I've hung out with friends from high school in the past few years and played the "remember that time" game several times. My answer is almost always "no".
I play that game most often with Trevor - my drummer who I've known since before I even had the thought to pick up an instrument. During long drives on tour, one of my favorite things is to hear him spout off things we did together when we were kids. I rarely remember them. Once in awhile, something in my brain will get jarred loose and I'll let out a jubilant "oh yeah!" but it's rare.
He's told me about times that we'd been drunk doing God knows what... Nothing.
There are a few blips on the radar but for the most part, nothing.
I remember one thing that happened vaguely when I was in my late teens.
Some friends of mine had a rock band called Aetrium and they had a garage in the guitarists house that they'd turned into a studio. It was pretty much the hang out spot for the group and friends. There were parties there almost every weekend and I destroyed many a brain cell there, I'm sure.
There was a neighbor across the way in a rural area who owned tons of studio gear that he let the guys use to set the place up. He was in his 40's, a little heavyset, and balding. I don't remember his name. Apparently, the gear was given to him by a relative who worked at a TV station... A Christian station if I remember correctly.
Anyways, we were all hanging out and they decided to get something to eat.
I don't think I had any money so I stayed behind. After awhile, I got bored and left. I remember it was really hot that day and my car didn't have AC. I went home - no big deal.
The next day, I went back to the studio/garage. All the guys were there with some girlfriends and other friends. My friends were there. Everyone there was a friend. My only friends, really.
I walked up to the garage door. All the guys were inside sitting kind of quiet looking somewhat morose. The 40something neighbor who'd lent all the gear was standing in front of me with his back turned. I think I said "hello" and as soon as I said a word, the neighbor man spun around and punched me in the face. Square. Nice hit. Rocked me. Punched me perfectly in the face.
There was a small hill to the right of the garage door. I fell down the hill, my sandals fell off, and I was completely dizzy and confused. I had no idea what happened. My head was spinning and my face had that deep numbing pain that only a good punch to the face can emit.
From what I remember, a couple of my "friends" started laughing. The neighbor started screaming, calling me names, saying "get the fuck out of here!".
I only remember saying "Let me just get my sandals and I'll leave!".... That sentence provoked more laughter from my friends. I got in my car and went home. I called later and asked why the fuck I was suckerpunched down a hill. I was told it was because I was alone at the studio the day before and I left without locking up - as though it was my house.
I went home to my Dad's house bloodied and embarrassed. I was a kid. I was a kid and I'd just been beaten by a 40something year old bald, fat guy. What kind of an adult beats up a kid for any reason - let alone THAT reason, I thought.
I don't know why to this day but I think I continued to hang out with those guys for awhile.
Maybe it was self unawareness, self pity, self esteem, the fact that I didn't have any other friends, who knows? But I stayed in that group of people which makes me sick to my stomach to this day.
I only remembered this incident a couple years ago.
It fell into the file of things that I've just blocked out completely. It's a really big file. I remember very little of my high school years.
I've been told I was everything from a loser, to a nice guy, to a nerd, to a non, to a liar, to an idiot, to a theater geek, to a pothead, to an asshole, to an angel and everywhere in between. I really had no idea who I was or why I was.
When I think about that day now, I cringe in horror.
I don't hold a grudge towards my "friends" as much as pity over that day.
Every time I was laughed at or put down or treated like I was the fat idiot friend is just a past blotted memory. Once in awhile shit like this pops in my head and I have to write it out.
I'd still like to delve more into that day to get some more information about what happened but then I think, "eh... fuck it".
I'm me. It is what it is. We all have fucked up memories. That's just one of mine.
Thanks for listening. I feel better.
