There was a girl I met when I was still in middle school by the name of Bonnie Scott. She was cool. She was hip. She was a year older than me and seemed so close that I could almost touch her were it not for my clumsy hands that would damage the porcelean vase of her perfection. Her dad owned a tool rental franchise in the area we grew up and, while I hesitate to use the word "rich", it's safe to say that she probably never had to wonder where her next packet of hair dye was going to come from.

She listened to all the music that I had never heard of and went to all the raves that I wished I could get transport to attend. When she wasn't at home she was probably to be found at the local independent record store that specialized in the smaller artists and unheard of bands or at the pizza store next door. It wasn't important because she could always be reached by her cell phone, a huge thing in 1994 when she was sixteen and able to drive.

I met her, strangely enough, at church of all places. My buddy Aaron and I, when not performing in the gospel rock band, were usually seen sitting next to her, making wise cracks about the sermon while her mother shot disapproving looks at us over the novel she read. We first got to talking because the theme of one of the youth group meetings on a Sunday night during October was to dress like you would for Halloween. The youth director wasn't the usual sort and didn't put a taboo to celebrating such pagan rituals on consecrated ground. She dressed as a red suit from Star Trek: The Next Generation. I, was in love. Beyond the fact that for any freshman in high school, she had what was probably one of the more shapely bodies I had ever seen, she looked just stunning. The lines of the outfit were designed to accentuate the female figure and make the man look more manly. I know this because I was big into Star Trek at the time and could pride myself in knowing that I had seen every Next Generation episode up to then. Who was this girl, I wondered as I kicked my feet and looked at her longingly.

It turned out that besides being incredibly hip, a feat that I still struggle with to this day, she was also one of the nicest if not sarcastic people I have ever known. The two of us quickly bonded over the two things we had in common. Star Trek and the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I was in eighth grade at the time and it was the only band I knew since I was the oldest sibling in my family and thus the pioneer of my music for the rest of the kids. She told me what high school was all about and introduced me to the music of Nine Inch Nails long before they hit it big in the scene and everyone could be seen wearing NIN patch on their book bags. This isn't to brag. In honesty, I couldn't stand the stuff when I first heard it, but that was how cutting edge she really was. Some of it may have had to do with the fact that she had a sister, six years her superior, who perhaps gave her Cliff Notes on cool, but a lot of it had to do with delivery, and she was still impressive. I, on the other hand, had nothing to offer her but undying worship and everlasting love. I always felt as though I was the one who fell short.

I distinctly remember being a sophomore in the spring of '94 when she was a junior. Grunge was dying but no one told Bonnie. She still dressed the same way she always had since I met her, sans the time when she was in uniform on Halloween. A black skirt to her knees, black stockings, knee high Doc Martins, thick rimmed glasses, and a sweater or tight fitting T-shirt, either being black. She was a grunge girl through and through and she was easy to spot across campus. In California, with the exception of perhaps San Francisco, no one wore all black anymore but there she was, strutting across campus in her boots with a cheese roll and half-pint of milk. What a woman, I thought to myself. What a woman.

She summed up what it was to be a hipster. She was the poster girl for the early 90's being left behind. She never showed weakness but during the quiet moments in her living room, when her mom wasn't around, I felt a softness that it seemed only I could understand. A confusion with what was happening in the world that neither her money nor her hipness could solve. I wanted to hold her. I wanted to tell her that I didn't understand either but that it would be alright. I didn't. I didn't do it and the two of us lost touch after she left high school.

So it came as no surprise to me when I was asked by some friends over drinks one night what my vision of a perfect woman was when I said that it was Bonnie. I proceeded to describe her so they knew what "Bonnie" meant besides being a name and they all sighed, looking into their beverages.

"Yeah," said one, Watching his Cabernet as he swished it around in his glass. "I knew a girl like that once."

No, you didn't, I said. No. You didn't.