Who Here Likes Crazy?

TQB and I have been looking at pictures from our respective childhoods. Each presentation could aptly be titled, "Enter the Dork." It's only fitting, though, right? Birds of a feather...

High school yields the most interesting photos, likely because it is during these awkward years that so much of our adult personalities start to show, in awkward embryonic phases. Yearbooks are awesome, because not only do they show you in various stages of metamorphosis, but there exists ample evidence of your tastes in other people. "See this girl? She was my friend... That girl? Popular. You can tell. I don't know why, because look at her hair, but that's what everyone considered hot... oh, and over there... that guy asked me to prom... No. Not him. HE was the one I was HOPING would ask."

Or at least, that's what I might say if I actually had a yearbook to show, tit for tat, after looking at TQB's. But my mother didn't think it was important at the time, and she wasn't going to shell out money or allow me to do the same. In fairness, she seemed to recognize this oversight a couple of years ago, while we were looking through HER high school annuals, and she offered to buy a copy of my senior yearbook if one could be found for sale.

So yesterday, I called Snyder High School to track one down. No more exist to be sold. Bummer.

Ahhh, Snyder High School.

Snyder is a small town in West Texas, located exactly in the middle of nowhere. If by nowhere, we mean Abilene and Lubbock. It is flat and dusty, and exactly what all you foreigners picture when you think of stereotypical Texan landscapes. (Most of Texas, however, is NOTHING like that.) There aren't many trees, there are oil derricks and cows, your neighbor is likely to be a modest millionaire who keeps chickens and attends church every Sunday... On the surface, it sounded like a nightmare to me, the day I heard we were moving to Snyder.

I was already three weeks in to my senior year in EAST Texas, ten hours away, and we'd only just moved there a month before. I'd just settled in with a fun group of honors student theater brats who liked to go hiking around in the pines and hold impromptu poetry readings in abandoned Victorian houses next to the old railroad tracks. My parents were absorbed in the whirlwind of my father's employment, and they'd been too busy to be strict on my sister and me. I felt free and happy. The kids at my school were very welcoming, and my theater teacher had her eye on me for a solid role in their fall show.

So when my stepfather announced his intention to uproot us again, I was devastated.

Fortunately, Dad was sympathetic, and he did a little digging around, trying to think of enticements. He was a prison warden, and the unit in Snyder was larger, which would mean a pay raise for him, but what was a little extra money to a sixteen year old girl who would likely never see a dime of it? He needed something more personal. Like so many prospectors before him, he sniffed around the West Texas town for any semblance of treasure, and he struck oil. It turns out that the Snyder High School theater department was headed by a man named Jerry Worsham, who had led the school to numerous state championships in One-Act Play. Apparently, everyone in town supported the arts, and most all of the kids were dying to be a part of the drama. (heh.)

Hrm. Well... okay. "Count me in."

The next piece of news was bad. Auditions for the fall show were being held the night before I was scheduled to enroll in the school. It was all for nothing! But again, my contrite father pulled some strings, and it was decided that I could try out before actually enrolling. After the long, tiring move, with boxes still being pulled from the truck, my dad dropped me off at the high school auditorium.

I was scared to death.

"There's no backing out now, Lana," Dad said, raising his eyebrows and pulling his mouth tight. "This is what you wanted to do. Just go have fun." (Man, he used to be so nice. In his way.)

I smiled at him, trying to be grateful, and walked inside. I almost died. In all of my former schools (four high schools before this one), there was always an odd mix of kids who wanted to do theater. Misfits, the odd honor student with an inflated sentiment, kids who struggled with their sexuality, a few teacher's kids... and at most, the total number of interested kids ran to about thirty. But not in Snyder.

It was pandemonium. There were about a hundred and fifty kids at auditions, more than had been in my entire senior class in East Texas. Surprisingly, most of them were really good! I was amazed. Terrified. And an hour later, I was in love.

With the director. (RIP, Mister Worsham. I love you.) With my new friends. With the stage. With the school. With the town.

Oh my god, moving to Snyder was the best thing that happened to me in all of my teen years. One day I will really have to get into a focused writing about it, because so much happened in the nine months (was that REALLY ALL?) that we lived there. Tonight, however, we'll focus on Kevin.

The show we auditioned for, that night, was Dracula. And even though it sounds obnoxious and stupid, the show was far closer to professional level than what you typically picture for a high school show. I was cast as Mina, and the other female lead went to a girl named Amanda. Neither of us had been cast in a show there before, and it was pretty scandalous at the time. There was a lot of resentment leveled at us from the rest of the girls, and it ended up creating a sort of bond between myself and Amanda, where we'd likely never have become friends otherwise. She was blonde, sexually precocious, foul-mouthed, clever, manipulative, and beautiful. There were several wild rumors circulating about her, and I found out later that many of them were true. Her mom was a a mild-mannered teacher, and Amanda rolled right over her.

By contrast, I was a thin, self-conscious innocent with a terrible home life. I did everything I could to hide these things, typically playing a coy sort of flirt or a lively comedienne, depending on my given audience. My family was super-religious, but highly dysfunctional, and I'd never done more with a boy than hold hands. Apparently, I hid this well, too.

Enter Dracula. Kevin.

Kevin Alejandro was considered KING SHIT in the theater department. There was no real male star among the senior boys, and Kevin, who was a Junior, took up the slack. All of the girls thought he was exceedingly hot, and though I liked his confidence, I couldn't really see what all the fuss was about. He was lanky and strong, and he had a full mouth, but the eyes gave him away. Kevin liked to look at girls as though he were some kind of Don Juan, smoldering and knowing, and it worked for him like a charm. It worked on everyone except Amanda and me. Amanda had a boyfriend who'd already graduated, and an "experienced" high school boy, to her, was still just a high school boy. I, on the other hand, just thought it was hilarious and cheesy. Every time Kevin chose to bathe me in "the gaze," I collapsed into hearty laughter. I think it unnerved him, really, and maybe that's why he developed a crush on me.

Did you hear that? That was the sound of MORE girls hating me.

I remember one morning, in Mr M's third period Francais, we were joking around, making fun of our "French" names. Kevin was "Pierre," John was "Jean-Luc," and poor ambiguously-gay M___ was "Marius," though everyone kept referring to him as "Marianne." I had chosen "Juliette" for my name, because I was a cheesy, cheesy girl, but to temper this queso, I had taken to singing my name to the Gilette ad jingle.

"Juliette! The BEST a man can GET!"

This seemed to go over huge with the guys in my group, and the three other theater girls who had French with me all seethed and whispered and rolled their eyes. (Don't worry. Later I would end up best friends with two of them, and all was well.) Kevin pretended to be overcome with passion for me and flew across his desk, grabbing my wrists. I shrieked and laughed, and Mister M pretended to be exasperated. It was his job to tell us to sit down and be calm, but you could tell he genuinely liked rambunctious kids. As Kevin pulled away, he took my watch with him and wore it the rest of the day.

This provided me several opportunities... during the rest of class, at lunch, passing him in the halls... to demand its return to the rightful owner. By turns, he ignored me, waggled it high in the air, or proposed ways for me to "earn" it back. Somehow, back then, this was less offensive and more funny.

That night, after play practice, everyone milled around outside in the parking lot. Some of us waited for our parents to pick us up, and others were just socializing. John was rubbing my back, while Kevin and I shouted silly insults and lines from the show at each other. I looked at my wrist to see how much longer until my parents were scheduled to show up, suddenly remembering that Kevin still had my watch.

"Kevin! Give me my watch."

"What watch?"

"Kevin. Give me my fucking watch. I need it." The curse made it that much tougher, y'all.

He lit a Marlboro Light and grinned. "Je ne sais.. Je ne.. haha. I don't know what you're talking about." He reached into his pocket, pulled out the gold watch, and put it on his wrist.

I lunged for him. "You're not funny!"

He tried to tickle me, and at that point, I actually began to get really pissed. "My god. Grow up!" I hissed, and I as I turned away, he pulled me back toward him and kissed me, his tongue diving into my mouth.

To say I was shocked won't begin to describe it. I was mortified.

However, it was also very exciting.

I kissed him back for a minute, and when we pulled apart, he looked sheepish, and I tried my best to look smug. I shook my head and held out my hand, and he put the watch in it. Some people clapped. Others hooted or laughed, but everyone was watching. I was shaking.

Nobody knew this, but my sister and me: It was my first kiss. (That's right. Sixteen. Senior in high school.)

I "casually" walked over to Chen, where she was cat-calling and laughing, and I whispered, "Did I look stupid?"

She assured me that I did not. I told her not to breathe to anyone that I'd never been kissed before, and though she was a tattling brat in other respects, she knew to honor that request.

The romance between Kevin and myself didn't last long. We both got bored. Years later, when I became a smoker, I chose Marlboro Lights. It was the only kind of cigarette that didn't smell or taste bad to me. Isn't that funny?

You may have seen Kevin, yourself. He's been a guest on a few television shows... Jag, I think, and a couple of others. Lots of my old friends have done professional acting work. I had planned to go that way myself, but life happened. More recently, when I was in Blockbuster, I saw a movie that Kevin did with Brian Austin Green (YES! HIM! hahah!) called "Purgatory Flats." I rented it, just to show TheMiranda my first kiss, and to satisfy some personal curiosity. The movie was terrible, as you could probably guess, and my opinion is that Kevin is much better on stage... but it's still cool. If I saw him now, I'd give him a big hug.

He probably doesn't even know he was my first kiss.