I wrote this story in 1977. I was a Junior at Temple City High School. I am looking at the very wrinkled stationary it is written on, very 70's. I have very little from my past. Very few photos, school memorabilia, etc. But this I kept because it meant so much to me. This was the beginning of the end....
Then a rebirth again for me. My teacher Mrs Thompson, ( who was one of two fabulous English Teachers I had) entered me in a writing competition without my knowledge. I think she may have been on to the fact that I was beyond shy, and wasn't going to do it myself. I won, which did not make me happy.
The money part was good, but the other part - going in front of people at a luncheon (A Women's Day kind of thing) and reading it. No doing, not going to happen in this lifetime. I was so shy I cannot even tell you, and then some. I know people who know me think that is a human impossibility, but not true. I am still very shy. I just push myself, and from waitressing as a very young girl, I learned people skills to hide behind.
The day came... and guess where I was? Hiding behind our green plaid couch. I waited it out until everyone cleared out for work and school, (eight people, it took awhile) and then the coast was clear.
I never told anyone I won. I am sure I went in the kitchen and ate several bowls of Captain Crunch cereal, turned the TV on.... and that was that.
My teacher looked very disappointed in me when I came in the next day. I made a half hearted excuse claiming I was sick, very convenient. She told me she read my story.... and the ladies cried. I can honestly say I had very little emotion. Why would anyone cry over what a sixteen year old would write, and especially this sixteen year old. I had very deep feelings, but in my household they were just not allowed, so I kept them in my writing. We communicated with sarcasm and humor. Let me tell you, it was biting, mean as hell at times and survival of the fittest.
I sure wasn't going to show who I really was. That would nail me to the cross.
So this is the story that I won the competition in 1977. A sixteen year old who felt so deeply... as I still do today. Full circle of accepting who we are, where we come from and how we got here.
Reach out and Touch
When was the last time that you told your mom you loved her, or that very special friend that without her life would not be the same. I can tell that it must have been awhile ago, by the expression on your face. Is it so hard for you to lift yourself off your pedestal and say,"yes I care."
Is it inhumane for you, humiliating, exasperating, please tell me?
There are days when I see you, you act as if you couldn't even care. Other times your warmth, your bubbling joy surrounds everyone and everything and makes them as radiant as you.
That special glow in your eyes when things are going well. But is that the only time when happiness engrosses you, when things are going well for you? Can't you look beyond, can't you reach out and touch?
Do you wonder why I know so much about you? Why of course as I am writing this I am looking in the mirror at my reflection, as I am absorbing and reflecting, laughing and crying.
I think I have just begun to reach out and touch... I've just begun to touch my reflection.
Good...even 35 years later. Maybe even better than in 77. Has it been 35 years? I was a Senior..you were a Sophmore. (If it was 76-77). I thought you were quiet & somewhat shy...but I knew we were frends. But who knew the Talent & all that was waiting to be expressed? I wish somwhere along the line I could have said, "Hey Clare, Let 'er rip. The mouthy guy with perv glasses wants to hear you tell the World what you're thinking." Many days the year before, I used to wonder during my mental blocking in McAlister's Class what it was that was going on in your head. I distinctly remember you resting your chin on your hand, and wondering how many miles away you were from the corner of Lemon & T.C. Blvd. I kind of wanted to know.
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