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Kodama, Part I
Jan. 10th, 2015 05:51 pmHis name was Lyle Greengard. My first love and my first love lost.
Looking back, I think that particular sentiment was shared by half of our high school class: the girls wanted to be near him and the boys wanted to be him. He had never been unattractive, but puberty had been especially kind to his once lanky frame and slight build. Halfway through the 10th grade, we simply blinked and realized that we were friends and classmates with the most attractive 16-year-old boy on the planet. It took only a few weeks before rumors began to spread about modeling contracts and photo-shoots. The moment he graduated, he would be off to New York or San Francisco where he would spend most of his perfectly chiseled, blonde-haired, blue-eyed existence lounging about with scantily clad women on his own level. The more dedicated amongst us took this as a challenge to secure his love and affection before he left.
I would have been satisfied with his eye contact.
Lyle Greengard, of course, had been my personal crush since the 8th grade and at times, my sole reason for waking up in the morning. I had loved him before puberty. All things considered, I thought it was very generous of me to share him with the world.
Even so, I was unprepared the first time he acknowledged my existence.
"Hey."
It was 11:35 in the morning, April 11th, and U.S. History had just ended. I sat three seats behind him and one row over, where I had a good view of both the chalkboard and his perfectly tousled, golden blonde hair. My attention was usually focused on the latter. In summer, he sometimes wore T-shirts that exposed his lightly tanned arms.
"Hey."
It was 11:35 in the morning, and most of the classroom had already emptied out the door. I had misplaced my planner, and Lyle Greengard had stuck his head back in to say 'hey' in my general direction. I considered this a good omen for the rest of the day.
"...Um."
It was 11:36 before I realized he was speaking to me and another twenty seconds before I stopped gaping and forced my vocal cords to squeeze out sound.
"Hey!"
My friends told me later that my voice had registered at a pitch that was physically painful to the human ear. My friends were, at times, sad, insecure, small people, and I tried not to begrudge them their understandable jealousy.
After he finished rubbing at his ear, the melodic beauty of my voice having temporarily inspired him to breathless silence, he smiled. His teeth were white as snow and his jaw thick and strong. After years of waiting, I expected, he had finally recognized that his life was empty and meaningless in its current state, and he searched now for his soulmate and perfect companion. I was prepared to rise to the task.
"You're the president of the Environmental Club, right?"
Together, we would explore our mutual interests in saving the Earth and be married in the Amazon when we hit 21. Or possibly next to a panorama of the Amazon, where there weren't any real snakes or other extremely deadly animals.
"Yes."
I managed to sound breathy and overexcited at the same time - what Cosmopolitan described as a flirty tone. My friends said I sounded high.
"Cool. ...I know this might sound weird, but I have something I want to ask you guys. Do you do this kind of thing? Requests?" Nothing Lyle Greengard did could ever be weird. By dint of it having been done by Lyle Greengard, it became mainstream and utterly desirable. As a matter of fact, I was prepared to sign an affidavit that he had singlehandedly revitalized the slang term 'cool', bringing new nuance and subtle depths of character to the word. "Maybe I could -- "
"Maybeyoushouldattendournextmeeting."
After looking momentarily stunned, he smiled again.
"Yeah. I was going to ask what time you guys did your thing."
It was about then that any and all knowledge I had pertaining to Environmental Club - the club that I had founded six months ago and in which I served as president and secretary and occasional sole attendee - vacated my mind. When did we do our thing? And why did it have to sound so much more interesting when he said it? My blank staring eventually gave way to the first answer that popped into my head.
"Tonight." He looked surprised. "I mean. This afternoon. ...3 o'clock after school." As I didn't actually have a room booked for the afternoon, I continued to improvise. "Sometimes we meet in the town park. You know. Closer to nature."
Surprisingly, he smiled even more broadly, showing off dimples that caused me to reconsider my commitment to chastity before the age of 18.
"That's perfect." I stopped breathing. Lyle Greengard had called me perfect. ...Well, Lyle Greengard had called something I said perfect, which practically amounted to the same thing. "The park's what I want to talk about, anyway. I'll see you then, Alex."
Lyle Greengard knew my name.
I, on the other hand, promptly forgot it as well as half of the answers to the pop quiz that happened two minutes later in English Literature. I couldn't complain, though. An F was a small price to pay for a conversation I never expected to have in my lifetime.
The rest of the day passed incredibly slowly, which, I expected, was the universe's way of telling me to savor my remaining few moments with Lyle Greengard. I hadn't any idea what sort of project he wanted to propose or what a high school Environmental Club could do on his behalf, but I assumed he would get bored of the matter soon enough. Someone like Lyle Greengard had better things to do than spend time with the president of the Environmental Club.
The town park was within walking distance of the school; I arrived 20 minutes early and briskly power-walked between all three entrances once I realized I had never improvised a meeting spot. This was less tedious than it seemed - calling it the 'town park' was analogous to calling an inflatable kiddie pool the town pool. The number of trees could be counted on one hand, and on first sight, most people assumed it was an unusually large backyard with a swingset stuck in the middle.
Most people assumed right. The park had been gifted by the Greengard family, whose estate lay directly adjacent. A wrought-iron fence separated the park from the small manor and accompanying grounds, and from time to time, the Greengard patriarch could be spotted taking a stroll in his gardens through the bars. On the whole, we were thankful - a small park was better than no park, and the Greengards had gifted a significant portion of their land to the town for no apparent reason ten years back with the stipulation that the trees be maintained exactly how they were.
Incidentally, Lyle Greengard was going to be incredibly rich when he turned 18.
"Alex?" The voice jolted me from my thoughts. "Hey! There you are. I couldn't find you." I suppressed my annoyance. Later that afternoon, I would learn that there were, of course, four entrances. "...Where's everyone else?"
The right thing to do would have been to tell the truth.
"Oh - they couldn't make it today. There's a... State Environmental Fair in... Topeka. I couldn't go because I had strep." He looked alarmed. "Two weeks ago. I had strep two weeks ago. I was too sick to sign up."
He frowned, anyway. Possibly because Topeka was several thousand miles away. Possibly because I had made up the concept of a State Environmental Fair.
"Oh. Sorry to take your time, then. We can do this another day if -- "
"No. Now's perfect. I've got nothing else to do! Cleared out my whole schedule."
The look on his face suggested that this was not a wholly appropriate thing to say. He paused for a moment before glancing towards the middle of the park.
"Well. I'll be quick. ...It's about that."
His meaning was clear.
That was an incredibly large and tangled Southern live oak that shaded nearly a quarter of the park. With low, thick branches, it was a favorite for small children to climb and for mothers to stand underneath shouting unintelligibly. In lieu of a town mascot, we had Old Hickory instead, so named by someone who didn't know the first thing about dendrology. The name stuck because Old Southie conjured up uncomfortably political thoughts, and no one had the imagination to think of anything else.
"Old Hickory? What about it?"
He paused.
"I think it's dying."
This was tragic, but also probably unavoidable. No one called it Baby Hickory for a reason. As I looked vaguely confused, he continued on in a serious tone.
"I mean. I think it's being poisoned. I have evidence, but the police don't think it means anything. They don't care much about trees." He gave a shrug. "I thought maybe you might."
His voice was so deep and rich that I would have cared about anything he suggested.
"Of course I do!" I paused. "But what do you think the Environmental Club can do?"
"Stop them, of course." He smiled again, and I was startled by the expression in his dark eyes. There was something... intensely bitter that contrasted with his easy smile. "Stop them before it's too late."
There are a lot of 'firsts' in this story. My first love, my first conversation, my first eye contact...
But this... was the story of the first time I was frightened by Lyle Greengard.
Looking back, I think that particular sentiment was shared by half of our high school class: the girls wanted to be near him and the boys wanted to be him. He had never been unattractive, but puberty had been especially kind to his once lanky frame and slight build. Halfway through the 10th grade, we simply blinked and realized that we were friends and classmates with the most attractive 16-year-old boy on the planet. It took only a few weeks before rumors began to spread about modeling contracts and photo-shoots. The moment he graduated, he would be off to New York or San Francisco where he would spend most of his perfectly chiseled, blonde-haired, blue-eyed existence lounging about with scantily clad women on his own level. The more dedicated amongst us took this as a challenge to secure his love and affection before he left.
I would have been satisfied with his eye contact.
Lyle Greengard, of course, had been my personal crush since the 8th grade and at times, my sole reason for waking up in the morning. I had loved him before puberty. All things considered, I thought it was very generous of me to share him with the world.
Even so, I was unprepared the first time he acknowledged my existence.
"Hey."
It was 11:35 in the morning, April 11th, and U.S. History had just ended. I sat three seats behind him and one row over, where I had a good view of both the chalkboard and his perfectly tousled, golden blonde hair. My attention was usually focused on the latter. In summer, he sometimes wore T-shirts that exposed his lightly tanned arms.
"Hey."
It was 11:35 in the morning, and most of the classroom had already emptied out the door. I had misplaced my planner, and Lyle Greengard had stuck his head back in to say 'hey' in my general direction. I considered this a good omen for the rest of the day.
"...Um."
It was 11:36 before I realized he was speaking to me and another twenty seconds before I stopped gaping and forced my vocal cords to squeeze out sound.
"Hey!"
My friends told me later that my voice had registered at a pitch that was physically painful to the human ear. My friends were, at times, sad, insecure, small people, and I tried not to begrudge them their understandable jealousy.
After he finished rubbing at his ear, the melodic beauty of my voice having temporarily inspired him to breathless silence, he smiled. His teeth were white as snow and his jaw thick and strong. After years of waiting, I expected, he had finally recognized that his life was empty and meaningless in its current state, and he searched now for his soulmate and perfect companion. I was prepared to rise to the task.
"You're the president of the Environmental Club, right?"
Together, we would explore our mutual interests in saving the Earth and be married in the Amazon when we hit 21. Or possibly next to a panorama of the Amazon, where there weren't any real snakes or other extremely deadly animals.
"Yes."
I managed to sound breathy and overexcited at the same time - what Cosmopolitan described as a flirty tone. My friends said I sounded high.
"Cool. ...I know this might sound weird, but I have something I want to ask you guys. Do you do this kind of thing? Requests?" Nothing Lyle Greengard did could ever be weird. By dint of it having been done by Lyle Greengard, it became mainstream and utterly desirable. As a matter of fact, I was prepared to sign an affidavit that he had singlehandedly revitalized the slang term 'cool', bringing new nuance and subtle depths of character to the word. "Maybe I could -- "
"Maybeyoushouldattendournextmeeting."
After looking momentarily stunned, he smiled again.
"Yeah. I was going to ask what time you guys did your thing."
It was about then that any and all knowledge I had pertaining to Environmental Club - the club that I had founded six months ago and in which I served as president and secretary and occasional sole attendee - vacated my mind. When did we do our thing? And why did it have to sound so much more interesting when he said it? My blank staring eventually gave way to the first answer that popped into my head.
"Tonight." He looked surprised. "I mean. This afternoon. ...3 o'clock after school." As I didn't actually have a room booked for the afternoon, I continued to improvise. "Sometimes we meet in the town park. You know. Closer to nature."
Surprisingly, he smiled even more broadly, showing off dimples that caused me to reconsider my commitment to chastity before the age of 18.
"That's perfect." I stopped breathing. Lyle Greengard had called me perfect. ...Well, Lyle Greengard had called something I said perfect, which practically amounted to the same thing. "The park's what I want to talk about, anyway. I'll see you then, Alex."
Lyle Greengard knew my name.
I, on the other hand, promptly forgot it as well as half of the answers to the pop quiz that happened two minutes later in English Literature. I couldn't complain, though. An F was a small price to pay for a conversation I never expected to have in my lifetime.
The rest of the day passed incredibly slowly, which, I expected, was the universe's way of telling me to savor my remaining few moments with Lyle Greengard. I hadn't any idea what sort of project he wanted to propose or what a high school Environmental Club could do on his behalf, but I assumed he would get bored of the matter soon enough. Someone like Lyle Greengard had better things to do than spend time with the president of the Environmental Club.
The town park was within walking distance of the school; I arrived 20 minutes early and briskly power-walked between all three entrances once I realized I had never improvised a meeting spot. This was less tedious than it seemed - calling it the 'town park' was analogous to calling an inflatable kiddie pool the town pool. The number of trees could be counted on one hand, and on first sight, most people assumed it was an unusually large backyard with a swingset stuck in the middle.
Most people assumed right. The park had been gifted by the Greengard family, whose estate lay directly adjacent. A wrought-iron fence separated the park from the small manor and accompanying grounds, and from time to time, the Greengard patriarch could be spotted taking a stroll in his gardens through the bars. On the whole, we were thankful - a small park was better than no park, and the Greengards had gifted a significant portion of their land to the town for no apparent reason ten years back with the stipulation that the trees be maintained exactly how they were.
Incidentally, Lyle Greengard was going to be incredibly rich when he turned 18.
"Alex?" The voice jolted me from my thoughts. "Hey! There you are. I couldn't find you." I suppressed my annoyance. Later that afternoon, I would learn that there were, of course, four entrances. "...Where's everyone else?"
The right thing to do would have been to tell the truth.
"Oh - they couldn't make it today. There's a... State Environmental Fair in... Topeka. I couldn't go because I had strep." He looked alarmed. "Two weeks ago. I had strep two weeks ago. I was too sick to sign up."
He frowned, anyway. Possibly because Topeka was several thousand miles away. Possibly because I had made up the concept of a State Environmental Fair.
"Oh. Sorry to take your time, then. We can do this another day if -- "
"No. Now's perfect. I've got nothing else to do! Cleared out my whole schedule."
The look on his face suggested that this was not a wholly appropriate thing to say. He paused for a moment before glancing towards the middle of the park.
"Well. I'll be quick. ...It's about that."
His meaning was clear.
That was an incredibly large and tangled Southern live oak that shaded nearly a quarter of the park. With low, thick branches, it was a favorite for small children to climb and for mothers to stand underneath shouting unintelligibly. In lieu of a town mascot, we had Old Hickory instead, so named by someone who didn't know the first thing about dendrology. The name stuck because Old Southie conjured up uncomfortably political thoughts, and no one had the imagination to think of anything else.
"Old Hickory? What about it?"
He paused.
"I think it's dying."
This was tragic, but also probably unavoidable. No one called it Baby Hickory for a reason. As I looked vaguely confused, he continued on in a serious tone.
"I mean. I think it's being poisoned. I have evidence, but the police don't think it means anything. They don't care much about trees." He gave a shrug. "I thought maybe you might."
His voice was so deep and rich that I would have cared about anything he suggested.
"Of course I do!" I paused. "But what do you think the Environmental Club can do?"
"Stop them, of course." He smiled again, and I was startled by the expression in his dark eyes. There was something... intensely bitter that contrasted with his easy smile. "Stop them before it's too late."
There are a lot of 'firsts' in this story. My first love, my first conversation, my first eye contact...
But this... was the story of the first time I was frightened by Lyle Greengard.
