Sappy story about love and fireworks

I went out to Perkin's with Matt tonight. In between cards, talking, and doing horrible, HORRIBLE stats homework, Matt and I sat back, thinking of stories from our youths.

He wrote a word down in his new notebook (yes, Dana, you're rubbing off all over the place) that reminded me of Charlie. I've written a little about Charlie before, but I never really explained all the feelings and why I consider him to be my first love. This isn't really the post about those feelings, but a post about one summer night and two idiotic teenagers. It is also a post about how wonderful he was to me.

After I had graduated (and Charlie still had some of high school left - hey, I fell for a younger boy, sue me), we still kept in contact. The summer of 1997 was one filled with crazy stunts and living up the last summer before setting out into the real world (or college, which isn't really the real world, but it's closer than high school).

I had acquired some fireworks with another guy I dated (the dip) and allowed Charlie to set them off on the 4th of July. Now, the type of fireworks I actually had are now legal in Minnesota, but they weren't at the time. Well, most are legal now. I'm not sure about bottle rockets. They go into the air. They may not be legal.

This story is almost so stupid it's embarrassing. I still can't believe what a big deal this turned out to be.

The bottle rockets were not the problem. No, the problem arose when Charlie discovered the smoke bombs. For those who don't know, smoke bombs are small, they don't spark, all they do is put off a lot of smoke. They don't even burn anything. Smoke bombs are kind of lame.

After spending a wonderful afternoon with Charlie in the field where the old drive-in used to stand, we headed over to my friend Mitzie's house. Why, oh why, didn't Charlie just play with the smoke bombs in the field? Why did he decide the proper location to use them was 1/2 a block from the police station?

We were waiting in Mitzie's driveway for her to arrive home. She was about 10 minutes behind us and Charlie saw his target.

He took a package of six smoke bombs and went over the Port-o-Potty near the softball field.

I stood in Mitzie's driveway, telling him not to do this, and watched him enter the Biffy. Soon smoke billowed out of the vents and cracks of the tall, green, smelly toilet. He came out, smiling and laughing. I remember that smile. I remember the look in his eyes.

Mitzie pulled in as he was running back and she looked over, slightly amused, and then we headed inside. The smoke stopped within 2 minutes.

Fifteen minutes later, Mitzie's house was surrounded by five different squad cars. The cops came to the door and asked her dad where his son was. Mitzie's dad knew his son and figured they were looking for the right person. Then they described the suspect and her dad said, "Oh, not my son. That dorky kid over here. Yeah, he's inside."

Charlie came to the door and peacefully left with the police.

I found out later that a person watching softball called the police because she thought someone was setting the Biffy on fire. Charlie wasn't doing that, but the smoke bombs gave that appearance.

The police laughed at him and charged him with vandalism and some far off degree of arson. When they asked where he got the smoke bombs, he never said a word.

I feel guilty that he never said anything. He made me promise to never tell the police where he got the smoke bombs. In fact, I never even had to talk to the police.

Charlie's punishment was minor. He had to write a letter of apology to the city for having smoke come out of the Port-o-Potty. I think he also had to do one hour of community service.

One of the reasons I don't talk to Charlie anymore is because I'm terrified of his mom. He tried to assure me that she doesn't hate me, but if I was that woman, I'd keep my son away from a girl who helped him get arrested.

Charlie was not a legal adult when the incident happened and it is not on his record. This is a good thing. There are other things that he did on his own and got busted for. He, like many teenage boys, seemed to have a fascination with fire and he got grounded pretty heavily when his parents found out about the hairspray and their kitchen counter.

I know Charlie is a different person now and I am too. If I ran into him, I doubt we'd reconnect. I think it would be a, "Hey, how's your life? Oh, that's good," kind of thing.

I don't want to see him. I don't want to taint the memory of the young boy who could melt my heart with his smile and glint in his eyes. I don't want to have my happy memories of high school clouded by the man he may have become.

The last time I spoke to Charlie made my mind up to not keep in contact. I don't know. Maybe I should have. Maybe if I had kept in contact, things would have been different for him. The last time I spoke to him, he was starting to do drugs pretty heavily. I was faced with trying to help an old friend who was more into getting high or letting go and keeping my happy memories. I chose the later.

It was a selfish choice, yes, I can admit that. I can also say that the distance that formed between us when he moved away for a year and I went to college broke some of the bond and I probably wouldn't have been able to change Charlie's mind about drugs.

So I hold onto the happy memories. The ones of Charlie, who could annoy anyone with insults and jabs, and how he was always nice to me.

I remember Charlie, who loved to be number one, always setting me up for compliments. I remember how my friends hated him, but he always knew how to make me feel special.

This doesn't paint a pretty picture of Charlie, does it?

Let's try this. Charlie made me laugh. Every time I saw him, he had a grin on his face and he looked ecstatic just to see me.

When he looked at a magazine at the local department store, he found this quiz, "What would your friends label you as?" He turned to me and said, "You don't need to do this, you're an angel."

When I lost my temper with a different friend and I was so furious, it was Charlie who calmed me down. He said such sweet things, I started crying, in my car on a cool, June evening.

When I went to Germany and was so homesick, it was Charlie I called. I spoke to him for 45 minutes. I needed to hear his voice.

When I think back to my first kiss, it is not Charlie I think of, but when I think of my first kiss that meant something, I think of Charlie. I remember him kissing me and then heading into his house. I can still remember the first time that spark of electricity charged through my body.

When I listen to the Garth Brooks song, You Move Me, it is Charlie I remember. He made me listen to this song and he sang along.

And when I think of this stupid war, I think of Charlie. Charlie wanted to join the armed forces and I don't know if he ever did. He could be over in Iraq right now and I'd never know. I don't want him back in my life, however, I do want his happiness and I want him safe. I want to see him make others smile. I worry for him still. I always will.

He has a special place in my heart. He always will.

2 Comments:

At 10:42 AM, CarpeDM said...

Dang you. You made me cry.

I loved this story, Beth. Gave me a different perspective of Charlie than that dorky guy with the awful haircut that put smoke bombs in the port-o-potty.

It's very sweet. I hope he is okay as well.

At 8:33 PM, Matt said...

That was amazingly sweet Beth. I also had a tear in my eye. This post goes to show the world the kind of person you are Beth, it shows the wonderful, caring, kind individual that you are. I also am hoping for his happiness, I also have another thought. For some reason I want to hang on to this memory: Charlie is sitting in his house where ever that may be right now, thinking back on his life (maybe putting it back together) and remembering his friends that heonce had. He doesn't smile as much as he used to, until one day your face comes into his mind. He sees the smile on your face, the sparkle in your eye, and he also thinks back to the kiss that you shared with him. He doesn't want to have you back, but he is also thinking about you and hoping that all is well in your life. I want to hang on to that, I really really do. Moments that you ahred with the world here tonight are rare, having that person inyou rlife is not a common experience, it is good to see that you have decided to hang on to the good things, and not focus on the bad.

I am proud to considered one of your friends, and more than that, your Big Brother.
Matt