Past & Present

I think it was first, third, and eighth grade that I had a crush on John Darling. His rugged good looks snagged me in first: those lightning bolts masterfully incorporated into his mullet, accompanied by a cute little rat tail in back. It was his style that got me in third: he was one of the only kids in school who got to have those laser lights in the background of his school picture. The neon colors zig-zagged behind that devilish grin, and I was smitten. In eighth grade my crush was a bit more legit: we spent our time in the back of Mrs. Reige's class making fun of her armpit mole and trying to make each other mess up while making argumentative speeches about women in the military, capital punishment, and euthanasia. We genuinely enjoyed laughing together, and so, again, I was smitten. Unfortunately, I was dating Patrick Forrer at the time: making out on the hill behind the movie theater and giving sweaty, awkward notes to each other between fifth and sixth period.

In high school, John Darling became somewhat of an untouchable. He quickly became a part of the "in-crowd," a football player, and lets face it, a hottie. My friends and I remained acquaintances with him, he was always the nicest of them all, but as we grappled with figuring out what to do for the 17th "girls night" in a row of estrogen-filled weekends, John Darling became something of a pipe dream for all of us.

Six years later, John Darling appeared on my doorstep in Brooklyn, arm in arm with my best friend, Nina Shully. It took me a few hours to cope with and set aside the excitement that our high school heart-throb was standing in my kitchen- (it was a similar feeling to when Mark Steffke was using my bathroom in the very same apartment: "Mark Steffke! In my bathroom! Pinch me!"). But I manned up, suited up, and we took Johnny D. out on the town.

Having never been to the Big Shitty, John provided Nina and I with a new perspective of the place. We wove through the mobs of ill-fitted tourists in Times Square (my most dreaded few blocks of the city), and John couldn't get enough. He shook me into realizing that the bright lights are actually beautiful, the mobs of people are not lost but found. Nina played tour guide while I pretended to go into work happily - she's been here so many times that she knows every stop on the F-train, how to meander from Chinatown to the Financial district, swim to the Statue of Liberty, and boardwalk it over the WTC hole in one day.

Johnny D. laughed at my Amish way of life, and I laughed at his inability to keep his head off the plate at brunch on Saturday. He watched as I attempted a few interesting dance moves, and I watched as he made my best friend happier than I've seen her in years. After all was said and done, we saw a clown out of the corner of our eyes, and laughed just as hard as we did in eighth grade, and all of a sudden the past became the present.