For Craig Thompson, love is a wonderful thing filled with pain and joy. The innocence of first love is countered at every turn by the haunting warnings of temptation that the Bible has instilled in him since his childhood.

In “Blankets,” an almost 600 page autobiographical comic book, Thompson recounts his first love, among other memories of his childhood.

“Blankets” begins plainly, with a simple panel that reads: “When we were young, my little brother Phil and I shared the same bed.”

The simplicity of this panel is a good indication of what comes next in Thompson’s touching rendition of his youth.

Throughout the graphic novel, the reader is introduced to a wide variety of characters that orbit around young Thompson. From his wild brother Phil to his sometimes cruel father, Thompson reflects upon the past with enough sincerity that readers will be tempted to take everything he says for granted, no questions asked.

“Blankets’” main story surrounds Thompson’s emotionally turbulent first love. Thompson meets Raina at church camp and together each finds in the other the comfort and peace that they had been lacking. Thompson had always been an outsider and in Raina he discovers a friend who makes everything else obsolete.

From their first encounter, each finds a serenity that they embrace along with each other. Thompson details his descent into love with a poetic meter that will remind readers of a love song. Not all things are rosy for the young lovers, though. Thompson is constantly at odds with his upbringings and battles with the dual nature of love — striving to find a balance between worship and lust.

The use of beautifully symbolic illustrations help to tie together his love story with the undertones of his faith. The saga of Thompson and Raina’s love is broken up with reflections about growing up with his brother and their misadventures.

Thompson’s illustrations perfectly convey the innocence of childhood with an almost cartoonish atmosphere that is well balanced with the many touches of intricate detail and deftly drawn emotions. Fans of pop art will appreciate the beauty found in the simplicity of Thompson’s art.

The simplicity of snow is turned into masterful artwork with clever panel layouts and creative uses of negative space. The black and white nature of the illustrations actually work well to convey the black and white nature of remembrance. The past is the only thing clear to Thompson as he looks back on his year with Raina.

“Blankets” is a story of love and loss that is not only an easy read, but a poignant one as well. Everybody who has experienced the bitterness of a relationship that they once thought would last forever only to have it fall apart will be touched as they read Thompson’s autobiography.

“Blankets” is, in short, an excellent read that manages to offer incredible insight into the life of a normal teenager experiencing life, in all its wonderful pain.

By Mitch Cassidy

High School Janitor

Do you believe in soul mates? I had a feeling you would. I’ve noticed that you read the horoscopes every morning in the cafeteria before you go to your English class. You always leave the paper on the table after you finish reading it. It’s okay though, I don’t mind cleaning up after you. After all, it is my job to pick up after you students.

There's one in every school.

I pick the papers up for you; and I do it with a smile on my face. I then take the newspapers home and I shred them up into little pieces. I use the scraps of paper and some of my “special sauce” to construct little papier-mâché figurines of you in different poses. I put my little statuettes on my bedside table and I sleep better at night while you watch over me.

I know what your thinking, but you’re wrong. I’m not a weirdo stalker or anything. It’s not like that at all.

I’m your soul mate.

We’re allowed to love each other that way.

You may be asking yourself how I’m so certain I’m your soul mate. To me, it’s as clear as the day. But if you want proof, look at the little things. Like the way you smiled at me last month when I gave you that paper towel after you had spilled milk on your shirt. You looked like you were about to cry and I gave you that towel and I could instantly see a big smile creep upon your face. I still have that paper towel. It’s framed on my wall, right next to your used Kleenex and the midterm report card that you crumpled up so your parents wouldn’t see the F you got in Math.

Don’t worry though, I won’t tell Mom and Dad about your deception. That’ll be our little secret. That’s what we soul mates do; we look out for each other. Like when that senior creep Billy Myers said “Howdy” to you last semester. You smiled back at him, but my soul mate sixth sense told me you felt he crossed the line.

The police still haven’t found Billy’s body and they won’t either; the students ate it. I guess you could say that we served Sloppy Billys that day.

But seriously, our lives just have this weird way of intersecting.

Remember that car accident that your mother was in last year? My sister’s son’s babysitter’s boyfriend was right down the street pumping his gas when it happened. Isn’t that so weird?

Stuff like that happens all the time. Two months ago, I was taking a break from mopping the floors and I was eating a Popsicle when I saw you gliding down the hall like an angel. You were talking to your best friend, Kristy McMullen and you wouldn’t believe it, but you’re shirt was the same color as my Popsicle: green! How bizarre is that?

I took that Popsicle home right then and there and put it in my freezer. I still have it in there, right next to the “present” you forgot to flush down the toilet last November.

With those kinds of uncanny happenings, how can anybody help but realize our astronomical compatibility? I’ve known about our soul mate status for a while now and soon you’ll realize it too.

I remember staying late last year, giving the school bathroom a final clean, just so I could catch a glimpse you as your mom picked you up from theatre practice.

I used to say to myself, “Mitch Cassidy, how weird is it that your soul mate’s mom drives the same exact car that your mother’s neighbor drives?”

Then I realized it wasn’t that weird. It’s just something that happens to us soul mates. It’s just God’s way of pointing out our shared destiny.

I do believe that we’re meant to be together. Why else would you have the same name as my pet turtle? Sure, I may have named my turtle after you, but I don’t think I would have been “inspired” to do that if it wasn’t for fate’s hand in the matter.

Sometimes, I lay in my bed at night, nestled underneath the quilt that I sewed from your used homework assignments that I rescued from the trashcans around school. I stare at the photo collage on my wall and stroke my lucky lock of your hair and dream about our future together.

Then, while I gingerly touch my bathing suit area, I dream about the day I propose to you and I cry uncontrollable tears of happiness as I hear you say “I Do” at our wedding. I name our kid (Mitch Jr.) and picture our family vacations (Sea World). I look forward to even the smallest things, like when I’ll cover you with honey and lick every inch of your body while our only son flogs us with grapes.

Oh yeah, I definitely look forward to the sex.

I cho-cho-choose you...

Nowhere else in my life is this more evident then in my previous romantic relationships. Before your mind starts racing with visions of domestic abuse or other such shameful shenanigans, I’m going to have to clarify my confession.

I’m not a violent man and the thought of physically hurting a woman makes me extremely nauseous. No, my past offensives have all been emotional offensives — fully legal, just entirely juvenile. Yes, I’m that asshole.

As it is, my life often times reads like the Goofus portion of a Highlights Magazine column. Constantly making the wrong decision or aggravating a bad situation, I’ve stumbled through my years stepping on toes and rubbing people the wrong way.

Sometimes it’s the out-of-place and unneeded comment I said at the worst possible occasion. I’m the guy who would ask Little Orphan Annie what her parents got her for Christmas.

Other times it’s my dangerously low lack of empathy that prevents me from making the one gesture that would have solved everything. Not only did I forget our anniversary, I didn’t realize we were even a couple.

You can see how, then, why my thoughtfulness would cramp my dating life.

I’ve been the guy who, when he tired of the girl he was dating, choose to turn off his phone for a week instead of being a man and break up with her. Heck, I’ve gone on a movie date with a girl and, when I didn’t like the movie she wanted to see, got up and pretended to go to the restroom only to slip out the theater’s exit.

It is hard for me to justify any of my behavior. Any attempt for me to explain why I felt the need to leave a girl alone in the theater instead of sitting through another hour and a half of a bad movie will probably fall on deaf ears. Here we go anyway.

I was left emotionally stunted after an early romance and, in comparison to the handful of girls whom I’ve truly felt feelings for, most of the woman I deal with on a daily basis have the romantic appeal of Dame Judy Dench. I also am almost entirely composed of curmudgeon-esque personality traits that have the unfortunate side effect of me finding most people (including incredibly attractive women) really annoying. I assume for most of you, these are not valid excuses and you are currently looking for a heavy shoe or boot to hurl my way. Don’t worry — I’ve already taken the liberty.

That’s not the only thing I took. Last year, after a disastrously unfortunate turn of events in a relationship that left me curled up in a fetal position of self-loathing and despair, I realized that I was tired of being the guy I’d became.

So, pointing my compass steadily at the problem, I realized that I needed to put things in perspective. If I couldn’t be a good romantic partner, I wasn’t going to be any romantic partner. I took a vow of celibacy – physical and emotional – until I could shape up my behavior. For the past year, not only have I shied away from any type of relationship – I’ve run from it as if it were the plague.

I’m proud to say that I feel like I new person. Perspective, thy name is abstinence.

I do realize, though, that actions speak louder then words and that’s why I’m proud to say that I’ve officially re-entered the dating scene in order to prove my new gentleman attitude. Mothers, there’s no need to lock your doors. I assure you, I’m a changed man.

It would be fair to say I’m always in pursuit of the unattainable.

Always chasing after that which is out of reach, I’ve made a habit of setting myself up for a series of unfortunate, and often epic, failures. But I’ve always enjoyed the chase. In some ways, I’m a bigger fan of the process then I am of the end result.

Even my wins, rare as they may be, are not as sweet a high then the ones I have experienced in the months leading up to the conquest. The adrenaline of the hunt, the tense longing of desire — these are the anticipated feelings that get me up in the morning like the smell of cooking bacon.

The desire for change always outweighs the actual change itself.

She is the girl whom all other women in my life are judged by. Time is set in intervals by the briefest of encounters I share with her. When she reaches out to me, she stops the forward motion of my life — putting everything else, all other priorities, on pause. It would be fair to say I’ve spent my life in pursuit of her.

I’ve chased after the idea of the girl since before I knew her. Even before she was in my life, I felt her presence foreshadowed by others. My patience tempered by previous desires — honed for the coming marathon of longing I would soon experience.

I’ve driven all night for an hour of her time. I’ve put an end to relationships with other girls just to hear the sound of her voice. Like a sailor under the spell of a siren, I’ve bashed my ship against the rocks of mad love time and time again — and I’d do it once more if she just but asked.

In my dreams I’ve concocted grand schemes that would surely win her heart. From kidnapping marching bands and teaching them the love songs of the ‘80s to hiring private eyes to take incriminating photos of her lovers, my schemes have ranged from romantic to creepy — oftentimes meeting in the middle to share a sleeping bag of awkwardness. She brings out the worst in me.

I’ve tried to escape the gravitational pull she has on me. I’ve written her out of my life, sworn her off like a bad habit, but she always comes back. All it takes is the sound of her voice, the smell of her skin, the smallest smile and I’m off the wagon. I can never escape the chase. For the rest of my life I’ll be looking for the girl.

In moments of clarity I know that she is completely wrong for me — as wrong as I am for her. I am but a tourist in her life and I do not want to live there. I would be miserable in the world she thrives in. I enjoy visiting but, in the end, I just want to take her as a souvenir and leave. Loving her would mean a change in my life and all I want is a snow globe that I can put on my shelf.

Even with this knowledge, I can’t resist the chase. Maybe it’s the lingering ghost of failure that drives me to finish what I started. Maybe it’s the shadow of destiny I feel pulling at my shoestrings — pushing me forward on the inevitable path that has been laid before me. Maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment.

There are times I’ve come close to reaching the end of the chase.

I’ve been in grasp of it all and I’ve let it go. Some self-destructive part has always prevented me from achieving that which I so desire. It has only been me that has stood in my way. Maybe it can be attributed to the part of me that knows, when all is said and done, what I’m really chasing after is the chase itself.

Read more of my ramblings

Queue Mr. Big’s “To Be With You.”

I am walking alongside the creek.

It’s not as much a creek as it is a depression in the dirt used to protect an irrigation pipe. Even still, it’s my creek.

As I walk, I fiddle with my CD player — thumping my fingers against the underside of the machine. The player has been on the verge of dying for almost an hour. Even though I have grown tired of the CD that I brought with me on my walk, I believe that the heavy silence that comes without music would be much worse.

The sun beats down and I wipe the sweat off my skin. I can feel a zit forming on my forehead and I continue to walk down the non-creek that is nevertheless a creek.

I listen to the CD for a few more minutes before my player finally, irrevocably dies. It had died five times before. I resurrected it each time by taking out the batteries and switching them around; flipping poles and playing god. Bringing my CD player back to life did not make the music any better.

This time, though, the batteries are completely depleted. I take the headphones off my head and hang them around my neck.

I walk with my eyes pointed at the ground, staring at my dust-covered boots, trying to remember when I first learned to tie my shoes. The memory is lost, though, buried underneath the memories of her.

Her: the unrequited love.

What a cliché.

I look down at my shoes and try to remember my childhood but all I can think about is her laughter. All I can picture is her face, smiling at me, teasing me with knowledge that I will never know. I remember all of these things yet I cannot remember the name of my kindergarten teacher. In the back and forefront of my brain, she lurks. She is everywhere. Her hair shimmers with the florescent lights of the grade school classroom.

“What are you thinking about,” she asks.

“I’m thinking about you,” I tell her.

“Oh” is her only reply.

With that she disappears.

I look over my shoulder and spot a jackrabbit that has emerged from the non-creek. A dog that had been sniffing at a nearby dumpster also spots the rabbit and begins the Chase.

Will the dog eat the rabbit when the Chase is over? Will the dog end the Chase just like that or will he let the rabbit escape so that he may dream about future Chases. What can there possibly be left after the Chase is over? Does the dog desire the rabbit or does he just want the Chase?

Am I in love with the Chase or am I in love with her?

What would happen if she says yes? Will I take her in my arms and look into her eyes and will the music swell and the credits roll. No. What will follow will be much more uncertain, much more frightening.

I will probably call her every night, sharing more and more of myself until she truly knows me. But then, once she knows me, how could she ever want me. Or worse; what if I get to know her and no longer want her? When it is just the two of us, no longer strangers to one another and no longer in love with each other, what then? Will the Chase have justified the end?

The dog looked as if it was smiling as it chased the rabbit. It was probably out of breath. I don’t smile much anymore. I claim I am deep in thought and merely forget to smile. The truth is, I don’t believe in smiling anymore. After the Chase I will smile. Right now I am out of breath and I can’t smile.

“What are you thinking about,” she asks.

“I’m thinking about the Chase,” I tell her.

“Oh” is her only reply.

With that she disappears.

I am alone and I am walking alongside the creek that is and isn’t a creek, desperately trying to revive my CD player and hoping to get to those last remnants of energy that I know must still live in the batteries. I was right — the silence is much, much worse.

As I fumble with the batteries, I feel a pang in my chest, a spasm of desire. In this Chase, I realize, I am not the dog. I am the rabbit and I am being pursued by the ghost of what could be.

I am tired of running and I will tell her how I feel.

I am walking alongside the creek that is not a creek and she asks me what I am thinking.

I tell her I love her.

“Oh” is her only reply.

She does not disappear.

I don’t know what happens now.

Read more stuff I wrote during high school

I don’t know much but …

If romantic comedies have taught America anything, it’s that with the right amount of perseverance and patience, one’s true love is right around the corner – and probably in the shape of a hooker with a heart of gold. If Cameron Crowe’s directorial debut, Say Anything… has taught us anything, it’s that even movie superstars were once baby-faced actors.

In Say Anything… John Cusack stars as Lloyd Dobler, a recent high school graduate who finds himself in love with Diane Court (Ione Skye). Like any great work of fiction, there’s much truth to be gleaned from Crowe’s movie.

For the convenience of my lovelorn readers, an in-depth study of the film has been conducted and four essential life lessons have been gleamed.

4.) Kickboxing is the sport of the future

Throughout the film, Lloyd Dobler is constantly hyping the then up-and-coming sport of “kickboxing.” Filmed in 1989, Say Anything… succeeded where Teen Wolf Too failed in making kickboxing look cool. After watching the film, I was instantly motivated to go to the closest gym and train to be a kickboxer. Then I remembered that learning a sport is hard — especially ones in which I would be kicking people in the face. Instead, I’m now preparing to enter the competitive world of Paper, Rock, Scissors. Hopefully my second choice sport will turn out to be just as potent a chick magnet.

3.) Crime never pays

In a plot device Shakespeare would be proud of, Diane’s doddering father thwarts his daughter’s attempts at a relationship with Lloyd. Although Diane’s father only had the best intentions for his daughter, in the end it didn’t matter because it’s revealed he was a lying criminal who stole from the elderly. Any good intentions parents may have can be instantly dismissed when their closet contains a few skeletons. For anybody who’s attempts to date are hampered by their love’s folks, don’t be afraid to do a little background snooping. With the right investigative work, any in-law can be effectively and safely contained behind bars. There will be plenty of time to win your lovers’ parents over during visiting hours.

2.) Use your imagination

When her father’s disapproval becomes more than Diane can bear, she breaks down and dumps Lloyd. In an effort to give Lloyd a romantic gift that will leave him with a good impression of her, Diane presents him with a pen. A pen! Her justification? So Lloyd can write her. Now that, my friends, is some creative thinking right there. Instead of spending a ton of money in order to leave a solid lasting impression, all one has to do is present unwanted lovers with a household object — so long as you can justify its significance. I once gave a girl an egg for Valentine’s. I said it was so she could make me breakfast. All I got was a slap. I don’t know why — I meant it from the heart.

1.) Music tamed the savage breast

After being dumped, Lloyd goes from denial to anger to sorrow faster then a bi-polar hummingbird. Eventually Lloyd resorts to the one sure-fire way of winning back a true love’s heart: Peter Gabriel. Standing outside her window, Lloyd holds up his boom box and blares the Gabes for the entire world to hear. Diane, not able to resist the power of Pete, breaks down her icy exterior and succumbs to Lloyd’s charm and wit. Once, during college, I tried to utilize the patented “boom box under the window” method myself. I stood outside a dorm window and after a few minutes of blaring the equally powerful ballads of Bryan Adams, I realized I was at the wrong dorm. It turns out I won the heart of Jimbo, a Corps of Cadets freshman. I had to politely decline his advances so I gave him a pen. So that he could write.

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