In search of the lost Whovian

Today is one of those days where folks my mother's age will turn to folks my age and say "You know what day this is, right?"  If you're American, odds are that you'll know, but if you're not American and/or don't know, here's a link.  Mama says that JFK's assassination was their equivalent of 9/11; everyone remembers where they were and what they were doing when they got the news.  But today I'm doing something completely different, partly to vocalize my feelings about a situation that is now almost a year old, and partly to (hopefully) get some feedback.  First things first:  the bow.  Tomorrow is Doctor Who Day, and that ties into the story I'm about to tell.  Etsy shop is AandMsBOWtique.

The TARDIS is a cheer bow, and the Doctor himself is a teddy bear.  I've officially seen everything.

Now buckle up, because I'm about to start bloviating.  Last December I met a young man, and NO, WE DID NOT FALL IN LOVE!!!  Not romantic love anyway, though I did grow to love this young man as a friend.  His name was Jonathan, and Mama says he told her his last name was Wright.  He claimed to be nineteen years old, but he looked about my age.  By his own admission he was a little special, and indeed he was an unusual young man.  He was a tremendous chatterbox and the only volume he knew was loud, but once he calmed down he actually used the library for what a library is for.  He'd pick a book that struck his fancy, he'd plant his rear wherever he wanted (usually that place was right in the isle, chairs be damned), and he'd read until it was time to close.  The only time we'd see or hear from him was when he visited the restroom, and even that wasn't often.  Indeed, when closing time rolled around I'd usually have to go into the stacks and tell him it was time to go, so lost in his reading was he.  Further, so lost in the reading was he that if I came up quietly I'd scare the bejesus out of him, so I usually made a lot of noise to get his attention.  It was during one of these admittedly bizarre rituals that I learned we had something in common.  Conversation went as follows:

ME (in a very silly mood):  OOOOOH, JOOOOONATHAN, IT'S TIME TO CLOOOOSE!!!  <as he comes out of the stacks, I flash him a big smile>  Allons-y, Rose Tyler!
JON:  Oh, you like Doctor Who?
ME <blushing>:  Uh...actually I do, yes.
MAMA:  Oh nooooo...

Yep, he was a Whovian, and a long conversation followed.  Which Doctor was my favorite?  Which one was his (we both liked the Eleventh Doctor the best)?  Which one did I hate the most (kill Thirteen with fire)?  What insanity/hilarity/heartbreak would the new season bring?  HOW WOULD WE BOTH LIVE UNTIL NEXT NOVEMBER???  It was late December then and thus it was dark and cold, and yet Jon and I stood on the library's porch, chattering and giggling with the volume turned up to eleven while Mama turned on the car and got her hands warm.  It was almost six-o'clock before Jon and I headed our separate ways, and Mama was shaking her head and muttering "You crazy kids."  Mama is NOT a Whovian and never will be, but that actually worked out to our advantage.  I could throw Jon a sly grin and whisper some goofy one-liner ("Stop talking, brain thinking, hush!" was my personal favorite), and then we'd get the giggles while Mama gave us both a confused look.

Despite our carefree attitudes I often worried about Jonathan.  He would walk to the library during a span of bitterly cold weather, and he'd be wearing naught but shorts, a T-shirt, maybe a light jacket, and almost always an old-timey flattop hat.  Mama offered to give him a lift home more than once, but each time Jon would smile uneasily and reply "I don't want anyone to know where I live."  Red flag right there, but then again some people are more private like that.  Mama and I shook it off.  Then one day Jon asked to use the library's private room for some writing, adding in passing that the night before he'd been hit glancingly by a car.  After asking if he needed medical attention I showed him to the room, and after I got him settled I patted him on the back...pretty hard, actually.  Jonathan winced, threw me a pained smile, and whispered "That's where the worst of my bruises is!"  I apologized, asked him again if he needed to see a doctor, was again politely told no, and I left him alone.  It didn't occur to me until much, much later that the story about being hit by a car was a lie.  I'm pretty dense, okay???  I wish now that I'd sat down with him right then and asked him "Jon, are you telling me the truth?  Did you really get hit by a car or did someone beat the sh!t out of you?  You can tell me."  Hindsight is twenty-twenty, dammit, but what could I have done anyway?

During one of our conversations Jon let it slip to me that he was on the rainbow spectrum, so with winter still in full swing I started to work a scarf.  When finished it should be approximately nine feet long and thirty stitches across, knitted in seed stitch on size ten needles with self-striping yarn that one can buy at Wal-Mart....sheesh, try saying all that in one breath!  The Fourth Doctor was never far from my psychie when I put it together.  Why?  Well...look at Doctor Tom.  The scarf is rainbow-colored and thus isn't exactly like Doctor Tom's iconic scarf, but I wasn't going for that anyway because that would've taken longer than it already has.  As it is, it doesn't matter that I haven't yet finished the scarf, because Jonathan stopped coming to the library shortly before Valentine's Day.  He had warned me that his family moved a lot and that he might disappear as suddenly as he'd appeared, but not being able to say goodbye still hurt.  I keep hoping and praying that I'll see him again, that I'll be able to sit down and talk with him and ask if everything is okay, that I'll get to give him his scarf and tell him "Don't forget that you've got a friend."  

To my dear readers, if you're American, have a blessed and safe Thanksgiving and a nonexistent Black Friday.  I say this on my doll blog every Thanksgiving:  STAY HOME ON FRIDAY.  That new TV isn't worth your life.  I prefer the online deals myself.  As for my fellow Whovians, all I can say is that I'm hoping Donna will get a happier ending than the last one she got.  I can't see how she could, but I can hope.  On a more lighthearted note, I wonder if the Fifteenth Doctor is going to want red hair as terribly as Number Ten and Number Eleven did?  LOL, I hope they NEVER kill that joke!

Don't be alone,
RagingMoon1987