the only thing worse
than bad memories
is no memories at all..
[dismemberment plan]
8.05.2003
Probation Joe
Note: Some of you may have already read this post on RS.
The subject matter was "Worst Relationship Ever."
It was October 30, 1999, the last day I spent in Freehold Boro High School before I transferred back to Marlboro.
I was getting my transfer sheet signed by all of my teachers, and on the way down the second floor staircase, I ran into Joey.
Joey.
I had never spoken to him before this, but I had often found papers covered in caveman-esque doodles on my desk that he'd left behind in the class before mine.
They usually consisted of scrawled out stick figures smoking blunts wearing backwards caps with little word bubbles saying things like "YO I BE SMOKKIN DIS BLUNT WIT MY HOMIEZ."
Joey was not my type in any stretch of the imagination.
He wore bright colored football jerseys and was the biggest wigger I had ever met in my entire life.
Maybe the novelty of the situation was what attracted me to him, I'm still not sure of it today.
He gave me his number that day on the staircase, and I, the naive, ugly, awkward freshman, was so flattered and full of red-faced bashfulness, that I called him that night, and we started going out after that.
Our "dates" always consisted of my mom dropping me off in the minivan at his huge house (his parents were supposedly in the mafia, and loaded with money), me watching him smoke in his basement, watching rap music videos on BET, listening to the Kottonmouth Kings (who he at one point sold pot to extensively), and making out on his pool table.
I soon found out that his nickname was "Probation Joe"-- he was on probation for various drug charges.
The first night we hung out, he showed me the shrooms he had in his pocket.
For some reason, despite the fact that his mouth tasted like ashes all the time, or that he could most likely be classified as a highly functional retard, or that he always said, "Yo I'm totally wigging out, yo" at every occasion, I still fell hard for him.
Maybe it was his slackjawed, blank-eyed stare, his fat sausage fingers, his drug addict stepmom, the cigarette burns on his hands, or his fascination with glowsticks and going to clubs to rave that attracted me to him?
Or maybe it was the fact that I found it so hard to believe that someone would like a sloppy, nerdy, shiny faced loser like me, fresh out of braces and eager to learn Algebra II.
So the months went by, and one night, I realized I hadn't talked to him in a week or so, so I called him.
His stepmom answered the phone:
"Hi sweetie! How are you?"
"I'm fine. Is Joey there?"
"What? Honey, he didn't tell you?
.. HE MOVED TO FLORIDA."
During the next few weeks, he wrote to me.
His letters were always on ripped out notebook paper, covered in heart and penis drawings.
[Peek-a-Foo]