It was a bright sunny day in 1991.A year had passed since my car accident, and I had gone through the physical rehab necessary to get back on my feet. The psychological part though, that was still ongoing. I had also been through my first rehab school since then, called The Transit School, in Atlanta, Georgia. Having been closed now for over 20 years, if one were to do an internet search for it, they would have to look pretty hard as a cursory search brings up transportation and public schools in Georgia.
I was now attending The Davison School, another now defunct school (having closed its doors for good back in 1994). I was 12 at the time, and as one approaches their teenage years they inevitably reach the age of puberty. People start to think of different, more intimate things, ie women, more mature clothing etc. I admit I was more of the former, but much, much less of the latter. The school was another specialized education school, and while it did offer education for people with special difficulties (ie cerebral palsy, head injury and other problems) it also offered a boarding for some of these students, so the school also had dorm room mistresses. I went here for two years and had my ups and downs (due to my head injury, at times I would have huge outbursts and curse and yell, which would at times put me in detention or in school suspension). Luckily I managed to keep my head down and at the graduation ceremony of 1993 (which was train themed), I was given my passing to go to my next school, where I spent the next five years of my life as a student, going from 8th grade all the way up to graduation.

It was a bright sunny day in the third week of August, 1993. My new school, called The Howard School, was a huge two mansion building located very near the corner of Ponce De Leon Road and Briarcliff road in Atlanta Georgia. The school was set across from a park and while they had small class sizes, they offered no cafeteria. You had to bring your own lunch from home. It was here and this time that I met my first lady whom I thought looked really attractive (and hey, being 14 years old at the time, my hormones had slowly started to surge through my body, though I did my best to keep them under control, which as you read, would lead to many relationship downfalls in my life). Her name was Amy (out of respect for her and her privacy I choose to call her Amy). Whenever I saw her I would think of a  Courtney Thorne Smith (she was an actress who starred in Melrose Place and Revenge of the Nerds 2). She had lovely hair, and perfect jawline and lips and big eyes.
I remember one time in math class the teacher, a tall man, with the facial features of a young Elvis impersonator, had us do worksheets. One of the questions related to the temperature of the United States as an average, but due to a typing error, she misunderstood what it meant and asked, in her pretty voice, “What does ‘us’ mean?” The entire class started laughing at her, with some people myself included, calling her a fucking moron for not knowing that it was U. S., and not ‘us’. I don’t remember if it started then, but that evening at home, I would call her, and apologize for my rude behavior towards her and ask her for friendship. For the rest of the year it was like that, with us constantly squabbling back and forth at each other. It was never playful. Usually I was very mean to her, cursing and calling her names, though in retrospect, I never should have done that, or if I did, I should have been cute about it. But I had no one to talk to about these feelings I was having. I was afraid to talk with my teacher, because I didn’t know what to ask. Home was no better, as my father hails from a different culture altogether. So during that year, I would feign anger at her just to hear her voice and usually carry it too far. I know, its fucked up, why choose to be an asshole to a pretty girl. I really liked her, but my expression was never one of a loving person, but that of a vengeful, spiteful one. And it got much worse. 
After my first year was over, I would return as a freshman in their high school. I received a letter from the school listing everyone who would be returning for the fall. I found among others her name. I felt that this time things would be different, that I could be a better person than I was. That year started off well to my knowledge. I honestly can’t remember, it’s been many, many years. 

I remember during this year also, there was a senior student (that’s grade 12 for those of you who don’t know) who looked really pretty. She had freckles on her cheeks, bright firey red hair, that she would sometimes wear either long and flowing, or as pigtails like Pippi Longstocking. Her name was Susan. This was also the year that Bon Jovi came out with his (now cliché love sonnet, “Always.” While I stayed away from Amy and fell more and more into this lady, I kept a safe distance so that while she lived her life, I lived my life with her in my dreams. At years old, and having my hormones under some kind of control, my dreams manifested as me being a hero, saving this lady from an attacking army of aliens (again, I was at the time, and heavily into sci fi). In my dream that Bon Jovi song played out while I rescued her.
Then was the big school trip of the year. It was March 1995, and our school field trip, a weeklong one, would be to Key Largo in Florida. It was a nice trip, and I was pranked while I slept in the dorm rooms with another student applying toothpaste on my face. Needless to say it was a lovely trip. We each went out in a in different boats which would be our boats for to the week, and it was here I saw her, Susan, in a bathing suit. She looked really pretty, and I wanted to try to talk to her, but butterflies got the best of me and I froze. It was like that for the entire week.
Upon return to school two weeks following (the week after the trip was our spring break) things returned to normal, or as normal was for me. I was scared of women, and he only way I could respond to them was through cursing and swearing at them. I stayed my distance from Amy but dreamt about her, and me being a better person that she would like a whole lot. I called her at home in the evening, but would freeze or have trouble discussing a topic. Basically I just wanted to ask her friendship, which I did, to which she said ‘sure’ like she didn’t care. Then the next day we’d squabble and I’d call her in the evening. Then came the year end and the start of summer.
Fall came just as soon as summer began, and school started. I was in 10th grade. Here I still saw Amy but there was a new in school who was also really rude to her. But also, there was another who had joined our class who was very nice to her. I felt that comparison to the rude person would show me in a better light (I know my, thought process on winning her over was really fucked up). We still had squabbles, and I would call her at home in the evening to apologize. One English class I remember we had to make up a mythological story. Seeing as her favourite colour was pink, I based my myth on why the sea is blue, and started off with the opening lines, originally the seas were pink. Then I went into some bullshit story about heroics and posturing, about a hero’s love whose favourite colour was blue, and upon the death of the hero he had the gods change the colour of the seas from pink to blue. I couldn’t believe I had written a story like that. It was a huge Freudian slip showing my secret feelings for her. Luckily I think no one noticed. The year could not be complete without the usual squabbles back and forth over very petty things, like the pronunciations of certain words, to colours etc. Although I will admit that during this year, there were times where we were calm towards each other, nice and communicative even. I remember one art class we were outside the school doing a sketch of the building, and I calmly spoke with her, complementing her on her drawing, and she did mine in return. I asked how she was, trying to get a bit more personal, and she replied she was fine. Things were going well, I thought. I then dared and asked her the next question, those eight words which have eluded many a teenage man asking a woman…’would you like to go out with me’. She replied with a polite ‘we’ll see’, and I felt a bit happy then. But that happiness was only momentary. It’s really sad too, because what this taught me was that being nice, quiet, calm, and up front with women would get you results. I wish I had learned that, because the very next day we went back to squabbling. But this time she had a friend to talk with her.
Another day I remember was we had just been visited by two cheerleaders from Georgia Tech, who were there to promote the school walk-a-thon for the 1996 Olympic Summer games. I think the idea of this walk-a-thon was to raise for some cause. We all had numbers on our backs and we were walking around the school. My and number dropped off while I was walking, and Amy and her friend said within earshot of me, they’re not going to pick it up, and this made me honestly feel both a bit frustrated and hurt. It didn’t occur to me why they wouldn’t pick it up, it was because they were angry at how I treated her. This made me even more mad at them, so the next time I saw them I had nothing but hate for them both. But that hate was quashed in the evening when I decided to call her to apologize.
So this was my 10th grade experience. During the summer of 1996 I had my first viewing of an R rated movie in the theatres, The Rock starring Nicholas Cage and Sean Connery. I also got to see the Olympics as they were in Atlanta, and developed a serious but passing crush on Kerri Strug (though it would be much later that I found out that her views were much, much different than mine).
The fall of that year brought a few new people into the high school fold. These people were seniors, and a few had shifted from other schools. One was a girl named Danielle, and I was smitten. I did find her pretty, and I guess my hormones were finally let loose, and I always tried to chat her up whenever I found her in the halls. While I did this I even tried calling her at home, and asking her simple questions, like ‘how are you doing’, ‘what did you think of today’s class’, etc. It was cute, in a weird sort of way. I even remember one time I was walking by the grade 12 English class, of which she was a part of, and she waved at me, then I waved back. Then she waved at me again, and I waved back. Then her class looked outside and started to laugh, especially the teacher (more about her is to come). I thought she liked me, and all the while I didn’t know I was being set up. We kept bumping into each other in the halls, and then one day the English teacher pulled me aside and had a talk with me. She told me to stop following Danielle, as it was making her nervous and scared. These words took me aback for a minute. Was I behaving in a stalking manner? I knew I wasn’t so I tried to fight back, starting off with the words, ‘now wait a minute’. I explained to her what was really happening, how whenever I walked around the corner I would see her. But it wasn’t enough of an explanation for her. The teacher was still set in her ways that I was the cause of her nervousness and if I didn’t stop trailing her there would have to be police intervention (and it shook me up so bad inside that despite feeling cheerful on the outside, inside I felt like a bomb had dropped on my emotions). It wasn’t until a few years later that I found out what happened, for why she became nervous. Apparently she had thought about actually going out on a date with me, but a guy who I thought was my high school chum sold me out, telling her not to as it would make me needy. So I finished the rest of the year in a sort of depressed mood. I could not call Danielle, whom I had liked. So I went back to bothering Amy. During the summer, I had attended summer school, and I met her (Danielle) there also, and I figured, seeing as she was no longer under the ‘protection’ of the English teacher I tried calling her again, though being very careful not to bring up the point about her nervousness, but after a while I just decided not to call her anymore. My hormones, being in full swing at this time, I decided to vent myself through pictures of women in bikinis and Sears catalogues (I know, it makes me look like a creep, a sicko, a perv, call me whatever you want).
Finally it had arrived, after 3 long and depressing years. I was a senior. It should command some sort of respect, but sadly none of the students respect their seniors. This year was special because it would be the last time I would ever see Amy, and I really did not want Amy to leave the school with a bad taste in her mouth for me. I really did. But for some reason, I couldn’t help myself. Having grown up bothering her, and calling her names, it was hard to change. I asked on the first day back if we could start over, clean slate, she said she’d like that and I said I’d like it too, but if you know my history with her so far, then you know that words and actions are two very different things. Immediately we started at each other’s throats, with name calling and squabbling turning more and more vociferous, usually on my end. I’d call her filthy names, like cunt, , etc, only to call her house that same evening asking for forgiveness. It’s pretty pathetic.
It was a day nearing Christmas, sometime in December 1997, I think the last day before Christmas break and we had all as a high school decided to go walking to the nearby stores, called Five Points Atlanta. It was a nice street, lined with stores ready for the Christmas season. Think Bloor Street Village. Before we left, I finally mustered up the courage to talk with my favourite teacher, a nice, quiet, calm lady, my math professor, about what to do to show Amy I have feelings for her. Her suggestion was simple; her a gift from the stores. Armed with this in mind, I went to the stores with that goal, to look for the perfect gift for her. Since she was a woman, my math teacher had suggested a little gift box and a Christmas card to let her know it was from me. I did just that, I found the perfect little box, good for storing things like necklaces and earrings and photos, and I bought it, and I also bought a card to go with it. Stupidly though, I forgot to sign the card, so when I saw her I gave her the gift box and card unsigned, wishing her a Merry Christmas. She thanked me for it and then went on her way home, as the semester was over. I did too. During Christmas I kept wishing for Amy to look past my rough exterior and see that I was a warm, loving person. I prayed with all my might,