The year was 1982. We danced to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” album and watched “E.T.” on the silver screen. John Belushi died and Prince William was born. We exercised to Jane Fonda video tapes and never missed watching “Dynasty” on TV. Gas cost 91 cents a gallon and a stamp two dimes. We were spooked by the Tylenol scare and held our breath as the recession began.
It was a year of promise and pain, of sweetness and sorrow.
But it was OUR year.
We were the Class of 1982, and we were ready to take on the world.
Peter (Yearbook post)
Gina, To a really nice girl I met in homeroom. Take care. Peter
I’m just going to say it. Peter creeped me out. It seemed like he was always watching me. I’d catch him staring at me in homeroom or in the hallway. His locker was down from mine.
When he asked to sign my yearbook, I didn’t want to be a snob and say no. But I was glad he didn’t write much.
No one has ever made me feel so uncomfortable. I was never afraid of Peter. It’s not like I thought he would hurt me. His stares were more of a longing – like he wanted to be with me in a way I would never want to be with him. Infatuation, I guess. A secret admirer, only he wasn’t as secret as he thought.
I told Mike about the staring once, and he wanted to set Peter straight. I told him to let it go. It wasn’t that big of a deal. But I think he had a talk with him anyway because the last month of our senior year, I didn’t catch Peter staring quite so much.
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