I’ve tried to stay behind the scenes of these stories about my life, but I need to break the fourth wall for a little bit. I miss you so much, and I’m scared. We know you’re nearby, but there’s no way to get to you. All we can do is wait and hope for the best.
Up til now, as I’ve been waiting and hoping, I’ve been writing up these stories about when I was a young girl. Not a little girl anymore, but not a teenager yet, either. I guess the Lauren I’ve been writing about would be considered a tween today.
At any rate, as I’ve spent time writing about my younger days, my head’s gotten all caught up in how the Lauren Comstock of way back then became the Lauren Comstock I am now. With a son a bit older than I was then, an unsuccessful marriage, a job that would blow young Lauren’s mind. How’d it happen?
Which got me to thinking about Choose Your Own Adventure.
I loved the Choose Your Own Adventure books when I was a kid. On the rare occasion Mom and Dad would take me to the big mall in South Burlington, I’d go right to Waldenbooks and plop down in front of the kids’ section. Mom and Dad (Mom and Nashville later on) would wander through the rest of the stores – spending most of their time enjoying free samples at Hickory Farms – and then they’d come back to get me, still there sprawled out, looking at covers and reading the backs of the books. I always saved most of my allowance for book-buying sprees, and around the time I was in 7th grade, most of that money wound up allowing me to choose my own adventures.
In the books, the reader is given options every few pages to choose actions for the main character. Eventually, choice upon choice upon choice leads the character to one of a few outcomes. Some good. Some bad. Some indifferent.
Life is a Choose Your Own Adventure. We make choices every day. Along the way, we make decisions that have different outcomes, ranging from seemingly inconsequential to noticeable or significant consequence, sometimes even earth shattering.
I wasn’t sure why I started writing to you about my youth at the point I did, starting off in the autumn of 1986. But I decided to write about it anyway, putting down whatever memories grabbed my attention.
With a few entries completed, re-reading them over a hot cup of coffee on the first really cold night of the winter, it’s starting to make sense. With the gift of hindsight and the knowledge of words I have yet to write, I can see that as 1986 ended and 1987 began, circumstances were lining up. The pages of my life were turning, and I was reaching points in my adventure where there important were choices to make.
It started innocuously enough.
I had to do some homework.
To be continued …