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2008-07-15 02:32

My first girlfriend was Leigh Scott. I mentioned her in passing a long time ago. I referred to her as “Leigh Tracy Scott, born in a pan,” because that’s how she styled herself, mimicking her own voice as a child, unable to pronounce “Japan” correctly. From fifth through seventh grade we were, off and on, “going out.” She’s the first person I fell in love with, the first I kissed. The quintessential “bad” girl, she smoked cigarettes, had tried pot before I had, and was regarded as sexually experienced (though I knew she wasn’t). After her, I smoked cigarettes and pot, and had at least made out with someone. She was a year older than I, having been held back a year in school, and she was physically very . . . developed. After seventh grade, she left my school and moved away. I heard from someone a couple of years later that she was in a relationship with a man in his forties. The general sense was that she was on her way downhill for the rest of her life.

I’ve always expected to see her again. I’ve googled her every once in a while, the past few years. Nothing. Tonight, I googled her again. I think I might have been inspired by my 11-year-old son’s own first relationship now: he’s sort of “going out” with a girl he’s known—as I did Leigh—since first grade. Morpheus’s texting with his “girlfriend” today made me think of Leigh. So I googled her again. And discovered that she died, September 2, 2006, in Traverse City, Michigan, at the age of 49. She left no other trail.

I’ve been wailing, and felt I should write something. It’s really not fair. I dreamt of her with love throughout my life.


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  1. Great post, thanks for the information!


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