Saturday, 01 October 2005 |
K L Poore
I hated Jorel Quimby.
You remember him, he was the guy whose folks had money so he always had
cool clothes. He was just clever enough to say something funny at
exactly the right moment and leave teachers laughing and pissed off at
the same time. And girls used to call out his name when he’d saunter
by, headed for his shop class or drama.
Yeah, I hated him … but later,
secretly, in my bedroom, I’d turn my stereo up so loud it would blot
out the world (and the TV in the living room) and wish that I was all
those things. And with better hair. I wanted to be him. I know that
eventually we all grow out of our bedroom phase (except my friend Jerry
Dee, who’s probably still laying there reading comics and listening to
Yes) and become what we will, but still, in odd ...