I have been relatively quiet about my field school experience here on the blog. It’s mostly because there is just so much to say and so many pictures that I’m not clear to post. Chad keeps wanting me to put up a recounting of all the wonderful times I had, but I’m not sure I want to. I think I’d rather just tell little bits of it from time to time. It was just such a perfect experience; I don’t know how to sum up nights around a campfire making friends, or the beautiful landscape, the flora and fauna, and the memories that are sweeter when they aren’t shared.
That being said, I have to admit that one night, around the campfire, I kind of dodged an experience. It was late, and we’d all taken our swig of Green Chartreuse, and someone started prodding us to tell the most interesting fucked up thing that had ever happened to us. From what I hear, it was so he could tell a story, but that’s besides the point. I was only two people away from the start of the story line, and I started sweating. I’m not interesting. I don’t do interesting things. Interesting things don’t even happen to me. Then I hear one of the people I actually liked quite a bit running down the line of people saying that that person would have a good story, that one wouldn’t, that one would be okay, but Christa, she’ll have a great one. Fuck! So that’s it. I stand up and head off to bed.
I started thinking about any story I might have that would be any kind of interesting. I thought over the geeky list I put up at one time, but none of those items were a story length item that was cool. I really couldn’t come up with anything. I mean there was the time I almost shocked myself to death with a lamp and a paper clip in a hospital waiting room, but that’s not interesting, that’s just me being a stupid, unattended kid.
Driving along the winding roads of Koshkanong Country, it hit me. I have one truly interesting and fucked up story that I wouldn’t mind telling the world. Since I bailed on campfire, I’m going to share that story here. There’s some sex, drugs, and awkwardness ahead, I promise.
It was way back in 2002, my Junior year of high school and my last year in track. We were at the yearly University School Milwaukee meet, and Sarah and I were doing our disc/shot warm ups far from everyone one else. The weather was just getting nice, and I was on full boy patrol. Like always, the subjects were either cavemen or far, far out of my league. That didn’t keep my eyes off an assistant coach from St. John’s Military Academy. He carried himself well under the school sweats, he had a knockout smile, and he wore glasses. I freaking love glasses.
I don’t remember how well I threw that day, but I do remember the shock I felt when that assistant coach stripped out of his sweats and I realized that he was a student. I have always had low self-esteem, but sometimes when you see something that you want, you go up to them and stammer about inane crazy stuff. Some times though, you end up shagging discs for the womens’ finals, and your a-hole, sexist coach sends you the boy of your dreams to help you. (Thanks Coach. It was the only nice thing you ever did for me.)
As best I remember the convo:
Me: “What, he doesn’t think a girl can handle this on her own?”
Hot Boy: “Should he?”
So, soon enough our playful banter has to end because there are no more butch girls hurling rubber discs at us. Chalking up a successful flirting session, I call the day a win and head back to the bleachers to watch the rest of the meet from my Christmas quilt. On my way back across the field I see hot boy do a standing back flip and I about fell on my face.
Like the good stalker I am, I took note of his placement during mens’ disc, and listen to the announcements to find out his name, Greg. This came in very handy as he ran the 4×4 at the end of the meet. I won’t lie, his team sucked and I think they were in second to last if not last when it was his turn. As he rounded the final corner, I realized just who he was, flung myself down the giant hill where the bleachers were located, tripped on the asphalt walking path at the bottom, and face planted into the chain link fence that surrounded the track. I wrapped my fingers around the cold metal links, pulled myself up and screamed “Go Greg!” just as he ran past. Mission completed. I turned slowly, and quietly made my way back to pack up my stuff. I was resigned to be that chubby girl who was going to have ice cubes thrown at her the entire bus ride home, but he took it upon himself to search me out.
We stood by the track gate and exchanged numbers and e-mails. It was the first number I have ever gotten from a guy, and it kept a smile on my face even as I picked the ice cubes out of my hair on the way back.
Now that the back story is out of the way, we get to the interesting bits.After back and forth e-mails, I find out that he’s planning on heading off to the Naval Academy but more importantly that he’ll be leaving Wisconsin soon. I also found out he had a girlfriend, but whatever. He asks if I want to come see him, and I was like “Yeah, I think I could work that in.” After agonizing over clothing, driving to Lake Geneva, and a few minutes of getting to know each we start making out like no ones business. I remember I made at least two trips out to see him, and most of what we did was cute and sweet, but some of it was also pretty heavy. On one of the trips, we were making out on the couch in the basement when his mom comes down the stairs. I knew he had a girlfriend, and so did his mom. I didn’t care at all, but she called him upstairs for a little chat. He comes back down, and we have about ten more minutes to ourselves before she comes back down with more family members. I don’t remember who it was, but I know there were at least four of us in the basement at that point.
It seems that it’s now family movie time. I don’t really do well around other people’s families. It stems from being a huge bully when I was younger. If I had to meet other kid’s parents when I was little, it meant that I was in some fairly deep trouble. Anyway, there I was sitting next to Greg with his mom on the other side of him. My mind has blocked out the rest of the lay out at this point, but it was fairly awkward, or so I thought until the movie started. Then I learned what awkward really meant.
I’m sitting on a couch with the hottest guy I had ever met, who I knew was cheating on his girlfriend, his mother, who also knew about the cheating bit, and I am now stuck watching the family friendly classic Train Spotting. Granted, I had been wanting to see this movie, but not like this. Not only did I have to think about his family judging me every second, but no one reacted to anything that was happening in the movie. It was dead silent the entire time. If you haven’t seen the movie, here are some pictures so you know how fucked this was.
See that last picture there? That was the scene that did me in. That pink sheet in his hand is filled with shit that’s about to be spattered all across the wall while the family of the girl he just slept with is having breakfast. (If I’m wrong, that was the only time I’ve ever seen the movie, so forgive me.) I squirmed and winced and squealed. It was the only audio/visual reaction anyone made during the entire movie. I left once the movie was over. I haven’t seen Greg since he left Wisconsin.