Truths and Lies - Prologue. Prologue

Part V Truths and Lies

Prologue

I was recently doing some research into the nature of the so called mid-life crisis, to see if indeed, that was the proper term to describe my current sense of global disorientation. I happened upon this curious piece of information: the word 'crisis' in Chinese, consists of two characters, one representing 'danger' and one representing 'opportunity;' therefore, crisis='dangerous opportunity.' When considering this bit of philological trivia in combination with my recent, and surprisingly emotional linkup with Jesse (who was, ironically enough, in Tai Pei at the time), I had to wonder if the writing of these memoirs, the time, effort, dedication, and perhaps most importantly, the time not spent doing other things, was indeed presenting me with a 'dangerous opportunity.' Feelings that I thought long since buried (but not forgotten) have risen from their shallow graves to haunt me once again. I had convinced myself long ago that I could indeed have two true loves in my life, in this case Jesse Taylor and my darkly beautiful, savvy, and always dedicated wife of some seventeen years, and further, that one could be pushed aside or relegated to some dank and dusty memory attic, there to simply exist in a state of suspended animation devoid of any real emotional potency. Now I find, as I continue the long and obsessive task of transcribing my youthful misadventures, that my mind conjures up not the usual image of an eternally youthful blond god of adolescent perfection, but the image that seemed to sit across from my desk one quiet night earlier this year, asking me for pictures of my son's rocket hockey championship game--the virtual image of a man my own age, with experiences unique and shared, whose life path veered from my own over twenty six years ago. I find this more disturbing than comforting, and now wonder what path I have inadvertently set myself upon, and quite frankly, whether it will lead to good or ill. Clearly, I have also revealed these revivified feelings to Mr. Taylor as well. It is with a great deal of trepidation that I await his response (if any).

Be that as it may, I have finished compiling this latest installment of my youthful chronicles, primarily concerned with the early stages of my unlikely, but passionate relationship with Jesse Taylor. If there was a common theme during the early part of our relationship that reared its paradoxical head more often than any other it was this: Truth and Lies--opposites, or two sides of the same coin? Which was our friend and which our enemy? Was one always right and one always wrong? Or was there, as the Bible itself purports, a time for every purpose under Heaven? Heady concepts for young teenagers struggling with the daily trials and tribulations of being in the eighth grade at the dawn of this new and perplexing millennium. Yet these were the issues that dogged Jesse and me as our relationship seemed to enter a new phase. It seemed that, between the two of us and our closest friends, we had accrued a copious ledger of lies, half truths, unspoken truths, and deceptions, the biggest one being of course, the refusal to reveal the true nature of a youthful relationship unlike anything any of us had experienced before: a profound and irresistible and obsessive love combined with an insatiable physical relationship that took us into forbidden realms of teenage ecstasy. But during this time especially, circumstances contrived to force many of these lies to be exposed and for the consequences of those revelations to be dealt with by all who were involved, directly or peripherally.

While there was no question that in the beginning, my astucious angel was by far the wiser in every respect than I, it seemed that slowly, and in typically adolescent fits and starts, I began to do some growing up of my own. Not to deny that my normal state of mind continued to be one of utter confusion over everyone and everything other that my beautiful blond angel, but to realize and accept that I too could be the pillar of strength when the need was great enough. The only other profound relationship I had at this time was the one with my mother and one which I must admit in painful hindsight, I far too often took for granted. Perhaps it was inevitable that these two most important relationships in my life would clash. Was love more important than trust? Could one even exist without the other? Again, heady issues for someone on the brink of his fourteenth birthday.

Lest you suppose the following chronicles to be only a collection of adolescent angst--the sturm and drang of German nineteenth century philosophy transposed some two hundred years to the idyllic suburban landscape of southern California, I remind you of Jesse's very own words: "It's important for you to tell this story, especially the good times..." and I have tried not to forget his request.

You may wonder how much of the following is indeed the literal truth, and what has been extrapolated or concocted by my dulling forty five year old mind. Most of the emails and 'locker notes' are indeed permanent and literal parts of my database, scanned in years ago as keepsakes of a wondrous and magical time in my life. Other recollections are a combination of shadowed memory and satnet research. If the slang, the clothes, the hair styles, and other aspects of early millennium culture are not exactly as you remember them, then understand that I have done my very best to recreate this time that meant so much more to me than Vans sneakers and Calvin Klein T-shirts. I have changed the names of all the people--both living and dead, and many of the places, such as Santa Corina and St. Boniface, to protect those who may not be fully prepared to accept some of the truths and lies contained herein.

Oh, and one more thing, lest I be accused of failing my comitious duties as a friend. Dear, sweet Tom, where ever you are, I kept your promise for thirty one years. Forgive me, but surely the statute of limitations has run out by now!

I am always interested in your feedback. Talk to me @Pt-9009-U/D543sat.net (scram/dir)

Perry Thompson, October 26, 2034