Dear Journal,
Today was the longest day! We left the house for Joy’s party at 11:45. On our way there we were just going into Boston when the tire on my side totally busted open! We got to an exit where we could stop to change it with the temporary one. We drove through Boston, then stopped at a repair shop. The guy who helped us was really nice, and we got going in a half hour. We got to the party at 3:00. It started at 1:30. It was pretty fun. After we left, we went to Target and got stuff like shampoo and pads and stuff. Then we came back and here I am writing in my journal! Have to start conditioning! *Call Eddie!*
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Could it really be a coincidence that it was the back tire on my side that “totally busted open” this day? Alright, I wasn’t that much of a whale at twelve, but realizing how deeply insecure I was about my weight at this time I am shocked I didn’t jump to the conclusion I was the true cause of the flat. It was quite the experience as I remember it vividly over ten years later.
My real wonders in regards to this entry lie in the events that took place after our tire blew out on the highway. What was so nice about the man who helped us at the repair shop? Notice I did not perceive him as “hot” or “cute,” so he most definitely did not adjust his junk in front of me or look directly into my twelve-year-old eyes at any moment. I would guess he was at least forty-five years old, probably bearded, and may have given me a lollipop like those nice ladies at the bank; they always made sure to send a few back through those magical tubes at the drive-through along with my mother’s cash I could give two shits about (unless it was to be used at the Little League snack bar at Jake’s next game, of course). I also may have categorized this man as “nice” because he was one of the few noticeably tolerant people I observed my father deal with in my youth. Although he has toned it down in recent years, my father was a harsh judge of character back in the day. As an adult, I’ve noticed I tend to share his impatience towards people I instantly deem insolent–usually a lasting opinion formed quickly and without apology. This flash-judgment style is a trait I’ve come to love and hate, like any personality quirk that can make or break your own good impression upon others, but so far I have found it mostly agreeable. First impressions are important, as they say, and one can be certain my first impression of anything and anyone will hold more stock longer than it would for 99% of the population. In that sense, I am most definitely the 1%. I have learned to counteract my uncontrollable urge to make immediate, severe judgments over the years with a gradually strengthened sense of empathy, but I take it as a positive and see this as a sort of thinker’s intuition. I am alive and devoid of any debilitating past trauma, so it looks like it’s all working out so far.
Just as a final note, I find it hilarious that my cousin’s grad party got one line with no detail but I felt the need to specify the following trip to Target was to pick up “shampoo and pads and stuff.” Even when Target was the new big thing in town and I was picking up Chihuahua keychains with a zipper to hold money, the purpose of every Target shopping adventure was to get these things. Maybe being such an early bloomer in the womanhood department I subconsciously had to vent to my journal about buying pads. It’s a valid thought. Poor little Allison, all alone in the world as a fertile twelve-year-old. Let’s just thank God my parents kept such a close eye and a tight leash on their baby girl through these years; had I fallen into the wrong preteen hands, I could be following in the footsteps of Maya Angelou in more ways than one right now.
Do you think I called Eddie thanks to this reminder? I’m curious to see what that was all about. Maybe I ended up making him another friendship anklet to show my affection.
Allison's Private Journal 