June 13, 2019:
I wish I still had that photo.
It's vivid in memory. The beautiful blonde in the vibrant red bowler, too tall for the model railroad in Balboa Park. With her shy sad smile and her sense of unbelonging, with me and with the world of Gifted Program Kids I'm about to re-enter.
I think of her as my one chance at normalcy, in whatever context you want to take that term. Normal teenage romance, normal teenage sex, normal teenage bonding, without the crazyass neurotic narcissism of the one I chose instead, without the drugs and the quadruple life my false decisions led me into.
In reality it's just as likely I'd have dragged her down with me. Which was exactly my fear. She was fragile, I was falling into depression, drug abuse, revolt and revolution, daring the adult Powers to challenge me, or censure me, or notice that I existed. It's entirely likely that life with me would have torn her apart, and that was my entire motive for leaving her behind.
Either way, it hurt her. Badly. It set up her hopes, then crushed them, and I'm so sorry for that.
I don't think anyone could have been in contact with me then without being damaged.