The summer after my 6th grade was pivotal for me. I was still young, depressed and suicidal. However, once I learned that “middle school” in Washington State were the local graduating 6th graders all being funneled into one school: Brier Terrace Middle School.
I would use my time to reinvent myself. Most of the school wouldn’t know who I was. The anonymity was an advantage I would leverage …
I calculated a small percentage of the 7th grade would know me; everyone from Mountlake Terrace Elementary. Other than that, I could be anyone, I could do anything, and can control any information about me.
I followed my Mom’s advice about women: 1) be respectful / behave / have manners 2) make them laugh 3) learn how to dance
However, that said, I did (still do) have a silver tongue. My Mom warned me many times, “Son, one of these days that silver tongue of yours will cut off your lips!” I didn’t realize that her advice would apply to writing as well.
I realize I’m no William Shakespeare but even at the tender age of 12, I was budding writer. And what I wrote when I was in the 8th grade, it was almost a self-fulfilling prophecy / Shakespearean tragedy (from my point-of-view) or was it a comedy?
You decide.
From writing classes, I learned the power of form letters. You can send the same message to a select group. I was also trying to navigate new found attention from girls, because of the lessons I had put into play.
There were four girls I wanted to be with badly: *Sarah, *Anna, *Brie, and *Lisa. I started my form letter of love on a Monday, but spent 5 days of editing to perfect it. By Friday morning, I was ready to publish.
I addressed each letter to the proper girl to receive it. And I planned on delivering each letter to the girl personally, on the same day, at the same school. Again, this would end badly for me.
I saw *Sarah during 2nd period of 6 periods, so I delivered my letter with a sincere smile. Next, was *Anna during lunch, followed by *Brie at 4th period. *Lisa was last on my list during 6th period. Mercifully, the bell rang for 6th period which excused all of us to leave for home.
You should know that the Principal’s Office was on the corner with a view of the one street in and out of school. Since I lived in Mountlake Terrace, and school was in Brier, bussing home was the preferred method. After retrieving my backpack from my locker, an impish smile crept on to my face, as it was a good day. I let the girls in my orbit know how I felt.
I approached the daily crowd of peers on the sideway and line of buses awaiting their student-passengers. I looked left to find my bus, but only found Brie, and Lisa steaming towards my direction each holding a familiar letter in their hands. They are hotly discussing what was written as they stabbed the letters with their index fingers.
My smile quickly disappeared, as I turned on my heel to my right to escape.
Towards my right was Sarah, and Anna with the same letter, and the same angry expression. It was then I knew I had FAWKED UP. So many conclusions, and life-lessons fired off in my mind. First, if it’s a love letter, make sure it’s unique, and tailor to that one woman only. Second, if you’re attempting to be a young Casanova don’t rizz up more than one woman in one place. Thirdly, do not deliver those letters on the same day! Lastly, ensure they don’t know each other, as they will talk. THEY. ALWAYS. TALK.
They circled me like lionesses on the hunt in the savannah. The scene from Can’t Buy Me Love (1987) when Cindy Mancini outs Ronald Miller at a party floods my mind. They all start talking and asking questions simultaneously.
The sheer amount of energy is overwhelming, my mind swirled, until I was hit upside the head. Then a backpack full of books crashes against my back causing me to fall to the sidewalk. I’ve had my lion’s share of ass-beatings, this was projected to be on a WWF level (when it was called WWF)
After a few swings, and landings the girls’ energy dissipated quickly. From my position I spied the principal looking over at the ruckus, but saw I was the center of it, and simply looked away.
WHAT!
The girls felt triumphant as they walked away, and shredded the letters in celebration. As if I needed insult to injury, the bus driver stayed long enough to watch, but close the door as I approached to drive off without me.
I started the long walk home (over 3 miles) absolutely broken, and dejected. Thankfully, Mrs. Salisbury took pity on me. She drove up to the sidewalk, and offered me a ride home. She already knew the story, but asked me anyways.
“Any lessons learned, Mr. Bayne?”
I grumbled from the passenger seat, “Yeah. Don’t use form letters to express your feelings.”
los, Fil-Am Renaissance Man 