Foreshadowing
<<2003-04-27 - 3:16 p.m.>>

Claire and I walked up the hill, questing warriors in our fake shoes (her: slippers; me: flip-flops two or three sizes too big). Made bank deposits (maybe now I will have money!). Had a delicious cajun lunch with ice cream afterwards. Yum. Walked down the hill in the warm, sleek sunlight. Yes please. Just like that.

And then was intercepted by Ilana from Tai Chi on our way across the lawn. Apparently I came up in conversation with her housemates, one of whom is a boy with whom I went to elementary school (and sort of middle school, as I recall. I'm never sure where other people draw those boundaries. My high school started in seventh grade) and who expressed genuine anger and bitterness toward me. Apparently, I was a real bitch as a kid. Apparently, I picked on him.

And I guess the strange thing is, how could I pick on anyone? It's not like I was in a big position of power or anything. Right? I mean, I was kind of the Smart Kid, but at a school that's big on the squelching of individuality in favor of group unity (we're talking Quaker private school here), that wasn't a plus. I guess I was pretty well-liked...but I always thought he was the middle-school equivalent of the Big Man on Campus. It's really quite strange.

I remember so much of middle school being this tremendous scrabble. Middle school is rough on girls. On everyone, I guess. Things certainly were rough for me. I was starting to go a little crazy by third grade, which was pretty much the worst year ever. I mean, I just literally had no friends. And then there was fourth grade, when I became one third of an Inseperably Conjoined Trio, and then there was fifth grade, middle school beginning in earnest and me trying to figure out the balance between being friends with the Kool Kids and being friends with my Old Friends who hadn't been speaking to me that much lately and everyone hated each other and it was all quite complicated. Sixth grade...more of the same, I think? A little calmer, probably. Don't really remember. The point is, this kid really wasn't that big a deal for me. I mean, I remember him, and pretty distinctly, too, because one of my childhood Big Stupid Lies revolved around him and me having to kiss him in a camp production of "Grease," and because he was kind of big and obnoxious, but I can't remember having that much contact with him. Finding out that he was here sort of brought a vague, "er..." kind of feeling. No violent reaction of any kind. He wasn't formative.

But I seem to have been formative for him.

I'd like to sit him down and ask him what I did, and what I was like as a kid that inspired such a strong reaction almost ten years later, but apparently he really hates me.

Weird.

And speaking of weird, what is this thing with foreshadowing? I mention Maggie, and wham! here's Maggie in my life in a sort of big way, two days later (ooh, I should write about that). I mention elementary school and wham! here it is. In my face.

This confirms my suspicion that my life is a novel with rather unsubtle author.

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