 Other teenagers were in this set-up. We watched one other, perhaps searching for clues of relatability or normalcy, as fellow members assigned to this “Island of Misfit Toys” type community. This post attempts to pay homage to four who stick in my social memory. I am not a visual artist. I doodle for communication. Here is my doodle of peers. Chapter 1: The Eloping Soldier -- Eloping Soldier sat upright in the circle of identical chairs, at attention in his scratchy wool uniform. Tan skin, black eyes, dark brown buzz cut. Thin preview of a future man. Eloping Soldier was brave, answering questions first in our required (awkward) meetings. He talked of running away, for reasons, then being chased back again and again. A weary, practiced, tough exterior hiding a kind boy inside. Maybe 17 years old. I remember getting a call from Soldier (how he got my number I have NO idea) a few months after getting out. I picked up the receiver of the beige phone, wrapping the curly rubbery chord around my fingers while he spoke of like and love and elopement, asking to marry me, start a new life together. My eyes were wide with surprise, for a moment imagining this fantasy escape. 99.99% of me knew it had to be “NO WAY” so I let him down gently. Never heard from Soldier again, but I hope he has found his way and his forever companion. Chapter 2 & 3: The Girl in the Distance and Loved Waif -- These ladies merge in my doodle. Often women need two sides to survive in this world, so maybe this has some merit. Loved Waif seemed barely there, like a breeze. Her memory conjures up scents of fresh cut grass and cow pies, like that satisfying wiff of farm country coming into the blue station wagon during pre-smartphone car trips, quietly transversing this country to see the sights. Scraggly corn-colored hair, wiry stooped posture. Waif spoke after Soldier, if the group was small. She was home-sick for her loving family. An aching for help leaked out through her whispery voice, help to get rid of the voices that kept her away from this world, a sphere that she actually loved. Perceiving Loved Waif’s aura reminds me that I can want to exist too. Girl in the Distance is the tough girl I perceive as always being seen from across the room. She emanated “keep away” and “come near” at the same time, shaded eyes behind black hair and eyeliner. Outcast by choice and power. Like she had something on her lips to say and dared you to come hear it. I never heard her speak. Peering at Girl in the Distance standing in my psyche, I smell leather, coffee, gas station, and exotic spice. Somehow, she seemed to be hiding strength in holsters no one could disarm. She shot me some silent grittiness from across the rooms to store up for my own battles. I have an inkling that once Girl survived past her teen years, she went far professionally, like CEO or Major Artist, influencing us all to this day. Chapter 3: Heartthrob -- Straight Jackets are real. They are not a joke. Muscular young white teen, dynamic charisma. This Heartthrob was unreachable to my teen self because he was cute and radiated popularity. But yes, Heartthrob was in this institution along with the rest of us. He moved swiftly, dark blond hair shifting perfectly so the laser blue sparkle coming from his eyes charmed his audience. My heart still jumps when perceiving this young man; still hard to believe but still real to this brain: One night I heard Yelling, Muffled adult voices, Shuffling feet, Doors opening and swishing. I must have stepped into the hall because I remember viewing quick movements, cotton white straight jacket held haphazardly by two mandated attendants around Heartthrob’s torso, wild look in Heartthrob’s eyes. Straining to no avail because the well-trained workers guided Heartthrob’s trajectory in the direction they wanted him to go. Blur, then disappeared around the corner. As I tiptoed back to my room, a faint door closing sound, then silence. Sense of metal cart and sharpness. No mention again, just slight rumors untold. I saw Heart throb only a couple more times, walking in the lobby or sitting in the cafeteria. Heart throb moved slowly, like someone walking through a foggy sludge. He sat with dull eyes, as if trying to remember something. I wonder where Heartthrob went. Did he return to high school, popular girls, parties, and letter jackets? Did he hollow out more and simply exist compliantly? Looking back, I realize these kids appear "teen types” on the surface, but hold humanity within. When I returned to High School, “types” appeared costumed actors, real people clothed in 1980s stereotypes. I felt a tiny hope to get to know some people for real. copyright Lynn Jodeit Ouellette, 2024 | ___Says it better than I canThis song is SO relatable to all this. Says it better than I can too. Seems credit now NBC, Dreamworks. In my day it was an annual special event to find their air times in the Readers Digest TV Guide, then savor them together. |
