Call me Susan and color me beige. My 15-year-old self showed up this week, and she has a bone to pick with me. It seems I’d kept her locked away in a tattered old box in the bottom of my closet and she isn’t happy about it.
How come you never told anyone about me?
What are you talking about, lot’s of people know about you.
Really. Do they know we were in Sweden?
Sorta, yeah. They know we were in Sweden. But that was 30 years ago. A lot’s changed since then. I have a life. I have a husband and kids and responsibilities.
What about your husband and sons, do they know about me?
Are you kidding. No.
Oh don’t get all hurt. They know I went to Sweden when I was in high school, but that’s all they know.
Did you tell them about Grimslov?
The hockey players from Yale?
Dear God no.
I was 15. I made a complete and total blithering idiot out of myself. No one needs to know about that. It was pathetic.
No it wasn’t. It was sweet. See I have pictures.
I’d glare at her, but she’s too busy digging through our box of stuff she found buried in my closet. She is right about the hockey players though. They changed the dynamic of Grimslov when they showed up. Everyone looked up to them. They were college men afterall, with nice cologne (Polo), cigars, and brandy. I thought they were the coolest thing I’d ever laid eyes on. I had a huge crush on one of them and went out of my way to get him to notice me. He handled it very well and was really sweet about it. I just wish I’d remembered that before I found him on facebook. Now, I’m just embarassed.
What about this? Remember the castle at Malmo and that statue of Michelangelo’s David?
Give me that! No one needs to see a photo of me and the statue of David. I’m pretty sure that had nothing to do with y appreciation for art.
The ski trip? Don’t you remember those lumberjacks in drag? One of them tried to kiss you and you kicked him in the shins with your ski boots, remember?
Sure you do, Duffy came to your defense and got a black eye. I’m sure you have a picture of him in here somewhere.
Oh shut up already.
What about the time you saw the French Lieutenant’s Woman? You drank wine for the first time that night and spent the whole movie in the bathroom throwing up. Or what about the time you got stranded and had to hitchhike back. Two Iranians picked you up and you lied and said you were from Australia. You even got engaged for a short time, remember?
No. No. And No. If I drink wine will you go away?
You can try, but I doubt it.
Darn. She was right.
When did you start putting the hyphen in anal-retentive? You used to be so much fun. We lived life together. You never cared what anyone thought. You fell in love and pursued it with your whole heart – you threw yourself into everything you did every day you were there.
I threw myself at boys and put myself in dangerous situations.
You did more than that. We did more than that. Did you at least tell people about meeting the King? That was cool.
I insulted him.
So what. You met him didn’t you? Think about it. We came from the wrong side of the tracks and yet here we are meeting the king. How cool is that?
Yeah, that was cool. But the picture is all faded. No one will be able to make it out.
So tell them about it. Paint a word picture. If you won’t tell people about me, will you at least tell people about meeting him?
I’ll think about it.
Cool. Then maybe later we’ll talk about the Lumberjack.
Don’t push it.
This post written by Deana O’Hara for Redemption’s Heart. All rights reserved. A friend from Sweden found me a few weeks ago and I am having fun going through my box of memories. Over time, I’ll blog about different parts of my trip and how those events impacted who I am today. It’s that or listen to my 15-year-old self continue to give me a hard time.