It's Not About Quarters

Toward the end of the 90s when I was about eleven or twelve, my family and I drove down to Jackson, MS. My stepmother, Donnia, may have had nursing business down there, but I'm not sure since she just had Samuel.

We had an old green and white camper trailer. It had yellow tiled floor, two bunk beds, a tiny bathroom, and a little kitchen and space area to watch TV and lay down on the couch. It's the only trip I remember really using it. I can't remember if my parents had a good time, how Samuel held up, or even much of what we did. I just remember two things from the trailer park complex where we stayed: a Simpsons arcade game in the playhouse and the swimming pool.

You know the Simpsons game - you play as either Homer, Marge, Bart, or Lisa. You fight a bunch of baddies through multiple stages to try to get back Maggie who was kidnapped by Smithers. I played with Bart who had a skateboard as a weapon. There were a bunch of stages with a boss at the end, and other players could jump in at any time. 25 cents. I would play and play and could only get through a few stages with the quarters I had.

I mostly hung out at the swimming pool though. Dad would let me go swim by myself, and that was fine by me. One day, I was swimming and met a little girl. I cannot remember her name or what she look liked. I remember us talking a mile a minute, both of us impressing we took swimming lessons and could swim in the deep end. She talked a lot about Titanic and Leonardo DiCaprio, so I know it was post-1997. I wouldn't see that movie for another few years, so she described in detail the ending and how much she loved it. A recurring theme in my childhood was to act out events from movies - "space cadet" as Dad would call it. So that's what we did. I played Jack and she played Rose and I had to tell her I loved her and let go and sink to the bottom of the pool and all that. It was kiddy fun.

I eventually told her about the Simpsons game inside, how I couldn't beat it and needed help and didn't have enough quarters. She said she was trying to get through that game too. It was a meeting of the minds. We went back into the arcade room with our combined quarters, and yes reader, we beat the Simpsons. Don't ask what happened at the end. I haven't beaten it since. I’m sure we got Maggie back.

Toward the end of the trip, she said she wanted me to come over to her trailer. I forgot if my family or her family was leaving first. Doesn't matter. I went to her trailer, knocked on the door, and her mother or grandmother let me in. She told me the little girl would be just a second. She finally came out of the back wearing lots of red lipstick, and we went back outside. She handed me a piece of paper, and we hugged and said we would miss each other. Then I left. So, no, this isn't the story of my first kiss.

This is the story of that piece of paper. And why it is relevant to something that's happened to me recently.

Walking back to our camper, I read the note. I don't remember the exact words, but I remember what it was about. It said something to the effect that I was cuter than DiCaprio and kind and should never change and was/could be/am the best boyfriend ever. I dunno. Something like that. That was the message.

I was so proud of that. I've remembered that little girl's message forever. I have since tried to be the nice Southern gentlemen and friend, but it comes to a head as you get older. It gets hard. You begin to understand you and acquaintances are tempted with power, money, status, ambition, etc.

I ran into some bad company recently who wanted nothing more than to use me. I began to call their bluff and sank down to their level of discouragement and demeaning. I cursed at the situation and how mean of a person I became in order to handle it...then I realized something. You can choose who you are around. Simple grandmother, no-duh advice. But man, is it becoming important to remember nowadays.

This entry is mainly cathartic and an effort to remind myself of my long-lost, little friend. Obviously, nobody can keep up childhood innocence, but we can choose our friends, and those friends should bring out the good and child-like qualities me and the little girl had in the 90s. She wanted nothing, and I wanted nothing. I didn't want her quarters. And she wasn't looking to use her quarters on that machine. It just worked out. When you find the right friend, there's no hidden anger, resentment, or jealousy. There's just that person's smiling face and a shared bond where we want to help each other for the better.

Yea, I’m still learning this stuff.