I found the crown jewel last week, the junior high note of all notes, in a box full of old school papers.
The note was meant to be included with an "I'm Sorry" Hallmark card (you know, the tall and skinny ones filled with deep thoughts) that I bought for Mark S. (the most popular boy in my junior high) after I punched him in the nose during study hall one day. He had been making noises at me from P.E. on through two classes and I couldn't take it anymore. So I punched him. I felt awful about it. I'd never done anything like that before and it took me completely by surprise. What's worse, the junior high dance was that night and Mark decreed that none of the boys could dance with any of the girls because I had punched him in the face. Tragedy. It was all a tragedy. awesome.
The other dancing incident referred to in the note:
7th grade. My friends Jenifer and Alix came over after school one day to help me make up a dance routine each of the songs from the brand new record by The Party (a singing group featuring now non-famous members of the 90's Era Mickey Mouse Club). Three-fourths of the way through the album, as Damon sang the stirring chorus to the song "Ton of Bricks", my moves morphed from the running man to a popular cheerleading move, where I brought arms in and one of my legs up in the air. Unfortunately, the other leg couldn't handle the great force gravity as I spun around and buckled beneath me. I had broken my knee-cap. In two places. I think it was at that moment that I lost my love for Disney produced Pop Music.
In any event, Mark (the boy I would later punch during study hall and therefore ruin one of the two Jr. High Dances my 8th grade year) and his best friend Shane were outside shooting hoops in my driveway/half-court basketball court. Jen and Alix were shrieking and Shane and Mark ran inside. Alix called her mother, who was a nurse and lived just a block away. I remember that my outfit did not match and my hair was quite the mess from doing the "Roger Rabbit" and how mortified I was that Mark was in my living room.
The next day, our 7th grade volleyball team played in the State Sectionals. I remember how ashamed I was that I should miss so important an event because of a freak dancing injury. A freak dancing injury that did not even occur on a glowing dance floor in the midst of throngs of jumping hip kids, but in the confines of my woven-wallpapered, dusty-cornered, museum-like living room.
