Foundational anomalies

I don’t know when my earliest memories begin, I’ve never had a knack for recollection. My childhood is hazy. I remember a best friend I used to have who lived three houses down from me. Let’s call him Shane. Shane and I don’t talk anymore. He’s in college now. But we haven’t talked in years, even when we saw each other. There’s no apparent reason for it. None that I can see, at least. Maybe we’re both just socially reclusive, and there’s no real reason for the gradual dissolution of our friendship. Then again it doesn’t really bother me. We haven’t been friends for years and years, I hardly even remember playing together when we were younger. Though I’m told we were the fastest of friends, and I do remember trundling around the corner of my J shaped street to go play at his house. I don’t remember much specifically. Early 2000’s computer games, Backyard Baseball and Jurassic Park, I think. We played those games sometimes, sometimes we played others. They never taught us anything.

The place in which I have lived has remained constant since I have been alive. The same house on the same street in the same neighborhood with many of the same neighbors I have had since I emerged from the womb. It’s a nice little town, property values are sky high. You could sell the house I was born into and buy a castle and live like a king in the Midwest. That’s what my mom says, at least. I’m inclined to believe the good lady. I don’t have any reason not to. My house isn’t even all that much to boast about. I say that more as a jaded juvenile than anybody with a well-rounded perspective on life and real-estate value. That could be substantiated by the fact that I am the former, and have no interest in the housing market.

I live in California, in Silicon Valley. For the most part we have nice schools, mild crime rates, and the stereotypical domestic bliss every ‘true American family’ pursues. Of course reality is always the push pin that lacerates the cheerful balloon of optimistic idealism. Much as life is the push pin that lacerates the aura of childish innocence and wonder. Things change. There is no perfect reality. Things always change. Round and round they go. Ever forward, ever backward. Round and round. We are always deceived.

My family isn’t exactly rich. We aren’t poor either. We fall into that middle class that was hammered by the economic downturn in 2008. We define that upper middle class demographic that never gets financial aid and finds themselves fighting tooth and claw to make ends meet. We get screwed a lot when we need the money. Such is life, I suppose. We get by. I have mother, a father, a brother, and a sister. I am the eldest of three siblings, but I have a half-sister on my dad’s side who must be at least 30 now. I like her, she is very kind. She recently married a very nice man who has a very good job at a very large company. I’m happy for them. They’re one of those dream couples. Very appealing people, both in appearance and character, already living the high life and feasting on success and happiness. It’s nice visiting them. I wonder what they think of me a lot, though. How can I compare. This awkward kid with a stupid voice and the social endearment of a six year old. Silly me. I think I have an inferiority complex. They get by. They get by well. We see them sometimes. They live a few hours away.

Now it’s 8:04 pm on May 9th, 2013. I’m still staring at a computer screen. This screen belongs to my boss. I’m at work. I’m upset right now. Really, really upset. That s**t that happened that I mentioned before is getting to me again. I miss her. I miss her so much. It hurts so deeply and so fundamentally its hard to wear a smile or put on the mask of serenity sometimes. Who am I kidding? I’m just weak. I still love her. I will for a long time.

8:35 pm. May 9th, 2013.

Fractured.

Things skip, like a needle on an old record sometimes. The wheels of life spin in perpetual motion, but there are always inconsistencies. Even in moving from point A to point B, you will often zig zag in your trajectory. My family is a good family. I guess we get along well, sometimes. We get by. Have always gotten by. It’s never been the best. It’s felt like the worst, sometimes, but it never really was. I went to preschool when I was little. My mom wanted me to learn to be kind to others, and to share, and be a morally upstanding person, and to be active in my community. I don’t know if it worked or not. Probably not. It’s a matter of perspective and context. I think I failed her. I severely marred her vision of the stereotypical, worldly, philanthropic wunderkind she envisioned me to grow into. Sorry mom. I’m really sorry about that. Since birth I have been immersed in communities dedicated to instilling their offspring with moral and worldly values in the hopes they will someday manifest themselves as model citizens out changing the world and rescuing babies from burning buildings. A lot of my peers saw the fruition of that vision. Some finished high school with flawless GPA’s, full-ride scholarships, drug-free track records, the ability to communicate ‘normally’ and work hard. I went to a public elementary school that also focused on developing me as a positive person. I don’t think that worked either. I had more friends then, most likely. More genuine at least. There was less to think about, more to enjoy. All we had to do was ask for a playdate, back then. There was no thought of sex, or drugs. Maybe a little about sex. A little, more the premature stirrings of heterosexual affections, but it was often hidden rather than pursued. A few of the boys had just discovered pornography. They didn’t really understand what you were supposed to do with it. Like some, I didn’t figure it out for a long time. I just watched with my hands folded in my lap. It wasn’t even good porn.

There was no real drama, except for petty playground squabbles. There was no voiced religious disagreement or homophobia. People didn’t call each other “f*g” or “f*****g b***h” in joking back then. Maybe they did. If they did, I don’t remember. We were just beginning to add to our arsenal of profanities and when we did swear, the words were awkwardly structured and often nonsensical insults. Things had no element of complexity. The simpleness was serene, in retrospect. At the time, I was ready to make my own way in the world. A determined little 5th grader on his way to make his fortune in the big, inviting world.

5th grade was lost upon me educationally. They closed down my school the year I graduated. My teacher had her classroom packed up and her things in boxes two months before school let out for summer. We made forts under the desks and watched movies most of the day. I really consider myself to only have taken up through 4th grade, I didn’t learn much. If I did, I don’t remember a thing. That gap in my education destroyed my algebraic foundation which came back to bite me for the next few years. I got by. I managed, I suppose.

Author's Note

I would love feedback on this in general. Writing style, consistency, how linearly (or not) it moves, whether it's even a valid idea.