January 12, 2010

I was in 7th grade. We were studying the Bolshevik revolution, reading Animal Farm. Our teacher, Ms. O'Katy, drank chamomile tea each afternoon after lunch. It made me want chamomile tea really badly. I never tried it until later. I now enjoy it.

We had returned from lunch after what likely amounted to abounded awkwardness, fistfights, violent basketball, some kissing, and some four square played by the dudes that deserve all the respect.

I was in English class with some chummy folks, including my best friend from an early age, Nick. He and the others in the GT English class would continue to get to know each other, as we generally took classes together until graduation from high school. Of course, there were exceptions, such as the smartest dude I ever knew, Kevin Karrer, who left after a year or so of high school.

Anyway, we were just returning, and I was told by Nick that I had a grape on my shirt. I looked down to wipe the grape off. What he thought was the middle of a grape was actually a huge booger. Mocos. Incredible.

To this day, I do not know whether he was just being sweet in calling it a grape (at this time he was beginning to accelerate socially and athletically, while I ran around with mocos all over me), or whether the thing just disguised itself perfectly so as to look like the central nervous system of a grape. Either way, I remember it to this day, likely because it contributed to my being terrified of most things social for a long time. You never know if you have a boogie on your shirt, I guess I was thinking.