The Story Continued

continued from previous entry. . .

The next time Lance and I were to inhabit each other's lives was in high school. I got a job at the local movie theatre, with a little help from my friends. I had almost forgotten about my little crush on him until I walked in for the first staff meeting and to my surprise and upset stomach, there he was. I don't remember the exact emotion, but if emotion could speak, it would go something like this: OH SHIT. OH SHIT. OH SHIT.

So to make this shorter and a little less agonizing, a bunch of small and unimportant things to this story happened for the first few months that we worked together. (For example, he cut off the tip of his thumb with the sharp edge of a can of nacho cheese - to which he will later tell people that he lost it to a baboon. If you knew Lance and are reading this and have heard the baboon story, sorry to burst your bubble.) Our friendship really started when we would change the marquis sign in front of the mall late at night. The two of us would go out there with a pole that stretched out for miles with a suction cup on the end. He taught me how to smoke (the habit didn't start until college, however), I listened to his bizarre baboon stories, and mostly we laughed and flirted and became friends.

Did I mention he was fired for sitting on a trashcan? hahahahaha

After we graduated, we kept in contact a little. More so when I came back home with my tail between my legs to attend the local community college. We would stay on the phone for hours at night. He would try to convince me to sneak out of my house in the middle of the night to hang out with him. We would talk about the movie theatre, middle school (a.k.a. my crush that he conveniently forgot about), and the fact that our friends tried to get us to go to prom together - which didn't pan out. (My story isn't getting shorter).

I'm gonna go ahead and stop now. This is getting way too long, but I'm afraid to leave anything out. I already want to go back and change things because I'm getting some memories mixed up. But I'll leave them as they are. If you are still paying attention to my story, thanks. It's long and probably even boring, but as I write it, I laugh at the memories. And that's what it's all about, right? Good-night.