Think of Laura

I was reminded today of something I used to do. I'm just certain I should be embarrassed by my actions, but instead I feel an obligation to share with my head held high. I'm sure someday I will have my blog bound into a book and will appreciate it when my memory finally fades...

I was about nine years old when Laura Spencer, yes that Laura Spencer of Luke and Laura fame, began her return to Port Charles. We all thought she was dead, but she had really been kidnapped by Stavros Cassadine and was living on his island. Well, somehow she escaped and came back to Port Charles, but couldn't let anyone know she was back until Stavros was captured (he had heavy mob ties). So for weeks, she would just be lurking in the background of every scene with her big sunglasses and a trench coat. Peeking around corners, but always remaining invisible.

I am sure I could cue a few violins and attack my childhood psyche and how I related to Laura because I too felt invisible, but I am not. I'm sure we could analyze the fact that in the pit of her stomach she knew everyone was going to be so excited to see her just as soon as she stopped having to hide and how deep down I believed and hoped for the same. But I'm not.

Instead, I will end my confession with the cold, hard, bizarre and twisted facts. Every day after school, I would run home and watch General Hospital. Remember, I was nine years old at the time. I didn't have any friends. No, seriously. None. And as soon as the show was over, I would run up to my mother's closet and grab her tan rain coat and her large sunglasses. Fortunately, since we were living in Washington, raincoats weren't such an odd site, but with the sunglasses on my face, I looked like a pre-cursor to Nicole Richie. I would spend hours lurking around our large apartment building. Making sure no one saw me. Peeking my head around corners. Evesdropping on the other children. Never being spotted. Always hoping someone was actually out looking for me. All the while Christopher Cross's Think Of Laura played loudly in my mind.

It is an absolute miracle I never required more therapy to become an adult.