Sandy and I got off on the wrong foot. I can’t put my finger on why it happened like that, but our introduction was awkward and we were out of sync from the beginning. I was really excited to meet her, and maybe that’s what ultimately lead to my disappointment. My hopes were too high and in just a matter of days, reality had sent my dreams spiraling to the ground in a blaze of failure. We eventually were able to salvage our relationship, but it wasn’t until after years of space and maturity before I was able to look at Sandy in a different light.
I remember during my first week of middle school, I felt like everything was a total blur. I started middle school the week after Thanksgiving and I had to transition from being a 6th grader in elementary school to a 6th grader in a middle school in the span of a week and a half. I no longer had recess, I had to maneuver my way from class to class across a campus, and I had to keep track of the names of all these new classmates that I had never seen in my life. I got so confused that I was no longer sure that I was speaking the same language as everyone else. I remember the first time I tried to order food from the cafeteria, I asked for a “pop”, and the lunch lady looked at me like there was something wrong with me. After an awkward moment, I said “a coke?” and then she finally responded to me by telling me that they didn’t sell soda, but I was already humiliated.
I became friends with a guy named Dante, who’s name sounds like he would be on Jersey Shore, but he in fact is very much not like a character on Jersey Shore. We got along pretty well and coincidentally enough, we had the same birthday. He didn’t live in my neighborhood and we weren’t within walking distance, but we decided we should hang out anyways. Since this was 1993, we didn’t have access to Google Maps or a GPS, so we were stuck trying to discuss directions over the phone. He had no idea where I lived and since we were kids, giving him major cross streets didn’t help him much, so we decided it might be best for him to give me directions to his house from our school. Dante had a really strange way of giving me directions, though. He started by telling me to drive down the street our school was on, which seemed reasonable enough, but then he would tell me that “if you keep going down the street, you’ll hit a dead end and you will die, so you’ll have to turn on to this other street instead.” After a few more minutes of trying to direct me to his house, his mom decided to intervene and was able to figure out where I lived. She picked me up, we hung out, we had a good time, and we still keep in contact to this day. The end. Eventually middle school stopped feeling like a blur, but it didn’t get much better after that. I made some good friends, but for the most part, I was uncomfortable, I was bummed out, and I pined for the old days.
It wasn’t until college that I could finally feel comfortable with Sandy. The expectations were gone, and I could see why so many people saw that she was beautiful and chill. I realized that I didn’t need to be in love with her. I tried to force feelings when they didn’t need to be forced and we both suffered because of it. Moving at the age of 11 had really filled me with angst and Sandy was just such an easy target to dump all that angst upon. I wanted her to save me from it all, but it didn’t happen until much later, and it didn’t happen all at once. It was a process, and it was a process that didn’t involve her at all. I didn’t give an apology; there was none needed. San Diego isn’t my true love and it’s neither of our fault, it just was never meant to be.
Growing up, I took a lot of things for granted. There’d always be toilet paper, I’d always have a laundry basket, there’d always be (unexpired) milk in the fridge. These are things that are pretty necessary (maybe not the milk) to live and are a pain when you are without them. I kind of groan when toilet paper needs to be purchased, and I was pretty infuriated when someone decided to steal my laundry basket from the laundry room a couple of months ago. While cheap, replacing some sort of laundry transport device is seriously frustrating, especially when you’re in the middle of doing your laundry.
My friend Mike grew up as a navy brat. He spent the first couple years of life in Spain and his recollection of Spain was less than glamorous. He doesn’t speak about tapas or the beautiful view. He talks about how the TV only had a couple of channels in English and how the highlight of his day was being able to watch Thundercats. (I forget whether he had to watch it in Spanish or not.)
He moved to the States and went to school. His family was financially in good shape, they were a pretty American household. 4 bedrooms, 3 kids, a couple of cars, they were middle class, if not upper middle class. They had cable TV, computers, video games, all the things a teenage boy would want, except one thing: a microwave.
We were probably 13 or 14 years old at the time when Mike told me about how his family was researching various microwaves. He was absolutely giddy about it, like if a kid were to get a new bike, or a new video game. I’m not sure why this family had been sans microwave for so long; they could definitely afford it. I don’t recall any stories about how the old one crapped out, or how they had a toaster oven instead, they just didn’t have a microwave but now for some reason felt that they needed one. How they were able to manage without one for so long never really popped up in my adolecent brain, but now that I think about it, is pretty impressive.
So on one glorious fateful day, I came over to Mike’s house and there was a microwave, and Mike wanted to make me something using said microwave. Sounds weird, I know, but since I knew how much the microwave meant to him, I obliged and told him that I would like some nachos. It was something easy, and something that would ideally be made in a microwave. So he piled a bunch of chips on a plate and put some cheese (those weird liquidy Velveeta cheese slices, which probably barely qualify as cheese) on top, threw the plate in the microwave and let his new prized possession do the rest.
We sat down to watch some TV and Mike beamed with excitement. The microwave had made him into a new man. The microwave beeped to let us know it was done and Mike brought me back my nachos. Unfortunately, the microwave’s nacho auto-cooking auto setting didn’t know how to handle Velveeta cheese and ended up burning my nachos. I had never encountered burnt nachos before then, so I chose to ridicule Mike. He blamed his failure on his inexperience with microwaves and vowed to do a better job in the future.
I think we both learned a valuable lesson that day. No matter how high tech the device, common sense will always be needed and that should never be taken for granted.