...glimpsed younger Chloe, and it was awkward.

Tonight I was working on some creative writing for kicks and giggles. Part of this entailed writing letters to random people, ranging from ex-boyfriends to Edith Wharton, and then the kid who sat behind me in my Sci-Fi class sophomore year of high school. Suddenly, it seemed vitally important that I know his last name, so I went into the deep dark closet full of dead crickets, dug through some boxes, and finally came across my only yearbook: freshman year, 2004-2005.

I'm a high school dropout. Approximately seven days into my junior year, I'd had enough, and left school (I quickly obtained my GED and went off to college a year later, but I still delight in reading statistics about dropouts and realizing I've contributed to those). Still, this means I endured two years (and seven days) of high school, none of which I particularly enjoyed. My hatred of this time combined with an already bad memory has essentially created a void when I try to recall this period of my life. I know I took French, never did homework, and had a great deal of angst, but that's about it. Consequently, looking into this glimpse of 14 year old Chloe was rather revelatory.

Naturally, the first thing I did was look myself up. And there I was. Looking like this.

Initially, all I noticed about this picture was that I have a lot of hair. Somehow I'd managed to forget that I ever had that much hair, being that it hasn't been past my shoulders in years now. Dang, that is a lot of hair. That is a very solid mass of hair. Think of the rope I could have made! At this stage in my life, I'd had possibly two haircuts--both from my mother, both just cutting straight across the bottom to get rid of some length. I was convinced that to cut or dye my hair would be to desecrate it somehow. At the time, I couldn't have even imagined that someday I would dye it black and then buzz it all off. I have a very complicated relationship with my hair.


Well that's a bit different.

Back to the yearbook--leaving aside the "I would rather be chewing off my own toes" expression, I'm left to wonder what's on the shirt. I rather suspect it's somehow related to Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron. I was kind of big on horses at the time. Honestly, I'm fortunate that this is one of the nicer pictures that exists from that time. Dwell on that for a while. I like to pretend I just sprang from my father's forehead at age 17. It's better that way.

So after a brief and rather unsuccessful search for Guy Who Sat Behind Me in Sci-Fi, I started looking through at the notes people wrote. A certain individual wrote the following:

Chloe! Besides your randomness, strange drawings of dead horses + [other weird pictures], you rock! You've been an awesome friend to me this year and I hope the fun continues next year! Have a great summer! We should hang out sometime! [phone number] -Katie

This strikes me as odd for a number of reasons. First, the drawings. On the one hand, I don't really remember drawing dead horses. I know I had a fondness for doodling cows and weird little monsters, but not dead horses so much. On the other hand, I certainly believe that I did it. That sounds like me--not that I'm a lover of dead horses, but I have been known to draw some odd little things. Here, for example, is a sample of things I doodle at church:


So as you can see, the dead horse probably isn't that much of a stretch.

Second, I enjoy the caveat of "besides your [prominent traits] you rock!" I read this as essentially saying, "you'd be really cool if you weren't so you!" Third, I have no idea who this person is. Sure, I didn't know who lots of the people were, but apparently I was "an awesome friend" to this person. Perhaps Katie was prone to hyperbole, but the specifics about the drawings make me think that we actually were somewhat close--too bad I have no idea who she is and there's no last name. So, I decided to do a reverse lookup of her phone number, thinking that would jog my memory. Unlisted. I can think of one Katie I knew, but she signed elsewhere. So I flipped through the book, looking for any Katies. No one I recall. Anyone who might use Katie as a nickname. Still nothing. I have no idea who Katie is, despite the fact that we were awesome pals. This, dear friends, is why you should use a last name.

Katie, if you're out there, you were a great friend too. Probably. I don't really know, but you sound nice enough!

My final observation was that I was apparently a very...different person. I've always known that I was a bit odd perhaps, but I suppose I never really understood the extent of my strangeness. This came up quite often, as you can see from this sampling:

"Thanks for the great yet horror filled memories (including the story of your life)."
"You have not lost any of your weirdness."
"I think at first I thought you were a very scary person (and that thought comes back every once in a while)."
"I'm not scared of you anymore. Yay!"
"You're crazy, in a cool kind of way."
"Yes, you're weird, but that's not an entirely bad thing."

I don't know what these people are talking about. Clearly I am perfectly normal.


Maybe not. People certainly still think I'm strange/scary/otherwise a societal outcast. Indeed, there comes a time in almost all of my relationships in which someone feels the need to tell me, "When we first met I was really intimidated by you and I thought you were kind of a freakshow. Now I know you are, but I like it." I'm never sure how to react to this revelation. Should I be flattered that they stuck around long enough to change their mind, offended they thought such things about me in the first place, or something else altogether? Usually this is a good time to suggest we eat pancakes.

So here I am, 5 years later: less hair, better clothes, but still full of weird doodles and general oddity. Apparently high school freshman Chloe and college senior Chloe have more in common than I thought (or hoped)--except for the part where I've gone from staunch conservative to flaming liberal. I guess that's different.