Greg and Meredith, brother and sister, were very much alike. Both tall, slim-hipped, flat-chested, and preternaturally attractive to the opposite sex.
Both had blond hair, fair skin, blue eyes, long lashes; they looked the way we all thought we looked or could look or would look one day, if we worked at it, had the right pair of jeans, and received some late-teen intervention from the gods.
To watch Greg or Meredith walk -- the shoulders swayed slightly, front to back. And the legs followed the hips -- something I have always tucked away in the back of my mind. Most people lead with the head or feet, like those photos of evolutionary development as man sheds the fur from his back and sloshes out of the primordial ooze.
With G and M, the center of the body did the heavy lifting, effortlessly. Walk across the room keeping this in mind, and you'll see what I mean.
All this to say, Greg and Meredith sailed above the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune high school flesh is all too heir to.
Meredith was my good friend, and just my age. Greg was older, and out of my league. Rumor had it, he'd been around the block a dozen times. Including once with a prom princess, the girl who wore a pink gown and combat boots to the coronation.
A group of us, boys and girls, high school sophomores mainly, spent many Friday nights hanging out in the basement at Meredith's house. It was a fully furnished basement that doubled as Greg's bedroom, though he was rarely home. I could lay on Greg's bed, a major selling point. Meredith's parents remained discreetly absent, that was another. Not that there was anything of a sexual nature taking place down under. We knew each other too well.
Maybe some of us had kissed a time or two. Experiments, with a foregone conclusion that only proved a half-hearted hypothesis.
What bound us together, really, was boredom, a few bad habits, and the fact that we were all going to be famous one day.
[more to come]