Ah nostalgia, my ol' enemy. Nostalgia, really everone's look back upon their past is always missing pieces. Like a cherry pie at a Big Boy's or possibly the Double R diner. Norma's "damn fine coffee" and a slice of her cherry pie was heaven for Coop. Most of my gen X'ers teen years were filled not with iPhones, Starbucks, and Kardashshians' but with Wheel of Fortune on a slow small town Tuesday night with the folks, later sneaking out after breathless phones calls on a real-live "land line" to your new crush while doing a bump listening to Under The Pink.
It is crazy how as humans we want to look back on our past and see fond and favorable times. Not the gritty, sand covered face of a raped and murdered washed up teenage prom queen wrapped in plastic. But think of the short skirts, piercings, music we danced to, Johnny Depp or better River Phoenix posters on my walls and the kiss we stoled after school that last perfect day of high school. I remember the terror, fear, sense of dualness, embarrassment at my own urges and horror of being a young girl in a small rural Southern town where cruelties like cow-tipping and everyone either laughing or screaming (and sometimes morphing from one to the other) from too much Strawberry Hill on the lake pier.
I remember sex, waiting to get my first tattoo, guilt, freedom, paying my own first electricy bill in my one room apartment from working late at the only media shop in town. I had found my place in the world some how after surviving the 12th grade. From there into young adulthood, more sex, more ink, more guilt (of my own now), more drugs, parties, restless nights filled with movies on my 13" t.v. set with my rented v.c.r. and nicotine and t.h.c. stained fingers till sunrise. Then more focus on the men in my life and career instead of staying in college and finishing my degree as I slipped unnoticed in my 30's.
Mostly I remember recognizing that others had made it, somehow through the sex, drugs, and rock and roll with their own coping mechanisms for the bad memories of teen angst. I fell in love with David Lynch, Quentin Tarantino, Robert Rodriguez, Razor comics, Clive Barker, Stephen King, and more Tori Amos. Lynch's living dead girl, Laura Palmer was me but she did not make it this far...till now.
Yes, I lived through the rape, coke, prom date daytime smile doing meals on wheels, crazy scary Bob visions or "other-wordly and surreal" characters with these artists. Now in my mid-life, the ride is back and I cannot wait to re-visit that dual dream-like/nightmare of Evergreens, cherry pie, the red curtains, the laughter and terror at the same time. I just got to make it to Spring 2017 and get the Showtime app on my 6s.