Not the Voice of Mel Gibson

There is no time; there are only memories. There is no truth; there are only stories.

I wonder how the other people in my life think the story goes. Maybe it does go that way—that's their story; maybe it's better than mine. If you find yourself reading about a representation of yourself and have a story you think is better than mine, register with Blogger and leave a comment. That's my nod toward fairness and accuracy. Now I'm going to tell my story the way I remember it. I remember I rode the Greyhound to Parowan. I must have rode it home from Cedar City, but, apart from a vague impression of waiting for it in some nameless little store, I can't remember coming home at all.

Maralee had asked me to come to a dance that she was DJing. I put on some lipstick and mascara and threw myself at the walls while she played records. Most of the people there managed to ignore me, thank God. Actually, I had a great time. Some cowboys asked me if was gay ("Sorry, no. Why, were you interested?") and I saw my first signpost pointing toward Maralee's future lesbianism (which she was resisting valiantly).

I came because I was in love with her. I'd thought of myself as her boyfriend during the previous summer, but she told me that actually I wasn't. We watched the entire Mad Max trilogy in one day. I miserably failed to progress from making out to fucking her during Beyond Thunderdome and she just gave up on me. I was too innocent and she could find satisfaction without the guilt she'd feel if she corrupted me. Her decision was abrupt. I felt so lost when she went up stairs to sleep in her room. I felt like I had to take a bath so I did. The bathroom didn't lock and was lit only by candlelight. I must have slept eventually. In the morning we went to church with her parents and an old lady told her she looked like a model.

I went to the dance at Parowan High because I thought I might get another chance. I didn't, or if I did I messed it up somehow. By the time the bus got back to Salt Lake, I'd finally worked out that I needed to get myself another girl. Maralee had been the first girl I'd kissed. She was the most intense experience of my life (to that point). I didn't know how I'd get by without her. Luckily, I would be going back to school (at SLCC) in January—there would be significant numbers of girls there.