Will anyone ever be as
beautiful to me as the girls who were juniors
and seniors when I was a
freshman in high school? I donÕt think IÕll recover
the level of
impressionability that conferred authority to everything they
did.
My Strokes-scored
memories of 2001 and 2002 consist mainly
of tracking shots from a
distance; soft, tan girls with long hair walking to school
or pacing and smoking in
front of it. Two lay drowsily on the floor of the library in
floral dresses and Frye
boots. One wore a backwards baseball cap, taken
from some boy.
Ecksettera.
No amount of reality and
Facebook research can undermine my belief that
they remain perfect specimens
of femininity, even now. But with every step taken
to approximate the
appearance of girls I admire, I am forced to admit that I come to my
charms by calculation,
undoing the very thing that IÕm trying to imitate.
