Walking the halls of my old high school. It’s been a while
admittedly. The girls are older now. Fewer are single. I’m in class.
Sitting in my desk: annoyed. Trying to remember the predication for
this: The teacher is explaining something on the chalk board.
Camille Pedigo: blonde curly long hair addresses me,
“Charles, you have your textbook”
I look at my textbook; sure I answer.
(Charles, this part is disgusting, but just write it out.; I’ll fix
Do you see the markings? The implication is that someone borrows my
history book. On a page in the book are a gathering of hairs. Some
straight some curly. Immediately, the question is implied: Do you do
your homework with one hand down your pants? In typical Charlesian
honesty and considering who is asking I reply where the entire class
can hear, “yes, I see lots of hairs in my text book. I’ll clean them
out. I’m sorry.” At this point my head is lifted and I’m facing the
front of the classroom but deliberately trying to avoid eye contact
with anyone *embarrassed*. Truth of the moment was, I didn’t
remember how the hairs got there or where they would have come from.
Either way I waited until class was over and Camille was gathering
her things to speak.
“Camille, did I/ what did I do to you or one of your friends to
make you upset?” She gives an expression of consternation and
“Remember when Kendra (Harrison) was asking you something?
My memory flashes back to the scene. I’m at my desk, Kendra comes by
asking me something. I’m bored and disinterested. One arm is seated
on the desk holding up my head. The other elbow is on a text book. I
give her the middle finger saying something about “the Deuce.” It
wasn’t, in my mind, suppose to be as insulting as that sounds. In my
mind I was just telling her I didn’t care about the school subject
(that was very rude of me, I’m sorry). Camille nods in disapproval.
Gathers her things and parts the classroom. She’s wearing this
really “belle” blue dress and her walking makes quite an impression.
* One side note: When Camille does something Its all out. She wanted
justice for me so she called me out in front of the entire class to
discuss what were quite possibly pubic hairs in my textbook. There
is a Cruel Intensions quality to it. * Back-story: Camille is my
High School’s valedictorian. Basically the CharlesLand equivalent of
the perfect “smart and cute” girl.
Leaving the classroom I spend the next several minutes wandering
the hallways. I am lost. There are so many hallways. At this point a
visualization occurs to me. The small hairs were from my electric
razor. I wish I had thought of that sooner. Anyways, I’m looking for
an old high school girl on the dance team or cheerleader to ask the
question. I figure dance team girls to be the more gossipy type. The
question is, naturally: is Camille single?
I come across a rather unattractive long haired woman. She’s wearing
a flower style ribben in her hair. I “Rather” turn up my nose to
her. She’s a little over-weight and doesn’t have the shinest
features. She might know the answer to my question but I say to
myself, “I’ll just ask someone else.”
I see Camille walking down the hallway. She is carrying a stack
of papers, books, boxes and Styrofoam cups down the hallway. This is
quite impressive. I ask stupidly, “Working for your
homeroom/scholarship?”, she replies, “yes.” I consider that I could
be of help and carry something. But, she’s really carrying so much
stuff (about 3 peoples worth) that it wouldn’t make much difference.
Begin walking with her. At the first turn corner a cup would fall
from the stack. I picked it up without breaking strike holding on to
it. I try to drum up conversation but cannot think of much
interesting to say. It was a sunny day outside.
We’re walking together down the hall. I’m wearing white shorts,
Camille is wearing white shorts. (I want to say neither of us are
wearing a shirt, but its not like she’s bare breasted. She’s
carrying loads of stuff.
Then, in the distance, my ex-girlfriend sees me. Jamie frowns
disapproving-like and walks away. I’m happy to be living a clean
life that at the same time makes her jealous.
I keep trying to say her name, “Ja-mille”, “CaJamille”, every time I
do it, a “J” slips into the pronounciation: Camill (Je – frence
pronounciation, like Jeu).
“I have an ex-girlfriend; are you familiar with her at all?” Camille
has been walking several moments and she’s been pondering. But this
would not be unusual behavior for a prodigy. Her gears would always
Camille is walking very quickly. I make a note of it. She’s carrying
loads of things, has smaller legs than I do, yet is easily beating
me. Again, I chalk this up to her uber-productivy of a
“Yes, I think I am.” Camille replies. I continued, “her name started
with a ‘J’. So, I will call you Camille.” Camille smiled happily
stopped turned and kissed me playfully on the cheek. This of course
surprised me. I quite like being kissed.
Being kissed at this moment was surprising. We’d only been walking
down the hall, and to this point I’ve only been able to spit out her
name. One might thing, most of the time you have to impress a girl
before she likes you at all.
She turns to me saying, then I shall call you “ “ the word is
pronounceable, but I forgot it. All I remember is that it wasn’t
Charles. She again turns and kisses me. This 2nd kiss has a jarring
effect on me: my heart convulses so sharply I awaken from the dream
There is a potential powerful moral conclusion:
When I’m walking the halls looking for Camille the second time. I
happen upon a “somewhat unattractive” girl and completely ignore
her. (naturally) I didn’t think of this at the time: But this could
be one version of Camille.
Bear in mind: Last time I saw Camille was my Senior year of high
school 10 years ago. Its very possible she’s gained 45 lbs and is
married with children.
But the 2nd time, Camille could be represented as the girl I
remember: Pretty, schoolgirl.
On antoher note, when we’re walking I look down at her legs (as boys
do) and notice she’s shorter than I expected and walking quickly.
She is reminding me of Jamie. I’m not sure if the dream made her
shorter to remind me of her or, if her being short reminds me of
her. Either way, my thoughts drifted away.
I guess the conclusion is; for all of Camille’s cool personality
that I enjoyed so much. I wouldn’t have given her the time of day if
she wasn’t cute to boot.
I wonder, if/when I meet her again, I’m expecting her to be cute and
(hedging my bets) prepared for her to be not. I wonder how
disappointed I’d be if she had lost even a scrap of prettiness.
I also wonder if its still fair to like her if she is pretty. If
she’s pretty I’ll be like, “I’m just liking her just the way she
is.” But the contra positive of that is, if she’s plain, “I’ll like
her for who she was.”