Throwback Thursday: May 10, 1996

She lives here in town.

I've been here about nine years now; I am unsure as to how long she has been here. In fact, I haven't seen her in nearly 20 years.

We're Facebook friends, for all that that's worth, but outside of commenting on a picture or two or a happy birthday wall posting, there has not been any interactions beyond that. No lunch invitations, or coffee dates.

Maybe it's because we're both busy professionals. Maybe it's because of time consuming extracurricular activities; I know she's involved in dancing and running and Tough Mudder type workout events. I...drink. Cook. Eat. Watch more television than I should. Write. My hobbies are more sedentary in nature.

Maybe, though, it's deeper than that.
No matter how settled I get in life, or how much I manage to achieve, there is still a part of me that is that awkward teenager at the all-boys Catholic high school.

And that awkward teenager had a crush—a big, bad one—on a girl he met when he tagged along to audition for a Sondheim fairy tale musical at an all-girls school halfway through his freshman year of high school.

It's not a typical, tragic, teenage love story. It's more straight forward: Boy has crush on girl; girl doesn't reciprocate the feelings; he finds himself firmly planted in the friend zone and writes a notebook filled with mash poems and song lyrics inspired by the girl.

Oh, and there was also a brief one-act musical that he attempted to co-write with a classmate utilizing some of the song lyrics. Sadly (or maybe mercifully) the script has been lost due to advances in technology and plain old embarrassment on some level.

The notebook still lives, though.

But that still doesn't explain not reaching out for at least a cup of coffee or lunch. Is there a harm in reexamining old times? It's not like there's a flame still burning; the embers were snuffed out long ago.

I was lucky enough, though, to be able to go to prom with her. The stein pictured above was the party favor from that night.  It was hidden away in a box in the depths of the storage area of my garage. It reappeared while I was digging through boxes looking for some things to take to my new office. I don't have many artifacts from my high school days; my yearbooks are long gone, and to be frank, high school was not a time that I am 100 percent nostalgic about.

It might be better to let the past live in the past, though. Be grateful for that one night at the prom. Appreciate the Muses-style influence she had in unlocking your desire and motivation to write. Live with those memories instead.