REWIND
CHAPTER TWO
“WASH AWAY MY TROUBLES, WASH AWAY MY PAIN”

NOVEMBER 4th, 1977

The next day, I was still reeling.

Beth, you see, had leukemia. She was going to die. I’d lived through it once before, and did not handle it well at all. Now I was going to live through it again.

I didn’t see any way to change it. I didn’t have a cure for leukemia in my back pocket--it still hadn’t been cured in my ‘time’. There were better treatments--bone marrow transplants and all that--but there were two problems with that. First of all, how would a 12 year old kid get away with suggesting, to an oncologist, a treatment that hadn’t been invented yet? And, second of all, Beth had one of the more virulent forms of leukemia. Even in 2007, bone marrow transplants didn’t always work. 

And I’d started to get excited. I’d started to think I’d been ‘sent back’ to change things, fix my life, make things better.

Some things can’t be changed. No matter what you do. Beth was going to die again, and I was going to have to live through it again.

At that moment, if whoever it was that was responsible for me going back had shown up in my room, I'd have strangled him

Yeah, of course, a glimmer of hope. Maybe this wasn’t the same ‘universe’ or time-track or whatever you call it, yadda yadda--but I didn’t think so. Too much had happened that was just predictable. It seemed that I could change things that I was directly involved in--the conversation about female body parts, or my conversation with Cyndi about kissing--but I had no cure for leukemia handy. 

I took this day, November 4th, off from school, pleading illness. Since I hardly ever missed school, Mom let me get away with it. 

I stayed in my room all day, listening to my new Beatles and Bruce Springsteen albums, thinking. This was one of the things I’d thought about anyhow--trying to figure out the difference between what I could change and what I couldn’t. Beth’s illness made me more aware of that.

She was going to die. Period. Couldn’t be changed. Christ, I even knew the date.

What I could change is how I dealt with it.

One thing you have to understand--Beth knew. She was strong-willed, and smart, and not the type of person who would sit well with platitudes. She knew exactly what was wrong with her. She demanded to be told, and she knew what the prognosis was for this strain of leukemia--95% fatality rate within 5 years. 75% within two years. 50% within one. It was a death sentence, and she knew it.

Which explains how she acted. I saw her off and on in eighth grade. I went to the Prep for ninth, didn’t see her as much. But then, we had a Christmas semi-formal dance at the Prep, and I took her. We had a great time. I saw her a couple weeks later, when we went to the mall to do some Christmas shopping. 

Then--nothing. I’d call, and she’d hang up with some excuse. I’d leave a message and she wouldn’t call back. Look, in adulthood, I realized what had happened. She, knowing the end was coming, was trying to distance herself from me. She was either getting too close, or figured that I was getting too close. She, I think, was trying to save me pain.

It didn’t work--because I did not see or talk to her for the last 8 months of her life. That has haunted me forever. I didn’t say goodbye. I never told her I loved her. It wasn’t her fault--I let it happen. I was a stupid kid. I don’t think the true meaning of her prognosis really sunk in to me until she was dead. 

Speaking of things I could damn well change--hadn’t I just hit on one?

Yes, I had. Damn right I had. No doubt about it.

Knowing that, well--it didn’t make everything better. How could it? But it made things clearer to me. I loved Beth. Not romantically--we were both too young when she was diagnosed to even start to think about that--but I loved her. I’d say as a sister, but I loved her more than I loved my sister, horrible as that might be to admit! And it had haunted me for almost 30 years that I never told her that. You can say, “Oh, she knew,” but I’ve never been sure.

Knowing I could change that, at least, helped enormously. But, it was strange--I was looking for other things to change. I guess I wanted to balance the scales.

I found one--well, one I could try, anyhow. That night, after supper, I was sitting with my Dad. He asked me if I was feeling better and I told him I was. Which I was, a little, though it was all mental. Then I gave him a hint.

“Hey, Dad, while I was napping I had this really strange dream.”

“Really?” Dad said.

“Yeah, and I’d better tell you about it, just in case I’m clairvoyant.”

“OK,” he laughed.

“Well, it was kind of murky, but the message I got from it was--eye protection.”

“Eye protection?” he asked.

“Yeah. Basically, if you even have a glimmer of a thought that you might need eye protection, get some. Don’t take a chance. Hey, I told you it was a dream.”

“Yeah. Eye protection, huh?”

“Yeah. You lost an eye in the dream. Not sure how, but it was in a situation where you might have shrugged off eye protection.”

“OK,” he said, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Good. There you go. When it came true, he might think I was nuts or something, but I didn’t really plan on making a habit of this, so, if it was only one clairvoyant dream…

Of course, it was no dream. What had happened was, he was in Chuck’s Bar, one of his favorite taverns, getting a cold one after work. At Chuck’s--and he’d taken me in there many times--they had these strange floor mats. They were rubber, but surrounding them on the outside was a thin strip of metal.

On the day in question, one of the metal strips had come loose and was sticking up in the air. Chuck, the owner, a friend of Dad’s, said to Dad, “Hey, Jimmy, can you go get your wire cutters and cut that thing? The waitresses keep tripping on it.” Dad was a plumber, and had all sorts of those tools in his truck. He got his wire cutters--didn’t get his goggles. You can figure the rest. He cut that piece of metal and it sprung straight up.

He had nine operations trying to re-attach his retina. They didn’t work. After that, he rushed back to work--and quickly developed degenerative arthritis and had to have both hips replaced. There was no proof that the rushing back to work--and 14 hour days-- after two years of idleness had caused the hip problems, but all the doctors thought so.

Dad was self-employed, and had just decided to do that, so there was no ‘business’ yet. That series of medical events meant financial disaster for the family. Mom was only working part-time at the time. We even ended up on welfare for a while. Dad was basically out of work for four years.

If I had just prevented that, I’d be a happy camper. I just hope Dad remembered when the time came. I knew it was sometime in eighth grade that this happened, but couldn’t remember exactly when.

NOVEMBER 6th, 1977

Another Saturday, and I was running. Besides keeping me in shape, I found running good for thinking. I just wish the Walkman had been invented!

On this particular Saturday I had pushed myself. It was a good day for running, just about 50 degrees--cool, not too hot, but not frigid, either. I’d gone longer than usual and when I wound my way through Morris Park, I was winded. 

I came down the hill on Williams Road, basically walking. I’d overdone it a wee bit.

“Hey, it’s Running Man! But he’s walking!” I looked over, and on Kelly Cullinane’s porch sat Kelly and Kara, chatting. Kelly was the one who had called.

“Yeah, hi girls. I over did it a wee bit today.”

“Sit,” Kara said, grinning, pointing to the steps next to her. “Rest a bit.”

“I guess I should,” I grinned, and sat next to her.

“Hold on,” Kelly said, and ran into her house. She came right back out with a glass of lemonade. 

“Kelly, you’re a doll,” I grinned, and happily accepted it.

“We’ve been talking, Kelly and I, about you,” Kara said.

“Oh, really,” I replied with a grin--something I never would’ve been capable of the first time around.

“Yes, really,” Kara grinned back. “You’ve changed. A lot. In like the last month.”

“I’m trying to,” I admitted. “I haven’t been happy.”

“Is it better?” Kelly asked.

“Some. Some things can’t be changed, though.”

“Yeah,” Kara said, somewhat sadly.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you. I’ve seen you talking to Beth Trovini, so obviously you know her,” Kelly asked. “Is she sick?”

Damn, I’d been feeling better for a minute there. “Yes, she’s sick.” Beth wasn’t keeping it a secret, she’d told me that. “Beth has leukemia.”

“Oh,” Kelly said. “Is she going to….”

“Most likely,” I replied. “The prognosis isn’t good at all.”

“Oh, damn. I was right that you know her?” Kelly asked.

I took a deep breath. “You girls have known me for a long time. You know the list of people I consider friends is very short. Beth’s at the top of it. I’ve known her since I was born. She’s like a sister.”

“Oh, damn, Eddie,” Kara said, lightly laying a hand on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

My mind was whirling. Kara was being so nice to me! And that’s when I had another revelation--she always had been. For all the years I’d known her, she was one of the nicest, sweetest girls in school, especially to me. She’d never treated me like the outcast that I usually was.

Until I made the mistake of falling for her, and acting like a complete brain-dead lovesick idiot around her. 

Only, now, I wasn’t. And she was back to being her sweet self. “Thanks,” I said, “to both of you. It means a lot.” I stood up, and forced a smile. “Back to running. Thanks for the lemonade, Kelly, it really hit the spot.”

“Anytime,” she grinned. I took off.
 
 DECEMBER 12th, 1977

I was adjusting, more and more, to my situation. I’d been back for over two months, and, except for the Beth dilemma, I found myself able to adjust to things better and better. 

However, one of the ‘events’ I had been waiting for happened last week.

Roger Herren, the guy from the ‘cunt’ discussion, was involved. It was in metal shop. He was sitting behind me. He thought it would be fun to take a strip of metal, heat it up with his lighter, and then grab my hand and slap the hot metal on my hand.

Giving me second-degree burns on my hand. This was just the way I was treated the first time around.

And it had happened again this time. Roger Herren’s an asshole in any timeline I guess. What had happened next, in both times, is that, juiced with adrenaline from the pain, I had gotten out of my seat and wailed on him. First fight I ever won in my life.

The last time around I’d talked about it too much. People would ask and I’d say, “Yeah, I kicked the shit out of him.” Of course, that got back to Roger and he got his revenge. Without that shot of adrenaline, I was no match for him--he was bigger than I was. I’d evened the scales some with the weightlifting, but he was still bigger than I was. I was hoping to avoid the revenge beating this time around.

And no, nothing happened to him--no suspensions, no nothing. The administration of Cabot East were a bunch of spineless assholes, in either timeline. 

This time, I didn’t talk. Anyone asked me about it, I just waved it off. But that didn’t seem to change things. Roger, I had heard, still wanted his revenge. He got his opportunity, just like last time, in gym--we were all waiting in a ‘side gym’, I forget what for. So, there were no teachers and an audience, just what Roger wanted.

Anyhow, I’d been warned this was the time and place. Now, I knew I still wasn’t much of a fighter. But all that running and weightlifting over the past two months had definitely made a change--I was stronger, and in better shape. I thought I could hold my own. Plus, one thing I’d learned, was that assholes like Roger smelled fear. As I said, first time around, I was a walking bundle of fear. This time I wasn’t.

I didn’t wait for him. I walked right over to him. “Hey, Roger, I hear you want another go-round.” He looked at me. “I hear you plan to beat the shit out of me today, for ‘revenge.’ You know, I think fucking second-degree burns on my hand would be enough for you, but if you want to go again, we can go again.”

He stood up--reluctantly, it seemed to me. “I have to keep my rep,” he said.

“As what? The school asshole?” I snorted.

“Better than being the school wimp,” he spat at me.

I glared at him. “If you think I’m still the school wimp, then this might be a very interesting exercise.” I glared right into his eyes. No fucking fear, not this time. I could take him, I convinced myself.

Well, as it turned out--not quite. But I held my own. It was, more or less, a draw. He got  a few good licks in, but I did too, until a couple of the gym teachers came in and broke it up. 

Of course, I got sent to the unit director--in my case, Mr. Legerre, a complete asshole who blamed me for getting beat up. He started in on me for this one, and I said, “So, tell me--why don’t students that give other students second-degree burns get suspended? Maybe if you’d clamp down on some of this shit, I wouldn’t have to keep constantly defending myself.” Legerre sputtered and fumed--but, hell, I hadn’t been scared of that slimeball the first time around.

DECEMBER 17th, 1977

It was a Saturday, and I was spending it with Cyndi. We were at her house. Her mother was home, but we were allowed to be in her bedroom. Her mother trusted us. Of course, her mother wasn’t more than 20 feet away either, even if she was in another room! Cyndi’s mom also liked me, a lot.

We’d been getting along just fine. I hadn’t really pushed the kissing issue. I had, however, made jokes about it. I had another one planned. It was a week before Christmas, right? So, I had a good one planned.

We were sitting side-by-side on her bed--really, the only place to sit in that room were her and Dina’s beds--just chatting. During a lull in the conversation, I reached into my pocket. 

“Look what I’ve got!” I said, dangling it over my head. “Mistletoe! You know what you’re supposed to do under the mistletoe, right?” I grinned at her.

She cracked up laughing. “You are such a brat,” she said. 

“Ah, come on, you’re no fun,” I said, still grinning, as I dangled the mistletoe over her head. 

“No,” she said, though she was still laughing.

“How about a compromise?” I said. She looked at me. “Your cheek. Let me kiss your cheek.”

“Well, I suppose that would be OK,” she said, and turned her head, giving me access to her cheek.

OK, so I’m a devious blankety-blank. I kissed her cheek, very softly, very slowly. But I didn’t stop there. “Hmmm. Would this be considered close enough to a cheek?” I asked--and then, very lightly, kissed her neck. She hissed out a breath, but didn’t say anything. “And this is part of the cheek, isn’t it?” I said, and then gave one little soft nibble on her earlobe. That was accompanied by a loud gasp on her part. After that, I backed away.

We chatted for a while after that, but she was distracted. The look in her eyes was unfathomable. However, the chat was interesting--I did remember this from the first time. It was the ‘fag’ thing.

That was the rumor in eighth grade--that I was gay. I got called ‘fag’ more often than I care to remember. I’d gotten picked on less this time than the first time--but it hadn’t disappeared completely, and the ‘Ed’s gay’ thing was still around. Now, yeah, I know the Seinfeld line: “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” And in theory, I agree. In practice? Well, I don’t care what anybody says, being thought of as gay? In eighth grade? In 1977? It sucked. I do have empathy for people who really are gay who had to go through this crap. But it was not a whole lot of fucking fun. It got me beat up, and it got me taunted. Tolerance is a wonderful thing--but when the rest of the world doesn’t have any, it’s hard to find. And, I’m sorry, but the fact that I wasn’t gay didn’t help. Being called ‘gay’ shouldn’t be a slander, something to be ashamed of, I know that--but tell that to my eighth grade classmates.

One of the more painful incidents was the one I was reliving--Cyndi, my freakin’ girlfriend, asking me, “Ed--are you gay?”

I replied pretty much as I had the last time. “Oh, yes, Cyndi, that must be it. Sure. Last time I checked, you were a girl--and I’m doing my damndest to get you to let me kiss you. Yup, I must be gay.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I hear it so often….”

I’ll admit, I was more upset about it than I was the first time. “You believe everything you hear? Cyndi, I’m a fucking punching bag. This is just one more weapon for those assholes to get me. And my girlfriend is asking me if it’s true!”

“I really am sorry,” she said in a small voice.

“OK, you’re forgiven.”

I wonder if that’s what prompted what happened next. It might have been part of it, but I think the neck-and-earlobe nibbling was most of it. Anyway, when it was time to go, she walked me out her front door. She lived on the second floor, and there was a landing there. We walked out onto the landing, and, before I could head down the stairs, she said, “Where’s that mistletoe?”

“Right here,” I dug it out of my pocket and, grinning, placed it over my head. 

She grabbed my shoulders, leaned in, and kissed me. On the lips, I mean. My very first kiss--well, in this body, anyhow. It was closed-mouth--but it wasn’t quick. It, frankly, had me reeling--and I could see in her eyes that she was too. She pulled away, her eyes hooded, and whispered, “Merry Christmas.” Then she disappeared through the door.

Hot damn!

JANUARY 13th, 1978

It’s funny. A week that ended with the dreaded Friday the Thirteenth ended up being the week that changed my life. Even I didn’t know the extent of it until later, but this week set it all up.

The other funny thing is that it didn’t start out that way. On that Monday, Cyndi dumped me. This was right around the time I had dumped her the first time around. I didn’t really  have any intentions of dumping her this time--but she did it for me.

We’d kissed a few times since that first one. And, frankly, I really was happy with that, for the time being. I figured we had plenty of time for anything else--and, having gotten past the kissing barrier was satisfying to me. Unfortunately, it spooked Cyndi. We were “moving too fast” so she wanted to “cool things down.” 

I was disappointed, but not devastated.

Especially since, on Tuesday, things really started looking up.

It started right in the morning. I got up and Dad was there. “Hey, Ed, you’ll never believe what happened.”

“What, Dad?”

He told me--the Eye. It happened exactly as it had happened the first time, except--when he went out to get his wire cutters, he remembered my ‘dream’ and grabbed his goggles.

“I couldn’t believe it,” he told me, “that wire came right up into my face. If I hadn’t had the goggles on, it would’ve gone right through my eye.”

“Wow,” I said, in mock-surprise. “Maybe my dreams are clairvoyant,” I kidded.

“Good. If you have any dreams about the Super Bowl, let me know,” he laughed.

“Dallas and Denver,” I said, having had watched the championship games. I combed my memory. “Bet on the Cowboys.”

“OK,” he laughed.

I got to school, and heard some scuttlebutt--evidently, I wasn’t the only person who got dumped. Kara had broken up with Don Nixon. Well, hmmmm--wasn’t that interesting!

I got through the morning, then went to English. English was the class right after lunch.

I hadn’t really thought about it, but that English class was stocked with talent. Cabot East JHS didn’t track--except in math, I was taking algebra because I had passed a test to do so--but somehow, our English class had the kids ranked one through four in the eighth grade class. My erstwhile first girlfriend Christine Seneca was first. Kara was fourth. I was second. Third was a girl named Michelle Pepper.

Michelle was probably the ‘catch’ of the eighth grade class. Not only was she brilliant, she was gorgeous, including being one of those girls that ‘sprouted’ early--you know what I mean. She might be in 8th grade, but she had 12th grade tits, no doubt about it. However, because of all this, Michelle was sort of aloof. Plus, with those tits and those brains, not to mention her stunning face, she intimidated guys like you wouldn’t believe. The first time around, she certainly had intimidated me, I’ll tell you that. And I wasn’t even interested in her that way--not when she sat behind Kara! 

My Beatles-loving pal Stan Murvetsin--an outgoing, chummy sort who didn’t like to let anyone get away with aloofness--teased her mercilessly. Of course he did--look at what her last name was! He’d nicknamed her “Sarge” almost immediately. Michelle Pepper, Sergeant Pepper, Sarge--get it? Michelle was alternately bemused and annoyed by Stan’s teasing. She mostly took it with good grace. I think, deep down, she appreciated that a boy was teasing and joking with her, instead of stammering and looking at her tits.

On this day, some of us had gotten into class. Class itself hadn’t really started yet, but some of us were there early from lunch. Mrs. Sinclair was also there.

Stan started in on “Sarge”. She, laughing, told him to knock it off. That’s when I butted in.

“You’d better watch out, Michelle. He’s been sticking to your last name. He hasn’t glommed on to your first name, yet. Lucky you, named after two Beatles songs.”

“I was waiting to deal with  the first name,” Stan said, “until I had the opportunity to serenade her with it.”

“Oh, please, do not sing!” I told him. Stan and I had been friends on the first go-round, but were even better friends this time, and I could tease him. “I’ve heard you sing. It sounds like cats being strangled.” Michelle--and Kara, who was there--giggled at this.

“Not true!” Stan protested.

“You’ll scare away all the girls if you start singing.” 

This is when Mrs. Sinclair, the bitch, decided to butt in. I swear, that woman just hated me. “Mr. Bovilas, you shouldn’t say nasty things about your classmates.”

“Ah, Stan’s my friend, he knows I’m just giving him a hard time.” Stan wasn’t upset, this was banter. “And he knows he can’t sing.”

“I suppose you can do better?” Mrs. Sinclair spat.

“Yup. I can sing.”

“Put your money where your mouth is,” Mrs. Sinclair said nastily. “Get up in front of class, favor us all with a tune.”

“Need my guitar,” I said. 

“Then bring it in tomorrow, Mr. Bovilas. I’m sure we’d all like to see how good you are, considering how you disparage other people.”

“Fine, you’re on,” I said, “as long as I can come up here before first period and drop my guitar off with you--I don’t want to lug it around.”

“Fine,” she said, clearly expecting me not to show up on Wednesday with my guitar.

After class, Kara caught up to me. “Are you really going to do it?”

“You bet your ass,” I told her.

Stan was with me. “He can sing, I’ve heard him. I’ve never heard him play, though.”

“I can play,” I told both of them. “I’m no Eric Clapton, but I hold my own. And I want to shove it down Sinclair’s throat.”

“I know, what is her problem?” Stan asked. “You weren’t bothering me.” He grinned at Kara. “It’s true, I can’t sing.”

“Her problem is that she hates boys. She especially hates smart boys. I’m both. She hates my guts.”

“She picked on you whole class after that,” Kara said.

“Yeah, I know. And on my birthday.”

“Really? Happy birthday!” Kara said. That’s right, it was my 13th birthday. Time to give myself a slightly late birthday present.

Wednesday morning, I walked into Mrs. Sinclair’s room with my guitar. “See you after lunch,” I said with a smile.

I had pumped myself up about this. I could play. And, though my voice didn’t quite have the resonance at 13 that it would gain in adulthood, I could sing. I just had to remember to be uninhibited and go for it. 

So, we got to English and she called me up, still expecting for me to fall on my face. I got my guitar out and made sure it was in tune. I was going to have fun with this. I’d never done anything like this the first time around--too scary, of course. This time, I wasn’t scared.

“OK,” I said, “since this whole thing started because Mrs. Sinclair was eavesdropping onto a conversation between Stan, Michelle, and myself, I guess I’ve got to start off with this one.” So I played--of course--“Michelle”. Sailed right through it. It was one of my favorite songs to play throughout life, so I knew it cold. And I sang it right to Michelle--with a smile on my face, of course, letting her know I was just playing around. I leaned right at her desk for the “I love you, I love you, I loooooove you,” part, and she gave me a huge smile. I didn’t miss a note, singing or playing. When I was done, I got raucous applause--and it felt damn good

They called for another, Mrs. Sinclair--stunned out of her tiny mind--acquiesced. “OK, since I’m playing acoustic--James Taylor’s not too wimpy is it?” Everyone laughed. “I love playing this song,” and I went into “Shower The People.” It went over well.

They called for one more. Mrs. Sinclair--who, by now, looked like she wanted to cry--said, “OK, but this is the last one.” 

“All right, I’m going to try to rock out on an acoustic.” Hell, I’d done it plenty times before. I even saw Melissa Ethredge do it--of course, that wouldn’t happen for 23 years. Bruce himself would do it 10 years hence, though he’d rearrange it. So I knew I could pull it off. Yes, you can play “Born to Run” on an acoustic guitar. Well, as long as you can sing it. I wasn’t as good at 13 as I would be at 33, but I could sing it.

I’d always regretted not doing this--playing and singing in front of these people, many of whom had written me off as worthless. Well, part of it was I didn’t realize how good I was until much later. I was pretty good at 13, especially with singing--hell, I won on a local TV talent show when I was six. My pubescent voice change--and my voice didn’t really change all that much--didn’t kill the talent. But I was inhibited and scared to really ‘go for it’ when I was 13. I didn’t have any confidence in my talent. That’s what I could draw on, because of the recycling--I knew I was good. I just had to let go, lose my inhibitions, go for it--and since I was singing Bruce, I had to belt.

I belted. Jaws were hitting desks before I got halfway through the first verse. I just let it all out. And then I got gutsy.

While vamping the riff between the first verse and the second, I said, “Hey I don’t know anyone named Wendy . Should I change the name? What do you think? I should sing it to someone, change the name, huh?” A few people yelled, “Yeah, change the name!” 

I looked right at her. She didn’t even see it coming. I sang it right to her. “Kara, let me in, I wanna be your friend, I wanna guard your dreams and visions…” I don’t ever remember, in either life, seeing Kara Pocharsky blush. It was beautiful! And it deepened when I got to the line at the end of the middle part: “I wanna die with you, Kara, on the streets tonight, in an everlasting kiss!”

When I got done, three things happened. First, the class just erupted. Second, Kara blushed the color of cranberry juice--and grinned at me. And third, Mrs. Sinclair looked like she had eaten 43 lemons. Of course, I had to rub that one in--after putting my guitar back in its case, I grinned at her and said, “Satisfied?” She didn’t look satisfied at all. Which made me very satisfied!

Walking out of class, Kara--still grinning and blushing--came up to me and said, quoting the song, “Strap your hands cross my engines?” 

“Hey, I didn’t write the lyrics!” I protested.

“No, you just sang them to me. With my name in them!” And then she walked away. Funny, she looked remarkably not upset about the whole thing!

So, that was Wednesday. What a great day. Thursday, I was eating with Stan and his gang. I was surprised to see Beth plop down next to me.

I hadn’t seen a lot of Beth. It wasn’t like I was avoiding her. Well, maybe it was, a little. It was still hard for me to deal with. I was still kind of feeling my way through things in my mind. But, on this day, she came and sat down with us for lunch.

“Hey,” she said, “you don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course not,” I said. Stan and the gang nodded approval. “You guys all know Beth?” I made some quick introductions.

“I had to come talk to you,” she said, grinning. “I heard about your little show in English yesterday. Good for you! I wish I had been there to see it.”

“It was something,” Stan confirmed. “You should’ve seen it. When he ever changed the name in Born to Run from Wendy to Kara, I thought poor Kara was going to swallow her tongue.”

Beth’s eyes opened wide as she stared at me. “Kara Pocharsky?” I nodded. Beth had known about my Kara fixation since it had started. “You sang to Kara Pocharsky?” I nodded again, grinning. “WAY TO GO!” she enthused. Then she turned to the gang. “I’ve known this guy since he was born. The only girl he’s not scared to death of is me, and that’s because I’m like his sister.” She turned back to me. “I still can’t believe you sang to Kara Pocharsky.”

“Believe it,” I said. “It’s a whole new leaf.”

“Now that is good news,” Beth grinned. Beth’s appearance at lunch made me feel a lot better. She was being Beffy, my best friend--it was good to see. I had to enjoy this for as long as I could. We laughed and joked through the rest of lunch, Stan throwing in his two cents. Beth made a joke about me never singing to her. I told her that the only “Beth” I knew was the Kiss one, and I hated that song. 

“So write me one, Mister Musician,” she grinned. 

So, can a week like that get any better? Yeah, as it turns out. Friday, in the long run, turned out to be the best day of the week.

I was walking from one class to another, and I was in an area of the school that didn’t get much traffic. It was the end of a hallway, with stairs leading down to the bottom floor. There were only a few classrooms down on that bottom floor. It only covered one wing of the school, since the school was on a hill, and there was another staircase to get there that was used more. Because of where I was, these were the stairs I took, but there weren’t usually too many people around.

One of the people I sometimes saw was Kelly Cullinane. Usually from behind, as she usually beat me to the staircase. She did on this day as well, but she wasn’t going down the stairs. She was still on the top, at the end of the hall--with three of the nastier bullies of the school. Yeah, these three were pieces of work.

They were taunting her--about her back brace. Calling her Quasimodo, asking how long it took for her boyfriend to get the brace off before he could fuck her--she didn’t even have a boyfriend at the time--making all kinds of hunchback motions. “Here comes the cripple!” Real pleasant stuff. Poor Kelly looked like she was about to cry.

Did this happen the first time around? I searched my memories. Yes, it did--but I had shoved the memory aside. Why? Because, the first time around, I just kept walking. And it shamed me--Kelly Cullinane was one of the rare few that had never been anything but nice to me. She was, and still is, one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. If anyone didn’t deserve this kind of treatment, it was Kelly. But I had just kept walking, because--do I even have to say it?--I was scared.

Not this time.

I walked past Kelly, right up to the ringleader, and said, “Hey! Shut the fuck up!” Luckily, I managed to modulate my voice so I didn’t give off that pubescent squeak. I hated that fucking squeak. This would be a bad time for it.

“What are you going to do about it?” the asshole sneered. He was leaning up against a railing. Over the railing was a drop to the bottom of the steps at the ground floor.

So, of course, I said, “I’ll throw you over the fucking railing, you asshole!” He gaped at me--and his two buddies in crime were slowly moving away to extricate themselves from the situation. “You have nothing better to do than pick on the nicest girl in school just because she’s got a bad back?”

“Look at this!” he laughed. “The school wimp threatening me!”

“Come on, asshole. I’m the school wimp? Take your best shot.” Jesus, was I pissed. At him--and at myself, for not doing this thirty years before. He didn’t know what he was dealing with. “Come on, do it! I’m surprised you didn’t hit Kelly, just to show what a big he-man you are. You can hit me, and we’ll see what you’re made of.”

He slinked away. “Bovilas, you’re not worth it!” The motherfucker backed down! Typical bully--a coward at heart. They picked on the weak. That might have been me the first go-round. It wasn’t me now.

I have NEVER--not in either life--felt as good about myself as I did at that moment. That one moment made the whole recycling worth it. It was the most amazing thing. I felt like I had wiped out so much pain and self-loathing, with just that one act. Standing up for myself, with Roger, was one thing. Standing up for someone else--someone I liked and considered a friend? That was something else entirely. It felt so damn good.

When I turned around, Kelly was looking at me like I was an alien that had just stepped out of a spaceship. Hell, I couldn’t blame her. She’d known Ed Bovilas since first grade. She’d never seen that Ed Bovilas.

“C’mon, Kel, let’s get you to class,” I said. I grabbed her by the arm, and steered her towards the stairs. We walked down the stairs, her looking at me the whole while like I had four heads. We got to the bottom, and headed for the row of classrooms. Hers was right across the hall from mine.

“You OK?” I asked her as we got there.

“Yes. I’m fine.” Then she smiled at me--and kissed my cheek! “Thank you,” she said--and disappeared into her classroom. I pretty much floated into mine.

I’d learned my lesson about talking. I didn’t say a word about what had happened, to anyone. Well, I told my parents, who were proud of me. But I didn’t say a word to anyone in school. The bully didn’t need to be humiliated, that’d just make him carry a grudge.

As it turns out, I didn’t need to tell anyone. Kelly did. Not too many people, but the important ones. Her twin brother Patrick came up to me the next Monday. Patrick and I had an uneasy relationship. We’d been friends throughout grammar school, until fifth grade, when we got into a fight. We’d been more-or-less friendly after that, but there was a certain distance. It was one of those unfathomable things--why did people eventually turn on me? It had happened repeatedly in my first go-round. I didn’t get it. 

This time, however, Patrick came up to me in school. “Hey,” he said. “Thanks for what you did for my sister on Friday. That took a lot of guts.”

That was nice. What was nicer, however, was something that I wouldn’t find out right away. But I’d learn, later, that there was one other person Kelly had told: Kara.

JANUARY 24th, 1978

The events of that week had given me a major, major boost. I felt like I was in control. Well, not completely--there was still Beth--but, more than I had the first time.

And, on this date, I made a decision.

We had gotten The Letter that I had gotten the last time--the one telling me that I was a finalist for a scholarship to go to the Prep. The first time, I had been thrilled. I went through the interview process and then got the scholarship--a full ride. My parents were pleased as punch.

And, here I was, in this go-round, telling them I didn’t want to go to the Prep.

I had thought a lot about it. Unfortunately, I couldn’t really explain some of it to Mom and Dad without revealing the truth. 

Look, I’d enjoyed my time at the Prep. In hindsight, though, I wasn’t sure if it really did me any good. I went there for two reasons--because I was bored--academically, I mean--and because I was getting beaten up. The second wasn’t as bad this time around, because of the changes I had made. And the first?

Well, I wasn’t bored at the Prep--but I still never learned how to study. I didn’t get straight A’s without cracking a book, like I did in grades one through eight--but I graduated the Prep with a 3.3 without cracking a book. I never did learn how to study, which killed me in college. The Prep wasn’t going to teach me how to study, I knew that. If I was going to get some study skills, it was all down to me, no matter where I went to high school. And Cabot High wasn’t bad--there were honors and AP classes I’d be able to take there. I’d have to endure one more year at Cabot East JHS, but then I’d go to Cabot High for tenth grade. So, hindsight told me that the academic benefits of the Prep weren’t really going to do much for me in the long run.

That’s what I couldn’t tell my parents, since that was all experience talking. What I could tell them was the other reason; which was partly from experience but I could pass it off as intuition.

I was smart enough to handle the academics anywhere as long as I learned how to study. However, going to the Prep would stunt me socially--it did, the first time around. I didn’t really realize it until later in life, but it did. College was a nightmare socially. I never ‘grew up’ and learned to deal with the ‘real world’, because the Prep was filled with guys like me: insecure social-misfit nerds with brains too big for their own good. I got along fine there, but it was too insular.

Since the Prep was all-male, it really stunted me in dealing with girls and women. That really caused a problem in college. I was so hopeless at reading ‘signals’ from women that I let slip through my fingers many opportunities in college. I didn’t realize any of this until much later in life, when I got better at certain things. 

I managed to explain this to my parents without telling them I’d been down this road before. They weren’t happy, but they did accept the ‘socially stunted’ argument. And Dad was sympathetic to the ‘no girls’ argument, at least! As I said, they weren’t thrilled, but they also weren’t the type of parents to force me into a decision like this one. I’d skip the Prep this time around.

So, I’d made another monumental change from the pattern. It’d take time to see how this one worked out.

 JANUARY 30th,  1978

This was the day I decided to bite the bullet.

I’d been thinking about doing it anyway, but a conversation with Kelly the previous Friday really convinced me to go for it.

One thing that had happened after my ‘defense’ of Kelly is that she had started waiting for me at the top of that staircase every day. We’d walk down together, chatting.

On that day, Friday the 27th, she said something interesting. “You know Kara broke up with Don Nixon, right?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“So, what are you going to do about it?” she grinned. I just looked at her. “Come on, Eddie, don’t try and fool me. You like Kara, still.”

I looked at her. Shit, Kelly was Kara’s best friend! “Wait a minute, Kel--are you telling me that I won’t get shot down?”

“I don’t know,” Kelly said seriously. “I know the way she feels about you has changed. You annoyed her for a long time. You don’t, anymore. Some of the things you’ve done lately--well, she’s impressed.”

“That’s good, and I’m glad I don’t annoy her,” I laughed, “but you don’t know if she’ll go out with me.”

“No,” she said, and sighed. “I hope you get her to say yes, though.” I just looked at her. “Eddie, listen. Don Nixon? Turned out to be a big fat jerk.”

“Really?” I said, surprised--I hadn’t known this from the first time.

“Really,” Kelly confirmed. “Kara was so in love with him, for all of last year. Then, this year, he asks her out. She’s happy, right? Well, it didn’t work out good. Don’s got no respect for girls.”

“Oh,” I said, quietly fuming.

“Kara’s been sad about it for a while. She needs a nice guy.” Kelly grinned at me. “That, pal, would be you.”

I let that one ring in my head for the weekend. Monday I got on the bus, having decided to give it a shot. Luckily, the bus was early, so there was time to kill before the bell rang. I went over to Kara--who was with Kelly, who gave me a grin and a wink--and asked if I could talk to her. We walked over into a corner.

Be cool. Don’t stutter. Forget you’re 13 and this is the girl you’ve been besotted with for 2 years. That’s what I told myself. I think I almost pulled it off. Asking her in person was an improvement. I’d done it over the phone the first time, but I had to be cool.

“Kara, I was wondering,” I said easily, “would you like to go out with me on Saturday? I thought we could hit a movie.”

Kara looked conflicted. It looked like I was going to get shot down again. “Well, Eddie, uhm…” she stammered.

“Wait,” I said. Dammit, this was my last shot. “Before you answer me, let me say something.” She looked at me expectantly. “I just want the chance to spend some time with you, get to know you better. One date, that’s all I ask, especially since you don’t know me at all.”

She laughed. “I’ve known you since kindergarten!”

“You know me here, in school. I’m not at my best here. I’m not at my best in crowds. I’m just asking for one date where we spend it one-on-one. We’ve never done that--except for the few times you and Kelly have caught me out running. That’s as close as we’ve gotten, and we’ve gotten along fine those times.” She still looked skeptical, but less so, so I pressed on. “Kara, I’m not a jerk. I’m not going to hurt you. If you go out with me, all you’ve got to lose is a few hours. And, heck, the movie might be good anyway.”

She giggled at that, took a breath, and said, “Okay.”

I did not do a jig right there in front of her. I resisted. 

“We’ll have to go in the afternoon, though,” she said. “My parents are strict about movie dates at night. Parties and dances are fine, but movies have to be in the afternoon.”

“That’s fine,” I said. 

“And, that way, we can walk, instead of waiting for a ride,” she said, and then she thought, “Oh, wait a minute--it’s a lot farther for you, isn’t it?” She lived about halfway between my house and the shopping center--which is where the movie theater was.

“Yeah, but that’s fine. Running man, right?” She giggled at that. “I just won’t run Saturday, I’ll walk with you to the movies instead. Noon sound good?”

“Great. See you then,” she said and walked into the building.

I wanted to SCREAM! I didn’t. But I think I had a stupid shit-eating grin on my face for most of the morning.

Three class periods later, Kelly was waiting for me as I approached the staircase. She had a big grin on her own face. “Saw Kara this morning,” she said.

“Really?”

“Yup. Congratulations. Don’t screw it up!”

“Don’t plan to,” I smiled at her.

FEBRUARY 4th, 1978

It really didn’t matter if I were 13 or 43. Walking to Kara’s house for our date, I was damn nervous. Luckily, I had plenty of money. I didn’t always--a paper route didn’t pay much, and I was trying to build up my record collection. However, Dad had taken my advice about the Super Bowl and had put down some money on the Cowboys. He split the winnings with me. 

I got there and her mom invited me in. I’d met Mrs. Pocharsky a number of times. She was a nice lady.

“Come on in, Eddie,” she said, “Kara will be down in a minute. So, tell me,” she grinned at me. “How, exactly, did you pull this off?”

“I have no idea,” I smiled.

“She’s actually looking forward to going out with you. I was stunned! I’ve known about your crush on her the whole time--she used to complain about it! And now she’s going out with you?”

“Well,” I told her, “I’ve made some changes. I guess Kara noticed.”

“I’d say so!” Just then, Kara came downstairs, so I was saved from further episodes of the Spanish Inquisition. She came down all ready to go--including outerwear. It was February, and though it wasn’t a frigid day, it was rather cold. Kara was wearing a white down jacket, with a pink scarf around her neck and white fur earmuffs. She was so damn adorable!

I wanted to gush but kept it mild. “You wearing earmuffs is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” I said. She beamed at me. We headed out.

“So, what are we going to see?” she asked as we walked down the street.

“I figured we could see The Goodbye Girl. It’s supposed to be good.” In fact, it was one of my favorite movies. That was one of the problems with being recycled--nothing was new. This one I wouldn’t mind seeing again, though--I’d seen it a number of times. “It’s a romantic comedy.”

“A romance?” she giggled. “A guy picked a romance? I figured I’d have to sit through a boy movie!”

“I like romantic comedies,” I told her, which was the truth.

“One surprise after another,” she laughed. “Eddie, you have changed so much, I’m amazed.”

“Not that much,” I told her. “Just, hopefully, the bad parts.” She giggled at that. “Is that why you actually decided to say yes?”

“Yeah,” she admitted. “Plus, well, look--I always liked you, but I also felt sorry for you. And I couldn’t go out with someone that I felt sorry for. Plus, you were annoying once you decided you liked me.”

“I know,” I laughed.

“You do?”

“Of course.”

“You really have changed,” she said in a low voice. “Anyhow, you stopped being annoying a couple months ago. I still felt sorry for you, though. Then you sang in English class. I think that’s when I stopped feeling sorry for you.

“Then you stuck up for Kelly. When she told me that, I didn’t believe her at first, you know. That impressed me so much.”

“Kelly’s a good person. She doesn’t deserve that kind of crap,” I said. “It’s not her fault she has scoliosis.”

“That’s what I mean,” she said, but didn’t explain. Then she changed the subject. “So, what happened with Cyndi Gagnon?” I told her the whole story. She cracked up laughing. “No kissing until sixteen? Jeez. Now that’s a prude. I mean, I kissed Mark Adamopoulos in sixth grade.”

“I did not need to know that,” I said, but was laughing when I said it.

“Sorry,” she said, shrugging, with a grin. Then her voice dropped. “I did more than kiss with Don. Which was a big fat mistake.”

“What happened with him? You were as gaga over him as I was over you.”

She laughed, then sobered. “Don, well, he wasn’t what I thought. First of all, he’s all hands, know what I mean?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m no prude, but there’s limits. I mean, I’m only 13. He didn’t care about them. Cyndi thought you were going too fast? I should throw Don at her. She doesn’t know what ‘too fast’ means. And, second of all, Don basically expected me to be a, I don’t know, a slave or something.”

“YOU?” I blurted out.

She beamed at me. “I know. But, like you said, I was gaga. I probably let it go on longer than I should have. People do stupid things when they think they’re in love.”

“No, really?” I said, completely deadpan. “I never would have known that.”

She cracked up laughing, then she sobered. “Anyhow, he expected to make all the decisions. We did what he wanted. Period. I had no say. And it got worse. Don, basically, has no respect for girls.”

“So, what you’re telling me is that he took complete advantage of the fact that you were crazy about him.”

She looked at me. “That’s it! That’s exactly right--that’s just what he did. I never thought of it quite like that before, but that’s it.”

“He didn’t have to work at it,” I added.

“Right.”

I looked at her. “Well, you’re better off then. Because I have to work at it.”

She cracked up laughing. “That’s right, you do, don’t you?”

“Yup.”

“You’re going to have to woo me.”

“Something like that.”

She was still giggling. “Oh, this could be fun, couldn’t it?”

I shook my head at her. “You are enjoying this way too much.”

She laughed once more, then just looked at me. “I was always flattered. I just couldn’t see it. Until lately. Actually, I thought you might have changed your mind. You’ve been so different around me. You talk to me like a normal person. And singing to me--that shocked me.”

“Like I said, I decided to make some changes. I figured out--finally--that acting like a stupid lovesick stammering fool around you wasn’t going to get me anywhere.”

Kara was always wise and perceptive for her age, and she proved it then. “How much of this has to do with Beth?” she asked softly.

 “Some of it.” That was the truth, though, in the ‘old’ life, it had happened much later than this. I went on. “It’s two things, really. The first is--life is too damn short.”

“Yeah,” she agreed sadly.

“The second is this--my problem has always been fear. I’m scared of my own shadow. And my best friend is dying. What the heck do I have to be scared about? That I might get beat up? That you might say no? Beth’s illness made me think about a lot of that. 

“So, it was both things. The whole life’s too short thing. Plus, things change, sometimes in a hurry. You’re going to Andrews in September. I assume you’re going to board there.”

“Most likely,” she said.

“So, that’s eight months from now. If things went on the way they were, you’d go to Andrews and I’d never see you again.” Which is exactly what happened in the old life. “So, as Elvis once sang, It’s Now Or Never.” She giggled at that. “And I realized that I had nothing to be scared about. I like you--I should be able to talk to you, shouldn’t I? And if you said no, you said no. I’d be back to square one.”

“I’m impressed,” she said. “And I’m glad. Like I said, I always liked you--the guy behind the stammering nerd, I mean,” she giggled. I laughed back. “So, what would you have done if I had said no.”

“Move on to the next target,” I said with an evil grin.

“Which would’ve been…?” she asked.

“I’m not tellin’.”

“Come on,” she said, grabbing my arm and tugging. “Fess up. I know I’m first choice, so it won’t bother me.”

“You know you’re first choice, huh? Damn, this is going straight to your head,” I teased.

She looked at me. “Jeez, Eddie, I though for sure I’d get the stammering fool with that comment.”

“I told you, he’s been banished. And you are first choice, I’ve never made a secret of it, so who cares?”

She looked at me, and then smiled. “OK, fine, but you still haven’t told me who second choice would’ve been if I’d shot you down.”

“Fine, fine. Kelly. You satisfied?”

“Well, I’m going to just have to make you stick around then,” she grinned. Damn did that sound good! “Because, I can tell you, Kelly would say yes in a heartbeat.”

“She would, would she? Hmmm,” I jokingly mused.

“Nope, none of that!” she burst out. “No options for you! I’ve been promised a good wooing and I’d better get it!”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. That cracked her up again.

By that time, we’d gotten to the movie theater. I bought the tickets--and drinks and popcorn, of course--and we settled in. 

As I said, I’d seen The Goodbye Girl plenty of times, and had always liked it. It was strange, though, it was kind of like seeing it for the first time. There were days when this whole recycling thing made me feel schizophrenic. Part of me had seen it twenty times, but the other part of me had never seen it.

Of course, part of that was Kara. She had never seen it, and was plainly enjoying it. We finished the popcorn, and I tucked the container under my seat. The next thing I knew, her hand was resting lightly on mine.

How good could this be going? Jesus, what a turnaround!

The movie ended, and she told me how much she had enjoyed it. We got out of our seats, and got back into our winter outerclothing in the lobby. Then we headed out. As we started walking, she reached over and took my hand. It wasn’t exactly intimate, considering we were both wearing gloves, but it was still thrilling, especially as she had done it. I didn’t plan to lay a hand on her--I didn’t want to scare her off. She must’ve realized that, and took the initiative.

We walked, easily chatting, about the movie and other things. She loved the movie, and was glad I had suggested it. 

“It’s getting colder,” she said at one point.

“Well, then, strap your hands cross my engines,” I joked. She looked at me and burst out laughing. Then she calmed down, but was still smiling.

“I can’t get over you,” she said. “You’re so relaxed! Even after you asked me out, I thought you’d be all nervous going out with me.”

“I’m hiding it well,” I told her, which was the truth. She grinned at me. “Look, this was all I expected, OK? I got a date with you. That was the height of my wish list, so to speak. I was determined that we both have a good time. If this was it, then this was it. If I thought about a second date, or anything else, I’d drive myself crazy.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” she said, softly but firmly. Damn, did that mean what it sounded like? Before I had a chance to say anything, she changed the subject. “Ed? I have to tell you something. I told Kelly I was going out with you, but, well, nobody else. OK?”

“Oh,” I said. “I see. Some people are going to think you’re out of your mind, is that it?”

“More or less,” she said, laughing gently. “Well, you know, it’s difficult. And you’re right, I don’t really know you. Well, I know you better, now. But, well, other people--they really don’t know you.” She sighed. “I know if we start dating, we’ll have to tell people eventually--not to wouldn’t be fair.”

I couldn’t let that one go by! “If we start dating?” I asked.

“Well,” she grinned, “you have to ask me on another date first.”

“Will you go out with me next weekend?”

“Absolutely,” she said, still giggling. “Look, Ed--I always thought you were nice, and sweet, and smart. It was just the whole annoying nerd thing that put me off. Without that, you’re a great guy.”

“Well, I know my limitations,” I told her. “No need to add to them, which is why I made the annoying nerd go away.”

“Limitations?” she asked.

“I’ll never be a heartthrob,” I laughed.

“Oh, you’re cute,” she said, smiling. “Cute enough. And, let me tell you something--Kelly and I have talked about this. Your weightlifting has paid off,” she said, and grabbed my bicep! “Kelly and I were giggling about that the other day. Ed Bovilas has muscles!” 

“Amazing, isn’t it?” I laughed.

“Ed? Whatever you’re doing, it’s working, OK? I had a great time today.”

“I did, too,” I told her.

We had gotten to the top of her street. Around the corner, and her house was the second one. She stopped there, before we went around the corner. “Ed? My house is right there, and my mother will probably be looking out the window, so, if you want, I mean….uh, well….before we go around the corner…I mean…I’m not Cyndi Gagnon, OK?”

As shocked as I was at that stammering request, I wasn’t stupid. I knew exactly what she was offering. I gladly took it. I put my arms around her waist, leaned down, and kissed her. 

Can you say, “beyond my wildest expectations”? I was just stunned. I hid it well and  kissed the living daylights out of her, even though this wasn’t a tongue kiss--I wasn’t going to push that. When we finally separated, she was looking up at me with a whole new expression in her eyes. With a little sigh, she took my hand, and we walked around the corner to her house.

“Eddie? I really did have a very good time.”

“The best,” I agreed. She smiled at that.

“You have my phone number?” I nodded. “Call me tomorrow.”

“OK,” I happily agreed. Then she went in.

It was about a half-mile walk from her house to mine. My feet did not touch the ground!