Okay, so as I said before, now we’re actually going to discuss some of the things that Ruben and I talked about. I posted about being grounded just after New Year’s for being out too late on New Year’s Eve. Well, when I got grounded, I wasn’t allowed to attend any poetry reads for a while. These are some emails sent between me and Ruben during that time. Of course, they’re all edited so no personal information is revealed but for the most part, these are copies of them I took directly off my Facebook.
Me: January 6, 2010 dude, i havent been able to go 2 the poetry reads 4 a while. my mom always has shit to do at the last minute. i'll try to go tuesday if my mom quits bein mad at me 4 bein late on saturday. i was sposed 2 be home at 9.....but i came around 1:30 so im kinda grounded. but not 4 long. . . . . .BTW: who spanks 15 yr olds????
Ruben: January 6, 2010 hahaha, who spanks 15 year olds? dirty old men?
We'll be there this coming tuesday at 7 sharp, try to make it, we'd love to see you...and wear something sexy! ;) hahahahaha!
Me: January 7, 2010 i kno, rite? the only people that should ever get spanked are 5 yr olds and hookers.....i'm neither.
i'll try to come, shouldnt be hard. my mom isnt too hard to convince.........and wat are you saying? what? i dont dress sexy?! lol
Ruben: January 7, 2010 heh,well bring your stuff to read and I'll see you there! and remember I am a dirty old man, so wear some fishnets and a skirt and some big black boots, you know the drill! j/k! ;)
I realize that I should probably explain a little bit of this. When I showed up at my house at 1:30 in the morning on New Year’s, my stepfather, in a fit of rage, attempted to, well, spank me. After the initial “punishment” (which consisted of me sitting in a chair with my knees touching the wall for upwards of 5 hours, and then grounding), I decided to find at least some humor in the whole situation. Sometimes I even look back and wonder what exactly goes through a person’s head when they try to spank a teenager, but I digress.
So, what Ruben said, he was obviously joking. (Like I said, the only part of this that was edited was the names and spacing. I didn’t even use the spelling and grammar check.) I was, as written above, 15 when we had this short conversation. He was, I would assume 34. Actually, when I saw what he had written, I wanted to say something witty that wasn’t too implicative toward him. After all, I didn’t want him to think I was interested, but I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t interested either which is why I asked if he didn’t think I dressed sexy. I guess to put it in words that make sense, I wanted to be a little flirty without completely giving myself away.
Listen, this isn’t my way of trying to make him look like a huge pervert just because he was joking about me dressing up to see him. I always used to spend forever getting ready anyway. But what I’m trying to do here is show you as specifically as I possibly can what it was like. I could never recreate a poetry read, never put in words the way he spoke and how he was able to catch my attention with his words, his voice. All I can truly give to my readers is the truth of how impossibly perfect he was. I can’t explain how it was that I came to love Ruben but it happened and I can’t change any of that. I can only admit that some of the greatest fun, some of the moments I spent in that city wishing that time would stand still for a while, were moments that I spent with him, with his friends, with the poets.
Just hearing his name made me blush a little bit. The teachers at school loved him for his contribution to the arts and for being so willing to visit the school and read poetry to the students and actually have the ability to catch their attention. No one can do that. Seriously, you need a miracle worker to really get a teenager to pay attention to what you’re saying. Ruben had done that. It attracted me more than any other kid; I was the youngest person attending the poetry reads. My mom was happy to be rid of me, to know that I was out doing something productive and not going out and getting in trouble doing stupid shit. I was inspired. On a good night, I couldn’t pull myself away from my notebooks; I now had more than I had ever had. (And this is only about a year after my stepdad had thrown out all my work and I mean every scrap of paper I had ever written on. He was in the habit of doing this when I was in trouble because he knew how much I valued it. But I digress. This is to make a point. I was writing all the time, even more now that I had met Ruben.)
Ruben was one of those people who really and truly affected my teenage life at that point. Even more so later on in this story. I thought I took my time and dragged my ass with introducing him and leading up to what this story is really about. This story isn’t even half over at this point. Going back to it one more time, just one more time is something that I hope won’t be too bad. Nothing ever is after the first few times around….
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