Allusions, illusions, delusions and confusions.

Being a victim of circumstance is nothing I have ever identified with. I’ve always seen myself as a survivor of the complex, tangled and torturous misery others know as childhood.
I have few happy memories of this time period,(from age two to fifteen years), and those glimmering specks in my mind invariably involve being by myself in the backyard with the dogs or reading books by myself at school.
As introverted as I was as a kid, I did have a very close friend made at age six. I thought that if I went to play at her house it would be better than being in the crosshairs at home. Turns out my parents didn’t have the monopoly on vicious and divisive cruelty…
We are still friends as adults, though we have drifted apart a few times: during high school we weren’t quite as close as we had been as children, later again in our mid twenties the gap was widened by our priorities in regards to love life over close friendship.
Happily we were brought back together by a shared passion for team sports. Nothing as lofty as those healthy specimens who find fulfillment on weekends slogging it out in an amateur arena. No, our friendship renaissance was triggered by ice hockey. Being based in one of the world’s hottest and driest continents, this choice of sport can be viewed as an ironic metaphor and also a sweet elixir to life’s hitherto insurmountable challenges.
Between cheering on our team and swilling smuggled vodka, we discuss whatever has happened recently in our lives. Work, significant other, friends, health concerns and occasionally our family members.
Rarely do we speak of the childhood years and traumas. Briefly we may talk of previous misadventures shared in our late teens and early twenties. If we do feel nostalgic for anything from the past, it invariably involves memories of the myriad of hot, young things that were possibly stalked, caught, and then released.
Nostalgia can be a fickle mistress. I found this maxim to be annoyingly true quite recently. A male friend from high school made contact via a social network. He regaled me with his happy memories of knowing me as a young teen.
Perhaps, in hindsight, it was an ego stroke for me. Being thought of well by our peers can be a heady intoxicant.
A face to face catch up was in order, after much cyber chat and a little drunken flirting.
Unbeknownst to him, I’d had a massive crush on him during the first, teen phase of our friendship. For many reasons at that time, I could not act on my feelings. I was intrigued by the elusive possibilities of second chances.
It would seem that this sort of HEA is only found in novels and film. The details are devilish and refuse to be pinned down. I may let that story lie fallow for quite some time and oscillating perspective may provide a more optimistic epilogue.
I try to avoid nostalgia inasmuch as I do not want to go back to a certain time period long past. I do enjoy re telling stories of exciting and interesting previous episodes. This does not mean I want to return to the shores of those distant tales, I like to entertain and my best stories are those shaped, based or inspired by fact.