If I were to put on Wind Song perfume, I would remember that once upon a time I was 16 and insecure and made shy by circumstances that changed my life dramatically on my 15^th birthday.   The circumstances, really, are not important.  One just needs to know that I was uprooted, again, and moved to a locale where I knew no one and no one knew me.  That was not a new experience, but these new kids were not military brats.  They did not welcome me with open arms.  They were not unkind.  I was simply someone they didn’t know in a tight-knit community at an age where one doesn’t really socialize outside their tribe.

I had no tribe. I was invisible.

I did have the third floor of a brick house as bedroom to myself.  As do teenagers, I spent hours holed up in my attic.  The princess in exile in the tower.

I can slip into the steaming hot water of the claw footed bathtub and wash my hair with Herbal Essence shampoo.  Luxuriating in the warmth and comfort of the water while tears silently slip down my face.  Another lonely day is about to begin at school.  More than a year’s worth now. 

Out of the bath, I apply Merle Norman makeup at the round mirror over the sink.  Oh, how I want a vanity table, and someday I will have one, but now I stand in front of the mirror and apply the expensive makeup I have bought with babysitting money.  Nobodies make good babysitters.  I had a thriving business. 

I turn on the radio – WKEE – the station everyone listened to.  Top 40 and rock.  Classics I still listen to.  Nazareth – Love Hurts.  Yes, it does.  I have unrequited love.  I am a miserable teenager in love — hat tip to Deon and the Belmonts. I stand in front of the 3 small windows overlooking the street.  I wonder where everyone goes so early.

It is January.  It’s cold outside.  I do not use a blow dryer.  Unlike other girls with long hair, a blow dryer turns my sleek straight hair fly away and fuzzy.  I won’t use them.  I am wrapped in a bathrobe and fingering clothes in the closet.  I go to a high school in a wealthy neighborhood.  We are not wealthy.  Quite the opposite.  I wear Sears.  They are wearing clothes from The Princess Shoppe. 

I won’t gain entry to the tribe with my clothes.

I pull on high-waisted jeans, a sleeveless vest, and a matching cardigan.  It’s a favorite of mine.  Sears or no.  I climb into a pair of White Mountain clogs.  A splurge.  I assemble my books. I am a serious student with demanding classes.  So many of them.  We don’t use backpacks or bookbags, we just carry notebooks and texts.  I have no idea why.

My hair is almost dry.  Almost.  I go downstairs.  Two flights of stairs at a run though I am not eager to get anywhere.  I don’t eat breakfast, but I do have a cup of coffee with my parents.  It is cold in the house.  These old 3 story bricks are expensive to heat. 

It is time to leave. 

I put on lip gloss, the familiar taste making me wince, in the downstairs bathroom.  I call it my courage.  Why glistening bad-tasting lips give me courage, I don’t know.  But they do.

And I need all the courage I can get.

I don’t know it yet, but I am going to meet my best friend today. 

Things are about to change.

Forty-six years later, I drive by that house and look up to the 3 windows and marvel at all the years have wrought. I attended my class reunion last weekend — something I said I would never do, but I am dating a guy who was a senior class officer. 

Nobody knew me.  Nobody remembered me.  My memories are accurate.

I’m still not a member of that tribe.

HHS Class of 1977