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Mom

Las Vegas

Friday, Aug. 01, 2014 - 11:50 a.m.

When I was an eighth grader at Gray Avenue Intermediate School, I had a math class taught by Mr Scriven.

My as-yet undiagnosed dyslexia made mathematics a chamber of horrors for me for my entire academic life -- but in eighth grade math class, I heard a voice and cast my optics on somebody who at the time was one of the most physically stunning human beings I had ever seen.

I was twelve going on thirteen. And the young man who caught my attention was thirteen going on fourteen.

He had shoulder-length brown hair, green eyes, and a voice that had already changed. I had been wrapped in cotton wool and probably would have been locked in my room by my parents if it had been legal to do so -- but this boy was unlike anybody else I had ever been around in my existence.

His name was Greg MacKenzie.

We had math class together and we also had PE class together. The ten days of swimming class in the late spring drifted by in a haze because that stunning fellow could use the higher platform and was actually able to make the water rip.

He also smoked, rarely spoke at school unless compelled to do so by the teacher, and was in general what my folks colloquialy referred to as twenty pounds of bullshit in a ten pound bag. Why in the name of all that is reasonable a girl's first extremely serious crush had to be the exact opposite of anything the parents would have accepted is beyond my comprehension. It doesn't make sense on any levels. Mainly I guess my folks didn't like him because penis. I was pretty sure he had one, even though at the age of barely thirteen, I was utterly and completely unfamiliar with their mechanics and usage -- but I was so nerve-wracked whenever I was around him I never expected to be anywhere near his.

Somehow -- and I really really hate not directly remembering this part due to my mini-stroke, but I have been told how it happened -- Greg and I did end up going to the 8th grade graduation dance together.

And we only danced to the slow songs because he didn't know how to dance.

Naturally, I didn't have a problem with this.

---

During that summer, Greg paid attention to me. It wasn't until entirely too many years later that I parsed the fact that it was easy to get a boy to pay attention to you if you let him kiss you. I wasn't a girl he loved. I was a girl he got to dither around with a little bit.

However, at the time, I was blissfully unaware of this particuar aspect of our interaction. It didn't matter to me that he didn't love me, because I loved him and that was enough.

We sat under my next door neighbor's tree and smashed his dichondra. And we sat on my front porch steps and knew my parents were glaring at us.

Ninth grade began, and on the way home from school, we'd lean against trees between high school and my home and smooch. Looking back, I figured out that he did that so that this very plain-looking girl wouldn't be in the line of sight of anyone who would make fun of him or in whom he was interested. Through ninth grade, I continued to steadfastly have no clue -- but try as he might, poor Greg, who'd discovered much greener pastures at weekend events outside of school, couldn't dislodge me. I smiled at him between classes. Even though I walked to school I'd casually drift past the bike racks where his was parked. I left notes in his locker. I had a crush, so all bets were off as far as common sense was concerned.

At the start of tenth grade, we again discovered that we had the same math class. And at that time, Greg finally managed to deliver a communication to me that I understood. The specifics will not see the light of day here, so please trust me on this when I say the gist was clear: I was to leave him alone. Enough was enough. I didn't see him at all during our junior year of high school because we didn't have any classes together. And the summer between my junior and senior year, he and his family moved away.

But as those things go -- I never forgot him.

---

When I was in the hospital a couple of years ago, and before I started responding to any of my medicine, a bucket list began taking shape. I started thinking about things I still wanted to accomplish, and people I should say something to if I ever got another chance. I'd always felt as if I owed poor Greg an apology for being so clueless and so obstinate back then, and wondered if I would ever get a chance to do that. I'd been fortunate enough to be able to say a few things to Omaha Dave, which he thoroughly and lovingly listened to -- but being able to apologize to Greg for my behavior was also on my bucket list, along with promising myself I'd try to see more of my country whenever I could find the chance.

Fortunately, I did respond to my meds, and I've maintained the weight I was when I left the hospital. I've been healthy enough to get back to Australia several times since then, and will make that journey annually for the rest of my life -- and as you can see, I still have an online presence.

Over on Facebook, about a year and a half ago, just to see what would happen, I put Greg's name into their search engine.

And I got a hit.

Then, metaphorically speaking, for the first time in something like thirty-three years -- I left a note in his locker.

It was the only time I had ever planned on saying anything to him, so I told him I was sorry for how I acted, I told him I hoped life had been kind to him, and I wished him well.

And that was all I'd ever intended to say to him.

What I was absolutely not expecting in the depth and breadth of consideration was that Greg would write back.

But he did -- and he was kind, and incredibly, he apologized to me as well.

In the subsequent months of correspondence, we've done a lot of catching up. Life had taken a few twists and turns for him, but he's over in southern Nevada, working at a stable job, has adopted two rescue dogs, and is profoundly grateful that he's lived long enough to appreciate what he put his own parents through. He lives on their property and takes every opportunity he can to do right by them.

He has also taken the time to help me with my own memory issues. The 8th Grade Dance Miracle was due to him inviting me to go with a note in my locker.

I'll take his word for it.

---

Bucket list: As of July 30th 2014, there were two things there that are no longer there --

1) See Las Vegas in person. and 2) Be in the same room again as Greg MacKenzie.

Here's proof:

We are in the parking lot next to the Denny's adjacent to the Stratosphere tower.

I was only there for the day. Our visit lasted from about half past noon to around six pm.

It was a sweet, memorable day.

Greg and his parents have encouraged me to return as soon as I can. There seems to be a plan for me to come back during the weekend of his birthday so he can show me the touristy stuff like Hoover Dam and St. George. The landscape is beautiful there, so I'm looking forward to seeing it with an old friend.

---

That's it. See you next time.

---

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