July 17, 2006
So, before I get bogged down in adoption stuff and kid stuff, and my quest for balance in my life, let me tell you about the real George — the actual person — I hope to find.
He was one of my best friends the last couple years of high school. He was not a boyfriend, nor was he some unrequited love. He was just a great friend. His sense of humor and mine meshed perfectly and I felt like I could talk to him about anything. Any time with George was a good time. I don’t mean good time in a phone-number-on-the-bathroom-wall kind of way, or a party-until-you-puke-or-pass-out kind of way. That’s not the kind of person I am, and it’s not the kind of person he was. Any time with George was just fun. But what was most amazing about George was his Pictionary prowess. Remember that game? It was like the home version of Win, Lose or Draw. George was a Pictionary psychic.
We would fight over who got to be George’s partner whenever we played because we all knew, no matter who his partner was, George would lead the winning team. And if you were his partner, his psychic ability would somehow transfer to you and you would suddenly find yourself an equal in this unbeatable, mystical pictionary pairing.
One time George and I were partners and one of us, I can’t remember who now, drew a single curved line, like the first line a child would draw when making a rainbow. The other yelled out, “Elephant!” and that round was won. There were a few mild accusations of cheating from the other players, but they didn’t really mean it because they had been George’s partner in past games, and, though they didn’t understand it, they knew.
After high school graduation I went away to college, far away. George and I kept in touch for the first couple of years, but gradually we lost touch. After graduation I moved back to my hometown, which I will from here forward refer to as Cooterville. I rented a house just around the corner from George’s parents, so I called them one day to ask how I could get in touch with him. I’d never actually met his father, but that is who I got on the phone. He told me the next time they heard from George they’d relay the message that I was looking for him and get me his contact info. That sure didn’t sound good. A couple weeks later their house was on the market and then they moved. That was over a decade ago.
Yes, I’ve tried looking him up on the internet; but his last name might as well be Smith or Jones. It is somewhat common and there are endless listings for George *******.
So George, if you’re out there, Tewt the newt says hello.