While other girls had teen idols like Johnny Depp and Kirk Cameron on their walls, I had you. I was thirteen years old when my memorabilia collection began with one t-shirt and a poster, and my father was a bit perplexed. After all, you had been dead for decades already. My father: “You know he’s dead, right?” Me: “Yes, Dad, I know.” I was certainly the only one in my school that had seen your large collection of movies. Oh yes, all three of them. Now the collection has grown into an obsession that includes items under glass and an entire dedicated arm of James Dean tattoos. My husband, who wasn’t my husband at the time, didn’t quite know what to make of my ever growing collection when he first walked into my apartment in college. Hubs: “What’s with the dead guy?” Me: “HEY! He was here before you, alright?!”
So James, here’s to you. Who knows what you could have become had your light not gone out at age 24. Maybe more of a legend, if that’s even possible. Maybe an alcoholic chain smoker with a gambling addiction. No, in my eyes you are perfection and could never have become anything else.
As The Curl Turns