Homecoming 1997

I'm sitting in McDonald's inside Wal-mart. I seem to remember that my high school boyfriend's stepfather came up with the notion for merging Wal-marts with McDonald's. He must be so rich by now. I should try and find old Gus on FCBK. I am waiting for my friend and her two teenage daughters to finish their shopping. Their car is not cooperating this week so I was glad to help. It gives me a moment to write anyhow. My friend's daughters are gorgeous girls, sweet as sugar, and kind as can be. It's so fun to be around families who enjoy each other. They are clearly functional. Inspiring.

People watching is extraordinary here tonight. High school kids are buzzing around, testing the waters, the boundaries, making those jokes that only kids have the knack for, the genius of the moment bubbling at the surface. Everything looks easy and natural. It's homecoming weekend. I see girls sporting gaudy mums adorned with little metallic footballs, draping ribbons embossed with glittered letters. I wore a few of those in my time. My mom and I made one for Gus one year, the year after I graduated. He was still in high school, you see. I think I recall we broke up that same weekend, homecoming weekend. Awe. Gus. He was always so jealous. He thought I wanted college boys. It was more like an accusation. Turned out he also wanted Paloma, the hefty cheerleader, a short-lived venture I hoped was worth it.

Gus was in a band, Annabella 55. It was gorgeous stuff, truly. Traces of Morrissey, The London Suede, maybe a dash of the Smiths here or there. Sappy, sorrowful, then peppy and giddy. Gus was the drummer.

EXCERPT FROM MY HIGH SCHOOL JOURNAL

"I am at Gus's band practice tonight. It's the cutest thing. These guys are amazing! Gus is so much younger than the other guys. They're all in college. Gosh, drumbeats are so intoxicating! I can't help but assume that this energy, this intensity, indicates something about Gus as a person. Note to self: read up on music therapy."

Some people never change.

Gus and I worked together at the local Village Inn. He was Gus Boy the bus boy, I, the hostess with the mostess, that is if you were counting up the number of times a girl could bat her eyes in half a minute. I knew he found me interesting, judging by the buzz I heard in the break room now and again, and by his puppy dog looks, like he'd been beaten with a stick before he'd arrived. Not that he was less than confident. No, no. Quite the contrary. This guy exuded confidence with a flare rarely seen. His smile; radiant. His eyes; brilliant. His countenance; luminous. His hair; more than sufficiently tall in that mock Elvis, James Dean, Morrissey loving way. He sported chops like 90210 was still in style or something. His accessories were fierce; an inverted dog-training collar on one wrist, a bicycle chain on the other, a silver thumb ring, wallet on a ridiculously long chain, black leather string choked around the neck with some tribal charm dangling, black leather belt buckled on the side, not the front, saddle shoes in deep blue and crimson accented his blithe steps. He was, to say the least, eccentric. And just naturally beautiful! His cinnamon complexion fairly glowed under that flaxen mane. Six foot one, not counting the hair, fit as a fiddle, gorgeous.

A description of my teenage self seems in order here. Red hair to the elbows, loose lava locks, mod bangs cut straight across the brow, thick black lined Hollywood eyes, eye lashes for days, red lips, faux brown pin prick mole drawn just above the left corner of the smile, sharp, angular, eyebrows, penciled in auburn, lanky but curvy, skin like milk, two toned penny loafers, espresso and egg shell. I was darling. We both were.

I once overheard the bus boys at the drink station mumbling about me. I distinctly heard Gus repeat the following chant, "Please bear my children, please bear my children." All the guys laughed. I feigned deafness, looked over one shoulder, smiled "unknowingly". He was smitten. I was too, only I felt the need to keep that a secret, at least at first.

He was almost two years younger than me and one grade below me. I was a senior, he a junior. He was in choir. I was, too. But we weren't in the same class. I'd see him in the halls occasionally. He was hard to miss, always smiling, laughing, shaking someone's hand. He had been voted "most likeable" only the previous year, along with my best friend Betsy, of course. They stand together in the yearbook for it.

At some point I guess I decided I would make this happen. I was highly involved in community theatre at the time. I had been under the dull impression that I was going to turn my stage husband into my real boyfriend but that was turning into quite a project considering his aversion to females in general and his enthusiasm for Isaac. I changed my aims, all at once, and started becoming serious about Gus Boy the Bus Boy.

Gus was (is) an identical twin. His brother, Adrian, was the boyfriend of my friend Lee Ann. She was in varsity choir with me. We spent a fair amount of our soprano breaks discussing our future families with our twin grooms. Her prospects were looking more solid than mine, as she was already Adrian's girlfriend and I was only buddingly interested in Gus. Things progressed after Lee Ann let Gus in on my crush. Long phone calls, radioactive conversations at work, potent looks across the halls at school, and before I knew it we were goo goo gaa gaa.

Lee Ann let me in on some important dialogue that had gone on between the brothers one Saturday afternoon. Apparently things were moving too slowly for Gus. He wanted a commitment and he was feeling like I was still kind of playing hard to get. I really wasn't trying to but I do remember feeling a little cautious. I wanted to observe him for a while before deciding to date him exclusively. Lee Ann gave me the warning. "These boys don't wait around for iffy girls. If you want to bag him you'll have to cave. There are too many girls waiting in the wings." And it was true! These boys had quite an avid following. They were both in semi-celebrated bands, cute as gingerbread boys, cool with everybody from the geeks to the punks and everything in between. Girls were always swooning in circles around them. I'd have to forgo caution in the name of lovely love. So I did. I became the girlfriend of one Agustin Arellano III. I'm glad I took the plunge. It was worth it.

Gus and his brother shared a bedroom. On Gus's side of the room the walls and ceiling were plastered with the image of none other than Steven Patrick Morrissey. Smashing Pumpkins adorned Adrian's side. They never put any other entities' images on their walls and ceilings but somehow both boys were able to capture the respective images of their sweet girlfriends, blow the black and white photos up to 11X17'' and place them within kissing distance from their respective pillows. They were gorgeous photos, both, and we felt so loved to make the wall of love that only the likes of Morrissey and Billy had ever had jurisdiction over before.

Our relationship was on the codependent side, I must confess. We were together every minute we possibly could be. He walked me to every class, took me home, spent the entire evening at my house every single day, and virtually every minute of the weekend we were together either at parties, shows, or cuddling on my couch. We were so mutually enamored. It was really something. And I never got sick of him. That was saying something.

He helped me memorize my lines for plays, practice my music, do my math homework. We had this love journal that we filled with daily letters, poems, lyrics, drawings, paintings, confessions, fears, dreams, everything. It was our precious little book of gush. People hated us for being so oblivious to the world around us.

Gus and I were vehemently jealous types, the both of us. I recall a shouting match between me and some twit of an admirer of his at a pep rally. She was in the unfortunate habit of throwing herself at him in front of me. I let it slide a few times before but that morning I had simply had it. I could have ripped her to pieces had Gus not removed me from the premises. She was not so gutsy after that. Ignored him completely, actually. And I also recall Gus staring down my ex boyfriend at work one Sunday, fairly daring him to talk to either one of us before eating him for lunch right then and there. I am so glad ex decided not to utter a word. That would have been brutal for poor ex. He would have been pummeled for sure. Also, I wasn't allowed to audition for Camelot that fall for fear I would play opposite some kissy pretty boy. Lancelot?

As I've already explained we worked together. It got so silly that when our schedules differed the other would camp out at the restaurant for the entire shift of the beloved and just spend time reading, writing, drawing, even occasionally studying. Our boss got pretty irritated with this routine of ours. He got after me about it and I promptly quit. So did Gus. We had bigger fish to fry anyway. We had just been cast in Music Theatre El Paso's Cinderella as chorus members. We were so stupid in love. We just had to do everything together. I was disappointed I didn't get the part of Cinderella but Gus was relieved. He didn't approve of stage kissing. It was so cool because we were dance partners in all the numbers. It was pretty wonderful.

Well, I graduated and Gus had another year of high school yet. We knew it would be a tough transition, being in different phases of our education and all and so far apart every day. We made it all the way to homecoming, in October. He was in the unfortunate habit of accusing me of wanting a college man. And then there was that Paloma girl. So I did the unthinkable. I had to scream it or I thought it wouldn't come out. "IT'S OVER!" I took it back a few days later but it was too late. Paloma was already hard at work and she was so available, and observable, within reach, he opted for that. I was distant, little girl on a big campus.

I had never experienced pain like that before. It was searing and ever present. I was in a sexist disaster of a play called THE CREATURE CREEPS at the time. I lost so much weight they had to buy me all new costumes by the time the show hit the stage. I couldn't keep anything down for months. It was like an actual clinical withdrawal. Awful. The worst, in fact. The absolute worst. I gave up the theatre after that.

Here's to love, the pure, searing, agonizing, stupid young kind, resplendent in its naïveté and perfect in its faith. I wouldn't trade an ounce of it for a European tour, a million dollars, or a box of diamonds. It was inspiring. Gus, you were such a great first love. I send you all my heart's best wishes over cyberspace's varied terrain. There will never be another like you. As you always used to say, mazel tov!

That was SO fun to write.