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| Fridays can be like an elastic band, stretched taut and ready to snap, and when you finally break free from the frustrations and boredoms of a week of school, you need to fly as far in the opposite direction as you can.
You just want to let loose and have some fun, maybe get lucky, or try something new.
So I went wild, fell for a girl, and found myself in a situation I could never have imagined the day before, or even hours before.
| It all started at school, or rather, before class started. I drove myself and my sister, who was in the passenger seat, there.
When I got my driver's license and a car, my parents expected me to drive her to school, which I gladly have.
Even though she was a lowly freshman, I've always liked Hannah. Teasing aside, we've always gotten along well because we're both pretty laid back. She even likes a few bands that aren't completely terrible.
| She's also a reader, though not as much as I am... but she's one of the few people I can talk books with when she borrows one of mine or, more rarely, when I read one of hers.
I read One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest on her recommendation before seeing the movie (she was only twelve when she read it), and it was even better than I expected.
| She was quieter than usual that Friday, but I asked her about her plans for that night, which were to go over to her friend Cindy's house and have a sleepover. I made a few jokes about them braiding each other's hair and reminded her that it was her duty to tell if her friends said they liked me. She rolled her eyes like she always did, but she did open up about what they were going to do: work on a school project, maybe watch a few episodes of a TV show Cindy saved on her DVR.
| I know what you're thinking -- advance school work on a Friday night, followed by a night of TV... my sister's a wild one, isn't she? Well, for the schoolwork she had an excuse: the group project was due Monday, and her friend had to leave for some family business on the next morning.
| As for everything else... like I said, I always thought we were similar, laid back, and forget what I said about teenagers on a Friday being like a rubber band snapping, that's probably roughly true, but my personal band, and I assumed my sister's as well, rarely snapped all the way.
Of course, until that day.
| To be fair, an outside observer would probably find her plans more interesting than mine. Like many other weekends, I planned to spend this one curled up with a good book, perhaps something by Terry Pratchett: I had just finished Kafka's The Castle and was in the mood for something completely different.
| "That boring, jumbled mess?" She wrinkled her nose. She'd tried Kafka and turned him down. Sometimes she takes my advice and tries something based on my recommendations and really likes it, and I feel good about myself every time I think about it, like I'm the one responsible for exposing her to some good shit, but it stings a little when she doesn't like it. She seemed to be rejecting a small part of me.
| "I'm telling you, you've got to read past the first chapter. The beginning stinks, but once you push through it gets interesting."
"Nope. Books are like kissing, if the first chapter's a bad one, you don't need to keep going, there's no chemistry."
I harumphed, still irritated that she had rejected one of my recommendations, and decided to go for a tease instead. "Well, what would you know about kissing?"
| I cast a glance in her direction, saw her stick her tongue out at me, and responded by sticking my tongue out as well.
I had no idea how much experience with boys my sister had... We were extremely close, but there are limits. I was fairly certain she'd kissed, and I knew she was attractive enough to entice boys... I couldn't explain why she was so attractive, but my friends confirmed it, much to my annoyance.
| I hoped she was still a virgin, even though she was briefly a cheerleader; stereotypes about cheerleaders being slutty are exaggerated. And fourteen is too young for that, especially if it's your sister.
I was going to tell her that how you start is far less important than how you finish, but I realized that The Castle didn't end all that well either, and besides, it would sound like I was suggesting she screw guys she'd rejected romantically just to see if they're any good.
| As a result, my only response would be a wordless tongue-sticking-out.
Besides, we were pulling into school. I drew us right up to the front door, and Hannah decided to retaliate for my teasing her about kissing with an old favorite. She told me as she retrieved her backpack from the back seat, "Okay gurl, I'll see you tomorrow. Now, remember, to get to the parking lot, you make a right, then take the first left. Do you need me to write it down for you so you won't get lost?"
| "Shut up," I said, but not maliciously. "Hey, have fun tonight." I added before she left. She nodded, smiled, and waved back. I quickly remembered what she was wearing as she walked away. She was dressed in a grey blouse that was long enough to look like a dress, black jeggings, and mid-thigh-high brown boots. I hoped I'd be able to spot her in a crowd if she was cute but not particularly distinctive.
| It's not easy - especially for me - but I try to keep an eye out for her, if some guy was bothering her, I'd want to see it from down the hall and intervene; even if she doesn't want me to, it's a brother's responsibility. But it's not easy in a large school or for someone like me. She quickly vanished into the crowd, and when I heard a honk behind me, I got up and walked to the parking lot, where I grabbed my phone from its holder on the dash and prepared for my own Friday.
| A guy waved and nodded at me in passing shortly after I entered. I assumed he was a student based on his age, but I had no idea who he was. I nodded and continued without saying anything. That continued through the halls; people acting as if they recognized me, but I didn't see anyone I recognized.
| But it was too early in the day for me, and I'm a bit famous in my school, so I'm not sure how much of that is because of that, and how many real friends I missed in that procession of faces.
I didn't think I was being rude because none of them said hello to me by name. As I approached my locker, someone tapped me on the shoulder and spoke up. When I turned to face him, he smiled. "Hey, gurl, it's Paul."
| "Yeah, I know, man." Of course I recognized Paul. For years and years, he was my best friend.
He had that black backpack with the blue straps over one shoulder, the extra large t-shirt that hung down over his hips (bare arms despite the slight chill in the morning air), the buzz-cut, the overall pudgy-look (not fat enough to be made fun of, especially since he was tall, and there was muscle underneath)...
| he would have been on the football team if he didn't have butterfingers, so he wrestled.
And then there was his deep voice, with a bit of a rasp to it, as if he smoked, even though he didn't (at least not tobacco). I appreciated the introduction, but it wasn't necessary -- before he even opened his mouth, everything about him told me it was Paul.
I only didn't recognize his face.
| Part 2 soon?
| tl;dr plz
| Tldr
| it was all a d r e a m ~~0w0~~
| >>940005 Posting it here is a challenge to myself, to actually finish a longer form story for once in my life. I'm doing it on-the-fly~
| ch2
That is something I should explain.
Prosopagnosia has plagued me for most of my life. It's a lengthy medical term for a condition known colloquially as face blindness. Which is also not entirely accurate, because I can *see* faces just fine; it's more like I can't remember them once I look away.
The issue is that I can't recognize people by their faces, even if I know them well and they're family: I have to cope by other means.
| Well, Dad I recognize about 95% of the time because he always wears the same clothes and has his hair cut the same way. Mom and Hannah are more perplexing... they both have different hairstyles and dress in a variety of styles... women, you know? I can still recognize them by their voices, build, walking style, and, most importantly, context... if there's a teenage girl at home with (usually) light brown hair?
| It's a safe bet it's Hannah, though I spent five minutes talking to a befuddled visiting friend of hers before realizing my sister was in the shower. A woman in her thirties staring at me because I haven't cleaned my room, or obsessively worried if I do anything remotely dangerous? Mom, most likely. If I see one of them on the street, I might not recognize them unless I remember what they were wearing that day.
| Hannah was practically invisible to me at school when she wore her cheerleading uniform... I wondered if that was part of the reason she joined up.
Even though she's not a wild child, I figured it must be difficult having an older brother nearby when you're in the best possible position to be young and dumb and get into trouble, because I'd almost certainly intervene to stop it if I thought she was doing anything too bad, even if I've done worse.
| Unless I was in as deep as she was.
Almost everyone at school is aware of my condition, and some do not believe it, because with close friends, like with family, I can use other cues, what I call the 'Vibe,' actually 'VIBH,' an acronym I made up when I was thirteen, but in my head I pronounce it 'Vibe,' so that's how I spell it here.
'VIBH' stands for Voice/Idiosyncrasies/Build/Hair, and I usually notice them in that order... hair can be a dead giveaway at a distance.
| When combined with hair, build helps, but with very few exceptions, I can't tell someone by build alone... many people have similar body types.
Idiosyncrasies are things like your age, the way you walk, whether you wear glasses, your general style... all the little things that people may not notice right away but add up to make you, you. And voice, well, it always helps, but not as much as you might think.
| You can't always rely on people talking to you, and voices can change dramatically with emotion or if you have a cold or something... plus, many voices sound similar.
I’m really not sure if that’s how I see it, or how everyone sees it. But that’s how it works for me.
| It's not easy to recognize someone, but if we've interacted 30-40 times and you haven't changed anything recently, I can usually recognize you based on the Vibe, at least if your body language indicates that I'm supposed to know you.
| Again, it works better with guys than with girls in most situations, but there are some special tricks for girls as well.
I recognize a girl in my Bio class almost entirely by her earrings (they're not always the same ones, but they're always long and dangly and I recognize most of them by now) and this strawberry-scented perfume she wears everywhere.
| People refer to it as a disability, but I manage pretty well, and I know others who have it worse. I'm a member of an online… I guess you could call it a support group, but it's not the kind where you sit in a circle and talk about your feelings. If you ask me what they look like, I couldn't tell you even if I saw their faces.
| It's just a message board – now a Discord server – where a couple dozen other people with my condition discuss some of the difficulties and whenever there are new scientific breakthroughs or it appears in the media, such as when it was featured on Arrested Development or when Brad Pitt told a reporter that he believes he has a mild form of it.
| And perhaps he does have it: we are certainly not all the same. Some were born this way, while others were affected through an accident. By the way, I'm sort of in the second group – it wasn’t really an accident. When I was in elementary school, I caught a rare viral infection that caused my brain to swell and nearly killed me. I recovered, but I believe there was some long-term damage.
| Hannah constantly teases me about it, whenever I do something stupid or just to make fun of me, that there was a *lot* of damage, but really, I got off easy, I just seem to have the face thing, and not even the worst variety of that.
Some of the others are terrible at reading facial expressions... thank goodness I'm not one of those; I can tell when someone is smiling or frowning at me.
| I don't remember how it looks exactly, but I remember the fact that it happened, almost as if I thought, "Oh, he's smiling." Some people with face-blindness can't tell age or gender at a glance, but I can (though long-haired guys and very short-haired girls can trip me up). And some are better off because they can remember your face if you're family or they've seen you in the last week or so, but then they forget.
| Some people have it so mildly that they don't even realize they have it; they just think they have bad memories. One of them could be Brad Pitt.
But if you went into the bathroom, changed your clothes, and messed up your hair a little, you could walk right out and I wouldn't know it was you.
You don't even have to change your clothes if I'm not paying attention.
That's not normal.
| I guess there's something else wrong with me besides the face thing, but I'm not sure if I should count it separately because many of us in the group have the same problem... we get lost easily.
Not so much a problem with GPS everywhere, but during my first week of high school, I frequently ended up in the wrong class. It has no bearing on this story, but it explains why my sister teased me about getting lost on the way to the parking lot.
| But don't feel sorry for me.
As I previously stated, I manage quite well. I guess I do feel left out sometimes, especially when people talk about TV or movies... most of them are difficult to follow, and I can't tell who's doing what. That is why I prefer reading. Otherwise, you'd be surprised how little of life is dependent on recognizing the faces around you, and I'm sure when AR glasses finally make it to market they’ll have face recognition apps built in.
| So I don't feel bad about my situation. It's even been beneficial at times. You wouldn't believe how many pretty girls approach me who would never approach me otherwise, asking if I recognize them, just because they know about my condition and want to believe they're the exception, that there's something so appealing about them that I remember them.
| What I never mention is that the few people I recognize by face are usually because they have something negative about them, like an ugly scar or a comically large nose, or a missing tooth, or something big enough that it sticks in my head even if the rest of the face doesn't.
Pretty is awesome, and I'm as much a sucker for a pretty face as the next person, but I can't recognize anyone by pretty.
| A lot of girls are attractive. When I can recognize pretty girls using the Vibe rather than their face, I can fool them into thinking it's because they're so beautiful, at least for a while, and that gets me further than you'd think. But, for the most part, my condition has little to no impact on my life.
But every now and then, I get fucked over in ways that other people wouldn't be able to. That day, Paul set in motion the most memorable of those occurrences.
| "So my father left this morning on one of his long hauls." Paul's father worked as a delivery driver.
"Long haul" was a bit of an exaggeration... as a single parent, he arranged for most of his delivery runs to be in town, but every now and then he'd have to cover for someone else and go away for a couple days, and since Paul's mother died, that left him alone.
When he was younger, he'd come stay with us... but now, at 17, he was old enough to just stay at home.
| "You want to come over, hang out overnight?"
"Who with?"
"Mike said he'll probably make it... Brian, for sure... Trevor he'll bring his cousin. Oh, and Sean."
"Maybe," I said, hedging my bets slightly.
I wasn't sure if I wouldn't rather spend the night with Deschain, Eddie, Susannah, and Jake.
I had a good group of friends and people who lived nearby, but this particular group was a mixed bag, and I wasn't always in the mood for all of them.
| Paul was my best friend, Mike was fun and could get a little wild, and Brian was okay, if a little annoying at times. Trevor I liked but didn't know his cousin, and although I never made it clear to others, I thought Sean was a bit of a jerk. Even so, he could be entertaining at times, so he wasn't a dealbreaker.
| Still, it was a little more in terms of straight numbers than I was comfortable with at the time, and at least with Sean and Trevor, there'd probably be pot smoking, which meant long stretches of everyone leaving me downstairs with maybe just Brian while the others went off and got high.
| By the way, I'm not passing judgment.
It's not like I don't smoke weed, but only conditionally. By myself or with one or two close friends, either at home (which I don't want to do if my parents or sister are around) or when I won't have to go anywhere afterwards. It's because my condition makes it difficult for me to remember the stuff I use for the Vibe when I'm high, and it also fucks with my orientation. I’m prone to getting lost on my way home from Paul’s to begin with.
| Drinking has the same effect on me, but I can hide it better with booze, and with booze, others can do it around me and I don't have to leave the room to avoid a second-hand high.
I don't mind if my friends want to get high or drunk while I can't; I just don't want to be bored and doing nothing while they do. "I guess I'll have to ask my parents." Which was true, but unless I recently pissed them off, they'd probably say yes.
| And if I wanted to leave, I could simply use them as an excuse.
"You know, my mom might freak out again?"
She's been overprotective ever since I nearly died as a child. So there you have it. But when I complain that she won't let me do something I'm secretly too scared or simply uninterested in, everyone believes me.
"Start thinking of a lie then, Sean said he's gonna invite some girls over..."
| I read all that, You better finish this
| tl;dr
| After such a lengthy introduction, I hope it ends with you banging your sister, because if it doesn't I'll be greatly disappointed
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| Buckle up /d/, I'm going to tell you a story. The kind of story that you all enjoy, one that took place many moons ago.
The story, like many others, started on a Friday. What better day, at least for a seventeen-year-old junior with a car, to get into trouble? Saturday, perhaps, but Saturdays lend themselves to a more subdued partying style.