Carrie was a cellist, and a pretty damn good one at that. She was tall, kind of cute and friendly in a low key kind of way.  

A few times a year P.E. was a co-ed deal. Volleyball mostly. That was the first time I ever saw Carrie in shorts. Oh - my - god. Think Laura Dern in Jurassic Park. I couldn’t stop looking at her beautiful legs and behind. Here was an an actual living, breathing woman, partially undressed AND my own age. I was utterly captivated. As we jogged laps around the inside of the gym, I tried to be cool sneaking looks, but it’s hard to be nonchalant when someone’s mere appearance pushes all of your physiological hot keys.  

It was, or course, pure lust. With regular clothes on her (and me for that matter), I was o.k. I tell you this because, even though I didn’t know her terribly well, Carrie was a very influential person in my life for 2 reasons: the one I just covered (not entirely unprofound) and the next, which truly altered my life.  

Tracy (a tall Finnish goddess in her own right, who would endear herself to me with comments like, “You’re part [hair] is not straight”), Carrie and I were sitting around at the end of orchestra class talking. Carrie was playing in this really good orchestra in Portland on Saturday mornings. She’s getting up early on Saturday morning, driving with her mother for an hour to Portland and then slaving away at a rehearsal for 2 hours. What could possibly merit that kind of effort?