thoughts
To the boys I never should have dated:
I decided to combine the two of you because you were so close together and I was so absolutely wrong for both of you. Also, I’m going to write this one in a different format than Parts 1 and 2, because it’s easier. And funnier. Plus, I already kind of wrote about the two of you for a class, so I’m going to recycle parts of that paper. Here we go… “Damsel in distress” is never quite how I would describe myself. I’m fairly independent, can more than hold my own in a verbal sparring match, and possess the scrappy fighting skills necessary in a family with five older siblings. I’ve never really needed, nor wanted, someone around to protect me. But when I was a junior in high school, things changed a bit when I started to get to know my best friend’s younger brother. Up until that point, I’d considered him my younger brother as well. A cute, chubby kid, two years behind me in school, he never really crossed my mind, with the exception of occasionally wishing that he wouldn’t yell my name quite so loudly when he saw me from a distance out in public. Seriously. You can only handle someone screaming your name down the frozen food aisle at Wal-Mart so many times before you start mentally calculating how long you could survive hiding in one of the freezers before turning into a human Popsicle. Then, at the start of my junior year, my best friend left for college, leaving me behind to take care of her brother, who was now a freshman. I’ll be honest. I tried, unsuccessfully, to avoid him for the first couple of weeks, but he always managed to track me down (not an exceptionally difficult task, considering the population of our school was around 150 students). I can’t explain why I was so resistant to his friendship. It’s not like hanging out with a freshman could have dropped me any lower on the social ladder. All of my friends my own age had abandoned me at the end of sophomore year over a minor disagreement, so having him around should have been a blessing. And it was kind of nice. Sometimes. Until someone my own age came along. This boy was a genius. Despite being good at basically everything, he never said much, which is why he never had trouble fitting in with everyone. His silence is always part of what attracted me to him, as I swing back and forth between loving the sound of my own voice and wanting the entire world (myself included) to just shut up for a few hours. We were a good couple. Cute. Smart. Balanced. Then he asked me to the Homecoming dance. Unfortunately, it took about two slow songs for me to discover the true reason behind Boy 1’s frequent silences. (Oh, by the way, I’m now referring to him as Boy 1.) Anyway, I quickly realized that Boy 1 had absolutely no personality. He was in the middle of telling me a story he’d already told me four times that night (I also happened to be present for the origin of said story, as I was one of the “characters” in it) when I managed to catch Boy 2’s eye from across the dance floor. (And, obviously I’m going to call my best friend’s younger brother Boy 2.) Without hesitation, Boy 2 set down his Pepsi can, straightened his clip-on tie, and strode toward us, slowed only by the occasional dancing couple. “Excuse me,” he said, affecting a pompous British accent. “May I cut in?” Boy 1 looked down at him in disgust. I wasn’t sure if this was due to Boy 2 interrupting our dance, or if he just didn’t like him, but I had a flash of hope that maybe Boy 2’s presence would inspire Boy 1 to actually do something interesting. No such luck. “Sure, man,” Boy 1 said, stepping back. Boy 2 squirmed between us, gently placing one hand on my hip, taking my hand in his, and pushing his butt out enough to bump Boy 1 away from us. With more energy than the song required, he pranced us between closely held couples, jarring a few of them apart by accident. I thanked him for saving me from what was possibly the most boring evening of my life, pulled away, and then spent the rest of the evening avoiding pretty much everyone. At the end of the night, however, my brother refused to unlock the pickup and let me in until I said goodbye to Boy 1. “I want you to have this,” Boy 1 said, handing me a small drawstring bag. “But don’t lose it, or my mom will kill me.” “Um, okay,” I replied, suddenly terrified to open it. “See you Monday?” Like I had a choice, considering most of our classes were together. “Yeah. See you.” Before I could walk away, Boy 1 wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to his chest. Unfortunately, I’d been in the process of turning away when he grabbed me, so he ended up smashing his chin into my shoulder. Undeterred, he held this one-sided embrace for a good ten seconds before releasing me, leaving my brain just enough oxygen to sympathize with all of those rabbits who suffered at the hands of Lennie Small. When my brother finally let me in the pickup, I opened the bag to discover Boy 1’s class ring dangling from a thin silver chain. See, the cool thing to do when I was in high school was to ask your girlfriend to wear your class ring on a necklace as a means of marking your territory. It was slightly more modern than carving your initials into her skin, and slightly less barbaric than peeing on her like a dog with its favorite hydrant. I knew I had to give the ring back, as I could think of no universe in which I wanted to be Boy 1’s girlfriend. But the ring was blue and sparkly. Fast forward to a week later, walking down the hall, Boy 1’s ring resting safely against my chest. School was over for the day, so the hallway was relatively empty, other than the athletes who lingered at their lockers after school in an attempt to escape the first few minutes of practice. “Going home?” Boy 1 asked, appearing at my locker, already wearing his shorts and practice shirt. I informed him that I had play practice that night, so I’d be hanging out in the band room doing homework for a few hours. He offered to walk me there. As we turned to walk down the hallway of the music wing, he tentatively reached over and took my hand. Keep in mind, this wasn’t a fingers laced, palms perfectly lined up, Lennon and McCartney tuning up their guitars type of hand holding. It felt more like I was suddenly wearing a too-tight, weirdly clammy bracelet that I had no power to remove from my wrist and which was compelling me forward against my will. Just before we reached the stairs leading down to the band room, I managed to wrestle my arm away from him by pretending I needed to find something in my bag. Not noticing I had stopped, he went ahead down the three steps. As he opened the band room door, I heard what I can only assume was a Powhatan war cry. A creature resembling a large bear cub launched itself through the doorway and wrapped its paws around Boy 1’s torso. They fell to the ground in a jumbled heap of limbs, both screaming in various tones of determination and fear. Finally recovering from my shock, I made out the actual shape of Boy 1’s attacker and half-heartedly ordered Boy 2 to get off of him. He reluctantly rolled off, but remained on the floor, panting and sweating. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Waiting for you,” he replied. “Mom told me to see if you wanted to come over for dinner before play practice.” “So you were planning to go all quarterback on me when I opened the door?” I asked incredulously. “Quarterbacks don’t tackle,” Boy 1 wheezed. “They play offense.” As if I cared. “Of course I wasn’t going to attack you,” Boy 2 insisted. “You’re tiny. I would’ve killed you! But I saw you guys coming down the hall, and I figured he’d be a gentleman and open the door for you.” “You’re an idiot,” I reminded him. “Yeah, but that’s why you love me.” We shared a look, but I quickly broke eye contact. I noticed Boy 1 watching us, and I suddenly felt incredibly guilty. “Hey, can you give me a minute?” I asked Boy 2. He agreed and again closed himself in the band room. I sat down on the bottom step and rested my hand gently on Boy 1’s arm. “I’m sorry,” I began. “But this thing with us? I just can’t. I’m sorry.” He nodded, but refused to meet my eyes. Metaphorically kicking him while he was literally down, I unclasped the chain from around my neck and handed his ring back to him. Boy 2 and I waited an appropriate amount of time before we started dating, but that relationship was also doomed from the start. We got along wonderfully and he was always fun to be around, but he was just too much of a little brother for me and we managed to last for only a month or two. I have no idea what Boy 1 is up to now, as I haven’t spoken to him since our second year of college. We remained friends throughout the last year and a half of high school, but things were never quite the same between us after I dumped him. Boy 2 and I are still friends, though no longer as close since we don’t live in the same area and he’s now married with a family. Though I never should have dated either of these boys, I can’t necessarily say that I regret either short-lived relationship. They both taught me how to quickly recognize what I don’t want, and they both helped me realize that my personality and needs are completely unsuited for certain types of guys. Also, those of you who know either of these guys in real life absolutely do not need to draw their attention to this post. While I think Boy 2 would find it funny, Boy 1 probably would not. And let’s face it, he’s been through enough.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Jacinta M. CarterProfessional Book Nerd Archives
March 2019
Categories |