brand (Pierniki w Chekoladzie). All consumed at Starbuken. Kaiser crumbs all over everything. Sigh, such comfort in the familiar.

She settles into the chair, and laughs at the awkwardness of the Junior and High School years. She is dressed as if she were fourteen again. Sketching Jane on the bleachers. Taking a tentative sip of Erin�s whiskey. Lunching with M. at the Apricot Tree. Chatting with Mr. Z., the amusing Jewish lawyer. Skipping class to relax to another cappuccino. Perhaps just another scoop of handmade sorbet? Sure, would not mind that at all. Let�s just pretend the watch is malfunctioning, yes. That�s right.

Math? What�s that? Well, too late now. Lit.? Won�t miss me one bit. Or will they? Chem.? Bah, its always the same. Just another cup of tea, then she might saunter off to Writer�s Block... Oh, she means Writer�s Craft, though to the majority of the class, it is all the same. That boy in Biology, sat next to me. Bought me German chocolates for Christmas. The embarrassment of Phys. Ed. Instant popularity with Hong Kong stickers and Italian shorts.

Geeta with her fetching English accent. Carolyn and her Christianity, her magazine house, and her Gap button down shirts. Dawn and her birth defected nose. Isabel and Kurt Cobain, pansies in her red hair. Brianna and her extreme ugliness.

Edgar Allen Poe and Shakespeare. Van Gogh, and Bosch. Silver metal briefcase. Puzzles of the week. Ms. Allison and the art room. Monsieur Adrienne, are you still as elegant as you teach science en fran�ais? Ms. Mendl, did you know that your sadness made me cry myself to sleep when I was in your class? Did you know that I fell in love with your eyes, and only wanted to hold you until you fell asleep? I have not mentioned this till now. You had the most gorgeous laugh. Madame Leering-Smith, are you still so uncouth? Mr. Robertson, do you know you made grade eight unbearable?

Do you know that remembering all of you breaks my fucking heart? Do you know I used to bleed on my wooden bedroom floor? Would it have mattered?

Andrew�s bloody toe while studying mathematics. Aden! Tyrone. Amy, we never really were close friends, though we pretended. S., you always held me too close.

The Anime Club. Ninja Scroll and Laputa. Tenchi and Vampire Princess Miyu. Grace and tech drawing class. Mike Sloan and your fucken laser pointer, your crass discussions of masturbation with Tim.

To the grade nine boys: yes, that is my ass in that painting. And yes, I do look just as good from the front. And no, you may not see.

Justin and Tripping Daisy. Smashing Pumpkins. Iva Petrova Stoycheva and her Back Street Boys. Aneesa and her fits. Camp Twingo�s canoe with Sean at the controls. Shaun Dacey and Annelise�s stuffed cat, the clouds in the shared locker. Nelly, your friends were such a bore. Indian food at Mrs. M�s house. Odd curfews and inexplicable anger from les parents. A chrysanthemum crown for the sixteenth. M.�s garbage bag dress (you are such a hottie) crinkling down the hallways.

Sitting on my roof in the winter, the romantic feel from the contrast of scarlet to snow, punctuated by numb extremities. Jim, you were never really funny. Mr. Rogers, I still have not seen Apocalypse Now. Mrs. Dewsnap and her scottie dogs. Mrs. Rowland, you always knew what to say, and looked so good in your fur coat.

�None of this makes any sense to the general audience,� it advises.

�I know,� she sighs. And heads out for a cigarette.

N.

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