Being Amber Rhea

This morning I went to get my hair did at 8:00 AM. -Well, actually, my appointment was at 8:45, but Chris had an appointment at 8:00 and we went together — we’re fabulous! So anyway, the fabulous gay man I usually go to was already booked, so when I scheduled the appointment a few days ago I had to go to this other woman, the only one who was available. Turns out I went to high school with her (at Evans). She recognized me before I recognized her (probably because she was using a different name; I asked her about it and she said, “Yeah, when you start working here, if you have the same name as someone else, they make you pick another name.”) She started by asking me if I knew [name removed to protect the guilty] — and I said, “Wow… yeah, he was my boyfriend for 2 ill-advised months in 9th grade.” That’s when she told me who she was, and that was followed by a few minutes of the usual, “Ohmigod, how are you, this is so crazy…” etc. She informed me that she had kept in touch with the guy in question until a few years ago, and the last she’d heard of him, he had “come out” (”even though he still dated women, so I don’t know, maybe he’s bi or something,” she explained), was on drugs, had ripped a bunch of people off, had gotten a girl pregnant, and was “living with her in some crackhouse.” Nice!

She asked me if I kept in touch with anyone from Evans and I said just a few. I asked if she remembered Jenny, Niki, or Dipika. She said she knew their names, but that’s all. Which makes sense — they moved in entirely different circles. So anyway, I was kind of on edge throughout the entire haircut… because even as we reminisced and commiserated against the people who were the “popular” kids in high school and used to make fun of us, I was remembering that she used to make fun of me a bit. Now, let me regale you with tales of the social hierarchy at fantastic Evans High School! She was decidedly part of the so-called “freak” contingent. I was on the fringes of that group, but wasn’t cool enough (understand the extreme irony here, btw, as most of the people who were cool enough are now apparently dead or on drugs) to really be a part of it; I didn’t shop at the hip downtown stores — ok, store — or listen to music that was obscure enough…etc. I was a “poser” or whatever according to her group; I was remembering that. I was also remembering the time she ate some acid before home room and was freaking out by 3rd period. Nice.

Finally I’d gotten fed up with the complete and utter bullshit of this contrived social hierarchy, and my parents let me transfer to Augusta Prep. The rest, as they say, is history. To be fair, I probably would’ve liked Evans better during junior and senior year, taking refuge in AP classes with Jenny, Niki, Dipika, and the rest of those kind of people (uh, smart people). Still, it’s interesting how such a seemingly innocuous — friendly, even — reunion can turn a part of you right back into that awkward, depressed, self-conscious 15-year-old (and when I say you, I mean me).

Later I’ll have an amusing photo montage for you of my new haircut, before I climbed into bed and napped it all up. If I told you how long it’s taking me to do this in Photoshop, you’d laugh and call me a freak. So I won’t.