Yesterday I found an old yellowed book that was hidden away, and by its dog-eared condition I had used it well. Not being the most attractive girl in school my “crushes” were legendary and they carried on for years. One of my “prey” was a local French Canadian boy whose name was Alain Jacques. I stalked him for almost two years in High School and now I look back on it and feel terrible that this poor guy was put in such an awkward position.
“Sew yourself a big fun bold print dress- and make a necktie to match for him.”
I designed and made most of my own clothes from the age of 12 on, and they were styles you might not even wear on Halloween. One day I remember walking into the local hangout in a baby blue floor length Granny Dress (6 months before they were popular), white go- go boots and a buck tooth smile. In my narrow little fashionista mind I was sure Alain would swoon over me immediately. But once he took a good look at me I could tell there was no way I was ever going to be asked to make him a matching tie.
“Does this boy play the guitar? Ask him to drill a small hole in one of his guitar picks and wear it around your neck.”
I honestly tried to let him know how interested I was in music by changing the location of my weekly piano lessons. I dropped my old teacher like a hot potato when I found out there was an instructor right next door to where he lived. I would sit outside after my lessons and gaze at his bedroom window for an hour or so. One day he caught a glimpse of me and quickly pulled the curtains closed. If I would have had a ladder it would have put up against his house and I would have climbed in. There was no way I would have settled for guitar picks either.
“Want to meet him? Start a petition and ask him to sign.”
In my own artistic way I wrote a song about him to the tune of The Beatles’ “Nowhere Man.” I believe it went like this:
“He’s a real Nowhere Man,
Sitting on his garbage can,
Making all his nowhere plans
for him and me,
Doesn’t have a point of view,
Knows not where he’s going to,
Isn’t he a lot like me?
Nowhere Man please listen,
You don’t know what you’re missing,
Nowhere Man, my world is at your command!”
Signed: Mrs. Alain Jacques
We used to literally hang out of the High School windows at lunch time staring at all the cute French guys that used stand across the street. You could not miss Alain as he was tall with a blonde Beatle haircut and always sat on a garbage can. I had hand written many copies of my love poem and gave this “masterpiece” out to a few friends. One of them immediately thought he should know of my brilliance and gave him a copy. He looked up at me after he read it and I waved frantically having no idea I was about to be mortified for the rest of my life. When I found out what happened I slithered out of the window to my desk never to be seen again- for at least 48 hours.
“Always, repeat always, leave a party, dance or anything else with the same boy who brought you. If you meet a groovy boy during the evening there is always next time.”
Because I was overweight, had large teeth and smelled sometimes there was no way any guy was going to ask me out. I was the girl that wrote stories that were seized by the teacher, had bad marks and talked a lot. I had no family life so I lived in a fantasy world with an imaginary beloved and I ran with those thoughts daily. Eventually I hoped that Alain would join me in my world in a small home with Sears furniture and ready made kids.
To learn if he likes you, gather two acorns. Scratch his initials on one, yours on the other. Toss them into a pond, river or lake. If they float close together-yes he loves you; if they float apart-sorry ‘bout that.
I had a friend whose mother was into some mumbo jumbo stuff and she told me if I wrote his name 500 times a day he would finally succumb to me. So for 7 days I wrote: “Mrs. Alain Jacques” over and over in my notebook instead of doing homework. Alain never did come running and my friend suggested that perhaps I should have dropped the “Mrs.” for it to work.
“If you follow only one rule, let it be this one. Be yourself. The really strong boy-girl relationships are based on what people really are, not on what they pretend to be.”
The problem was that I was a freak and I scared him off by being a stalker. If I am 64 then Alain must be 67 and I wonder if he ever thinks of me and laughs. Maybe he has lost most of his hair, is not as cool anymore and been married a couple of times. I swear I will never forget him and I can bet my last bottom dollar he has never forgotten the crazy stalker whose name was Linda Knight.
Dedicated to Roger and Alain Jacques where ever you are.