The Overman goes to the Theatre: Part One
IT WAS ABOUT 4:30 in the afternoon when I arrived at Sam's house. It would be wise for me to mention ahead of time that Sam is not a man, but rather a girl named Samantha around the age of seventeen.
We had been very close friends throughout high school when we shared classes together, originally meeting during the production of The Wizard of Oz, in which I played The Scarecrow. She, if my memory serves me, was a stage hand as well as a grade below me--I was in tenth grade, she, of course, was in ninth. Eventually we grew to trust each other, and she would come to me when needing advise on life, the universe and everything. A very sad and depressed young girl, she had been through much in her short time on this earth and I took it upon myself to try and help her through it if I had the ability. We had our troubles, of course, and any good relationship does. I grew vain, but together we got through such things.
We remained friends throughout our high school years. I'm in college now; she, a senior in high school. We had come a long way, but after I graduated we stopped speaking. I suppose it became inconvienient once we weren't in the same building everyday. I attribute this mostly to being my fault; it got to the point where we would only speak via internet once a week at best, and only arbitrarily in these few conversations, talking without really saying anything.
Finally we came to heads about it when, in my belief that I knew what I was talking about, I tried to give her metaphorical and metaphysical advise, answering her questions only with questions like I was some sort of a Wise Old Man on the Mountain. Little had I thought about, however, that she didn't need that anymore. It was to the point that if she mentioned something was going wrong I tried to give her my advise...I hadn't realized how little she cared or needed it. She could do things on her own, make her own decisions, and just because she mentioned a problem didn't mean she wanted me to try and fix it.
She eventually made the comment that I have no right to be trying to give her advise if I never even call anymore or visit when I should. So I apologized and promised to change.
It was about 4:30 in the afternoon when I arrived at Sam's house. By 7:00 that night we would be sitting in a dark movie theatre watching King Kong and being happy to be together again. I promised to drive her there myself, but first we went to the local coffee shop and talked before going back to her house, wallowing around together, and then into my car we went off to the next town over to see a movie. Little did we know that in thirty minutes we would be participating in a hispanic drug deal in a make-shift tent on the top of a hill in Smithfield, freezing in the cold of the night...
We had been very close friends throughout high school when we shared classes together, originally meeting during the production of The Wizard of Oz, in which I played The Scarecrow. She, if my memory serves me, was a stage hand as well as a grade below me--I was in tenth grade, she, of course, was in ninth. Eventually we grew to trust each other, and she would come to me when needing advise on life, the universe and everything. A very sad and depressed young girl, she had been through much in her short time on this earth and I took it upon myself to try and help her through it if I had the ability. We had our troubles, of course, and any good relationship does. I grew vain, but together we got through such things.
We remained friends throughout our high school years. I'm in college now; she, a senior in high school. We had come a long way, but after I graduated we stopped speaking. I suppose it became inconvienient once we weren't in the same building everyday. I attribute this mostly to being my fault; it got to the point where we would only speak via internet once a week at best, and only arbitrarily in these few conversations, talking without really saying anything.
Finally we came to heads about it when, in my belief that I knew what I was talking about, I tried to give her metaphorical and metaphysical advise, answering her questions only with questions like I was some sort of a Wise Old Man on the Mountain. Little had I thought about, however, that she didn't need that anymore. It was to the point that if she mentioned something was going wrong I tried to give her my advise...I hadn't realized how little she cared or needed it. She could do things on her own, make her own decisions, and just because she mentioned a problem didn't mean she wanted me to try and fix it.
She eventually made the comment that I have no right to be trying to give her advise if I never even call anymore or visit when I should. So I apologized and promised to change.
It was about 4:30 in the afternoon when I arrived at Sam's house. By 7:00 that night we would be sitting in a dark movie theatre watching King Kong and being happy to be together again. I promised to drive her there myself, but first we went to the local coffee shop and talked before going back to her house, wallowing around together, and then into my car we went off to the next town over to see a movie. Little did we know that in thirty minutes we would be participating in a hispanic drug deal in a make-shift tent on the top of a hill in Smithfield, freezing in the cold of the night...
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