I remember you: James
September 3, 2002james was all tattoos and swearing. he would hitch a ride on my backpack, coasting behind me on his skateboard. the echo of our laughter would follow us down the hallway,
“HA HA HA
HA HA HA!”
james was filipino, but his hair was never jet black. last i remember it was blue, the color of midnight and velvet prom dresses.
he always was inviting me to his cocktail parties, folding colored fliers into fourths and slipping them into my backpack, but i never went. he and i didn’t have any friends in common.
i don’t know if we had anything in common.
still, i think james liked me. i pretended i didn’t know, and i’m not really sure why. maybe i was scared of him. i was scared he would show me a side of the world i would like better.
(THIS IS PART OF AN ONGOING SERIES OF PEOPLE I REMEMBER.)
I'm Christine, and this is a slice of my life—a sweet, rich, wildly indulgent slice that would taste really good with a scoop of Breyers vanilla bean ice cream. Read more >>
I run a darling, friendly, little graphic design studio.
I look on the bright side.
I take photos. Lots of photos.
I wish on stars and on websites.
I built my first web site 7 years ago and got 15 seconds of fame. (It changed my life.)
I launched, then relaunched, an online magazine.
I admitted to several embarrassing crushes.
I consumed more bacon than any human should and lived to tell the tales.
