middle school

[zefrank]

Alton U. Farnsworth Middle School was shaped like a blueprint of the Starship Enterprise. A large circular building housed an auditorium surrounded by classrooms dedicated to art and vocational training classes (for those of you who went to prep school it may come as a surprise that trade skills were being taught so early on). Two corridors branched off of this circle and funneled into the body of the school, a two story square building which was divided into 3 arbitrarily marked territories or "houses". Upon entering the school each student was assigned to a "house", and would remain its member until graduating to high school. I was placed in Hiawatha house, down the hall and to the left was Mohawk house and beyond that, the dark corridors of Tawasentha house. A tracking program had been in place since the school had opened, funneling higher achieving students into Hiawatha, the middle ground to Mohawk, leaving the rest in Tawasentha. Students rarely switched houses mid-course and if they did it was only for unusual or cruel circumstances.

The school buses would pick us up in the rear of the school, which required passage through the garbage strewn Tawasentha halls (the litter might be an unjust addition of my memory), and was frightful even for the bravest of our grade. A small lawn separated the school from the bus parking lot and it was there that all of the middle school relationships were exposed to the mob - in the form of French kisses and the occasional groping.

My first girlfriend was a young lady named Kelly D. in the 7th grade (late bloomer, I was), and it was in the that parking lot that I first felt another tongue sharing space with mine. It was utterly nerve racking and devoid of any pleasure outside of the thrill of a first time experience. It was if we had formed some sort of uber-mouth with giant mutant dueling tongues. It reminded me of the feeling of touching your own arm after it has fallen asleep, both part of you and separate at the same time.

The relationship lasted through 3 more weeks of awkward hand holding and small pecks, I don't think either one of us wanted to duplicate the experience of the strange French version of the kiss. She broke up with me on Christmas eve. I found myself deeply touched by the pop song "I Miss You" and told my stepfather ( to this day I can't imagine how he was able to keep a straight face) that I finally understood what people meant when they said that "love hurts".