I'll Remember You...

Almost 10 years ago to the day, I realized my feelings for a boy and I never thought how much my "relationship" with him could change my life and shape who I am. As the cold snap hits Minnesota, I find myself recollecting and reminiscing about that time, happy to have experienced teenage love and saddened to know that I have aged, I have changed, and nothing I do now will bring me back to being 17.

His birthday is Monday. The date, like many others, is etched in my mind forever. I can't even begin to imagine what he is like today, years later. I don't want to think of him as a career man, a married man, or a father. All of these are possibilities. I look at those I've met now and realize that he would be their age and it just makes me feel old. I know I am not past my prime and neither is he, but there is a difference between late twenties and a teenager.

I've nicknamed him "Charlie" on this site in previous posts. It is a fake name and I don't know why I hide his name. Maybe it is because I never told him how I felt for him. My memory is probably clouded and I think I'd like it to stay that way.

I met Charlie through bowling. This should come as no surprise, all of the guys I knew in high school were bowlers. Charlie was on my high school team and the first time I met him, I forgot his name. I got him confused with another new team mate. He was this quiet, shy boy who didn't talk much. That changed.

One day, on the way to practice, he was alive. He was vivid with excitement and just loving life. There was passion in his movements and a sparkle in his blue eyes. Those eyes were swimming behind his glasses and he had the most horrible hair cut ever (until he changed his hair again - then that was the worst!). He made me notice him that day.

Months went by and we continued to bowl together. Then we started going out after bowling. It was simple times. A night out could consist of playing pool or driving around with the group. Our group was innocent and dorky, playing games of "Truth or Dare" where the worst dare was the howl at the moon. Our truths consisted of questions like, "What is your favorite color?" and "What do you want to do when you grow up?" As I said, lame.

For New Year's Eve that year, the group headed to Camp Snoopy at the Mall of America. There are not many activities that under-age kids can do on New Year's and still be safe, but we found one. The time at the amusement park was actually pretty cool, riding rides and running around after our regular curfews.

A few weeks later, the group got together again for a Friday night out. We had a huge tournament the next morning, but that meant little. We were supposed to go bowling at a teen night place in Coon Rapids, but instead we drove around all night. There were stories told and secrets shared. I can remember that night with such clarity. There were only four of us that night. Liese, my best friend all through school, was there. Charlie was there. Charlie's best friend also tagged along. Our simple game of Truth or Dare actually got a little more intimate that night, we discussed "deep, dark secrets" and such. There were some less innocent dares, although looking back they were still pretty innocent. Liese knew I liked Charlie and dared me at one point to ask out the guy I liked.

I did. He did answer me that night. I think we officially went out for five hours. We shared a kiss at the end of the night, after everyone else had been dropped off. It was the first kiss that ever meant anything to me.

This whole story sounds so lame now. If you're still with me, I appreciate it. I haven't told this in a long time and just wanted to finally share.

After I got home, I tried to sleep. My stomach was full of butterflies. I was on Cloud 9 + three thousand and excited about the fact we were "dating". We'd been dating before that, but neither of us put the official words on it.

In the morning, I got up to go bowling. I had leagues first and then the tournament started. Our high school team was divided up for the tournament into two teams, our coach hoping to take home a couple of trophies. Charlie and I were on different teams. On the bright side, I was on the team that had the more experienced bowlers and the team I was on did much better in the tournament, but it still felt crummy to be on a different team.

The inevitable happened and we had to play the other team. The other team knew that we had better bowlers and so they tried to derive a strategy to increase their chances of winning. They wouldn't talk to us. I took this as a sign that Charlie was no longer interested. It was a bad call on my part, but the call I made.

The team I was on ended up winning the tournament. In all the excitement and tension (because high school bowling tournaments are so stressful - man, I was a nerd), I didn't get a chance to talk to Charlie throughout the day.

Then I let Liese take control of my love life. Her solution? A blind date with Bobby Ray which is now labeled in my history as the second worst date ever. It was first until the date with Pete night. Charlie took this as a signal I was no longer interested. And because we were both chickens and inexperienced in dating, neither of us said anything.

The school year continued and Charlie and I kept flirting with each other. We were inseparable and our parents thought we were a couple. All of our friends did too. He would be so sweet. He complimented me and stuck up for me and just made me value him as a friend even more.

That summer, I went to Germany. The weekend before departure, my friend Renee had a party. It was the lamest party ever, but we were trying to make it better. My friend Michelle and I had a plan to drop off some bikes and then head back to the party and spend some time driving. That's what suburbanite kids did back then, I guess. Well, we left Renee's and had three stops to make. Two were in Fridley and one was in Michelle's town. The trip took about an hour. During this time, my parents called Renee's house to see when the party would be over. My instructions were to come home right away after the party. I don't remember why anymore.

My ex-boyfriend and Renee's current boyfriend (another bowler - Paulie, actually) told my parents the party was over. So when we arrived back at Renee's, I had a message to call home immediately. I ended up in no trouble with my parents, explaining to them that we were just dropping off bikes and that we were under the impression that the party was still going on (and especially since it was still four hours before my curfew) but they wanted me home right away.

I have never been as angry with someone as I was with Paulie. I got in the car with Charlie and his best friend (whom I am not creative enough to give a fake name to right now) and lost my temper. I was upset and yelling and furious about why Paulie didn't trust me to come back to the party. Charlie said, so sweetly from the back seat, "I don't know why anyone wouldn't trust you. You're such an angel." This, of course, made the teenage girl cry because it was so sappy and sweet. I took the boys home and then went home myself.

When I went to Germany, I found myself missing my home and my friends more than I thought I would. One day, when it was really bad, I called back to the States on the calling card and finally got ahold of Charlie. We spoke on the phone for 45 minutes (yes, the phone bill was a bit expensive) and I just needed to talk to him. I needed to hear his voice on the other end of the phone line and know that I would be home and that I was missed. It sounds cheesy and it was.

The next year of school started soon enough and we were as inseparable as before. That winter I ended up dating a different guy, which I still kick myself for. But Charlie and I still spent a lot of time together, always innocent.

After graduation, Charlie and I still talked for a few years. Each summer we would get in contact with each other and spend a few weeks having the time of our lives. We did stupid things (such as driving to see a comet when it was cloudy and an incident with fireworks) and still had a great time. The last time I spoke to Charlie was right before I turned 21.

As this post shows, I still think of him. I remember that first boy who touched my heart and I have even written before that he is one of the muses I write to. I wrote so many letters in my journals that I never meant to send, but I am thankful that I knew him once. I will always remember that kid sitting behind the wheel of my car, his eyes sparkling with mischievousness and that grin that he had when he saw me.

He was the perfect innocent boy with a fun side to him. He was just dorky enough to make me trust him. He was able to make me feel special, make me feel like more than "one of the guys". It is a part of my personality that men seem to find me more of a friend than as a woman. I need to find a way to stop that. I don't know how and I don't think I'm going to go much farther into that topic right now. Maybe this week. Who knows?

He touched my heart. Maybe someday another man will again.

Muses & Audiences

High school was when I started keeping a journal or even tried to write anything beyond an assignment. My first journals were pet projects, rarely getting attention. Most of my writing was horrible (I can admit that). Sappy poetry and letters I never intended to send filled the pages of the notebooks. I will come back to that thought in a moment.

My writing training is not much more than the average high school graduate. Besides being taught grammar and spelling, I wrote mostly reports for assigned topics. I didn't spend much time writing. I remember trying to write a short-story for an English class that involved a killer robot stalking its teenage creators and going on a murderous rampage. It was terrible. I hated it. My parents thought it was a lazy attempt to write and that a trick was used to capture the reader. My English teacher loved it and ate it up.

Right before high school started, I started a family newsletter with my parents. It had various columns and really started because I wanted to play with a computer program. The monthly newsletter (that last four years) had columns written by our family pets, movie reviews by my day, and submissions from other family members. I practiced interviewing people and writing like a journalist. When I was a sophomore, I joined the school newspaper (which was barely a newspaper at all, only publishing once a quarter and was never anticipated by the student body. Our school did not have a great journalism teacher.) These experiences helped me practice presenting facts to readers.

In my junior year, I took a creative writing class. We wrote descriptive essays, poetry, and short stories. This was a class I enjoyed, even though writing was still more of a chore than a passion. I wrote one essay in this class that impressed my teacher and my parents. It was about bowling. If I could find it, I'd post it. It had a lot to do with my bowling shoes.

This is basically my training in writing. I am in no way saying I am a good writer; I will honestly say that I use techniques that are terrible and end words with -ly too often. One good point is that my writing typically follows a linear path and I try to use proper grammar. All of this brings me back to my original thought and the idea present at the onset of this post.

I mentioned that I wrote bad poetry and letters I never wanted to send. Even though I wrote these things and feared anyone finding them, there was always an intended audience. Writing creatively was an escape, a release of emotions I never meant to share, but needed to get out.

Many of my letters were written to one person in particular. I have written, briefly, about him on this site before. Even years after our last contact, I still find myself writing to him when something is really affecting me. The letters are no longer filled with cheesy lines about what a teenager believes to be love, but they are descriptions of how something is making me feel. While I have changed, the image of him has not. I still write to that teenage boy, a rose-colored glasses memory. Somewhere, hidden in my apartment, is a notebook with entries after life-changing events, all addressed to him. I suppose he is a beginning point to me, the time of my life where I finally realized that I could think for myself and not for my parents and teachers. The memory of him has become one of my muses.

His birthday is approaching and it is one of the two times of year that remind me of him. The other is the beginning of summer, for reasons I have mentioned before but don't focus on anymore.

If I had to tell the world who my high school sweetheart was, I'd first conjour his image. We never officially dated, even if we were unseperable for years. We spoke of dating often and came close a few times, always chickening out because we were young and still cared what other people thought and afraid to share real emotions. I always felt we both waited until we were older and then we drifted apart. The teenage years are hard, full of change, and it was sometimes easier to believe it would be a better time off in the future than to add more to the mix of school, friends, work, and life. The times we shared our dreams and feelings were as important as they were intimate, even if those times are not essential to my life as it is now. I remember laughing around him and how his smile made my heart melt. The details are unimportant to this post and I will try to refocus back to the original topic, but the only important thing I want you to know in this drifting is that I felt I loved him and I never told him. At least I never told him outside of unsent letters.

Even if I have not spoken to him in over six years, I still find myself writing letters to him. Whenever something is bothering me or a big life change happens, my first thought is always to imagine telling him the news. I see myself talking to him and having him tell me (again) that it is all okay. He was always supportive in high school, encouraging and kind and sweet to me and I suppose I still want that part of him in my life. He is still that sweet, innocent teenager who called me an angel. He will always be the first to have made me feel romantic emotions and I will always hold a special place inside my heart for his memory.

He is one of my muses. He is part of the audience I write to here. I have others. I could probably go through old posts and tell you who I had in mind while writing them. Some of the audience is actual readers of this site, others are just those I've known and admired at one time or another. I wonder if how I would react if I found him reading this site. I don't think I'd want him to, not because I'm still afraid of what he'd think (which would not be that bad), but because I don't really want to change his image in my mind.

Sappy story about love and fireworks

I went out to Perkin's with Matt tonight. In between cards, talking, and doing horrible, HORRIBLE stats homework, Matt and I sat back, thinking of stories from our youths.

He wrote a word down in his new notebook (yes, Dana, you're rubbing off all over the place) that reminded me of Charlie. I've written a little about Charlie before, but I never really explained all the feelings and why I consider him to be my first love. This isn't really the post about those feelings, but a post about one summer night and two idiotic teenagers. It is also a post about how wonderful he was to me.

After I had graduated (and Charlie still had some of high school left - hey, I fell for a younger boy, sue me), we still kept in contact. The summer of 1997 was one filled with crazy stunts and living up the last summer before setting out into the real world (or college, which isn't really the real world, but it's closer than high school).

I had acquired some fireworks with another guy I dated (the dip) and allowed Charlie to set them off on the 4th of July. Now, the type of fireworks I actually had are now legal in Minnesota, but they weren't at the time. Well, most are legal now. I'm not sure about bottle rockets. They go into the air. They may not be legal.

This story is almost so stupid it's embarrassing. I still can't believe what a big deal this turned out to be.

The bottle rockets were not the problem. No, the problem arose when Charlie discovered the smoke bombs. For those who don't know, smoke bombs are small, they don't spark, all they do is put off a lot of smoke. They don't even burn anything. Smoke bombs are kind of lame.

After spending a wonderful afternoon with Charlie in the field where the old drive-in used to stand, we headed over to my friend Mitzie's house. Why, oh why, didn't Charlie just play with the smoke bombs in the field? Why did he decide the proper location to use them was 1/2 a block from the police station?

We were waiting in Mitzie's driveway for her to arrive home. She was about 10 minutes behind us and Charlie saw his target.

He took a package of six smoke bombs and went over the Port-o-Potty near the softball field.

I stood in Mitzie's driveway, telling him not to do this, and watched him enter the Biffy. Soon smoke billowed out of the vents and cracks of the tall, green, smelly toilet. He came out, smiling and laughing. I remember that smile. I remember the look in his eyes.

Mitzie pulled in as he was running back and she looked over, slightly amused, and then we headed inside. The smoke stopped within 2 minutes.

Fifteen minutes later, Mitzie's house was surrounded by five different squad cars. The cops came to the door and asked her dad where his son was. Mitzie's dad knew his son and figured they were looking for the right person. Then they described the suspect and her dad said, "Oh, not my son. That dorky kid over here. Yeah, he's inside."

Charlie came to the door and peacefully left with the police.

I found out later that a person watching softball called the police because she thought someone was setting the Biffy on fire. Charlie wasn't doing that, but the smoke bombs gave that appearance.

The police laughed at him and charged him with vandalism and some far off degree of arson. When they asked where he got the smoke bombs, he never said a word.

I feel guilty that he never said anything. He made me promise to never tell the police where he got the smoke bombs. In fact, I never even had to talk to the police.

Charlie's punishment was minor. He had to write a letter of apology to the city for having smoke come out of the Port-o-Potty. I think he also had to do one hour of community service.

One of the reasons I don't talk to Charlie anymore is because I'm terrified of his mom. He tried to assure me that she doesn't hate me, but if I was that woman, I'd keep my son away from a girl who helped him get arrested.

Charlie was not a legal adult when the incident happened and it is not on his record. This is a good thing. There are other things that he did on his own and got busted for. He, like many teenage boys, seemed to have a fascination with fire and he got grounded pretty heavily when his parents found out about the hairspray and their kitchen counter.

I know Charlie is a different person now and I am too. If I ran into him, I doubt we'd reconnect. I think it would be a, "Hey, how's your life? Oh, that's good," kind of thing.

I don't want to see him. I don't want to taint the memory of the young boy who could melt my heart with his smile and glint in his eyes. I don't want to have my happy memories of high school clouded by the man he may have become.

The last time I spoke to Charlie made my mind up to not keep in contact. I don't know. Maybe I should have. Maybe if I had kept in contact, things would have been different for him. The last time I spoke to him, he was starting to do drugs pretty heavily. I was faced with trying to help an old friend who was more into getting high or letting go and keeping my happy memories. I chose the later.

It was a selfish choice, yes, I can admit that. I can also say that the distance that formed between us when he moved away for a year and I went to college broke some of the bond and I probably wouldn't have been able to change Charlie's mind about drugs.

So I hold onto the happy memories. The ones of Charlie, who could annoy anyone with insults and jabs, and how he was always nice to me.

I remember Charlie, who loved to be number one, always setting me up for compliments. I remember how my friends hated him, but he always knew how to make me feel special.

This doesn't paint a pretty picture of Charlie, does it?

Let's try this. Charlie made me laugh. Every time I saw him, he had a grin on his face and he looked ecstatic just to see me.

When he looked at a magazine at the local department store, he found this quiz, "What would your friends label you as?" He turned to me and said, "You don't need to do this, you're an angel."

When I lost my temper with a different friend and I was so furious, it was Charlie who calmed me down. He said such sweet things, I started crying, in my car on a cool, June evening.

When I went to Germany and was so homesick, it was Charlie I called. I spoke to him for 45 minutes. I needed to hear his voice.

When I think back to my first kiss, it is not Charlie I think of, but when I think of my first kiss that meant something, I think of Charlie. I remember him kissing me and then heading into his house. I can still remember the first time that spark of electricity charged through my body.

When I listen to the Garth Brooks song, You Move Me, it is Charlie I remember. He made me listen to this song and he sang along.

And when I think of this stupid war, I think of Charlie. Charlie wanted to join the armed forces and I don't know if he ever did. He could be over in Iraq right now and I'd never know. I don't want him back in my life, however, I do want his happiness and I want him safe. I want to see him make others smile. I worry for him still. I always will.

He has a special place in my heart. He always will.

2 Comments:

At 10:42 AM, CarpeDM said...

Dang you. You made me cry.

I loved this story, Beth. Gave me a different perspective of Charlie than that dorky guy with the awful haircut that put smoke bombs in the port-o-potty.

It's very sweet. I hope he is okay as well.

At 8:33 PM, Matt said...

That was amazingly sweet Beth. I also had a tear in my eye. This post goes to show the world the kind of person you are Beth, it shows the wonderful, caring, kind individual that you are. I also am hoping for his happiness, I also have another thought. For some reason I want to hang on to this memory: Charlie is sitting in his house where ever that may be right now, thinking back on his life (maybe putting it back together) and remembering his friends that heonce had. He doesn't smile as much as he used to, until one day your face comes into his mind. He sees the smile on your face, the sparkle in your eye, and he also thinks back to the kiss that you shared with him. He doesn't want to have you back, but he is also thinking about you and hoping that all is well in your life. I want to hang on to that, I really really do. Moments that you ahred with the world here tonight are rare, having that person inyou rlife is not a common experience, it is good to see that you have decided to hang on to the good things, and not focus on the bad.

I am proud to considered one of your friends, and more than that, your Big Brother.
Matt

It's no wonder I don't date

I went on a blind date once. I understand why this is the worst thing anyone can hear. You know what I mean. The phrase, "I know someone who would be good for you." That's not fun. I hate it when people play matchmaker. I don't want to be paired up with someone a friend thinks "would be good" for me. What does that mean?

I was in high school when my best friend, Liese (pronounced Lisa), decided it was time to set me up with one of her boyfriend's friends. This was a guy she had never even met and that may have been the first mistake. The other might have been the fact I was almost seeing someone else. I do not know what convinced me to say yes to the evening, but I did.

It was January, 1996 in Minnesota. It was freezing cold outside and oh, so romantic. The evening before had sported one of the worst storms I've seen in a winter. It didn't snow. Oh, no. It rained. And rained. What happens to rain when it's cold? The rain turned to ice instantly when it hit the ground (and every other object). I was working part time at a local retail shop at the time. The ice came down so quickly that when I was sent home after a 1/2 hour of working, I needed a full can of De-Icer just to get into the car. The ground was covered quickly with a layer of ice and the trees all glistened the next day. The views were quite beautiful, just dangerous and hard to maneuver in.

So, understanding what a fun driving experience it would be, I said yes when Liese decided to set me up with this guy.

Liese was dating Kevin and his good friend's name I'm changing to protect the guilty. Let's call him Bobby Ray. It just seems fitting.

The idea was to go on a double date. Liese and Kevin were coming along. To add to the excitement, our other friend, Renee, was going to come with her boyfriend, Scott. Scott was a friend of mine and his best friend, Adam, was a great friend of mine. Adam also tagged along. That's right, 7 people on a double date. 7 people and I was the only one with a license. Keep in mind, I also drove an '87 Chevy Nova. This car would seat 2 people comfortably. If you had two smaller (for example, children under 5) individuals, the backseat could fit a couple more. All 7 of us were in one car. It was time to get friendly.

I picked up Liese (two blocks from my place) and then went to get Scott and Adam (2 blocks from Liese's). Hindsight being 20/20, I should have stopped there. But no, I'm the perpetually nice one and I follow through with my word to Liese to try and enjoy the evening. It made the most sense to pick up Renee next, which meant heading north on the ice for a drive that normally took 15 minutes. After a half hour, we had Renee. Scott and Adam were the skinny little guys and they shared the front seat. (You know, the more I think about that time of my life, those two would have probably ended up as lovers if they were about 5 years older.) We then headed south past my home to Saint Anthony, Minnesota, which should have been a 25 minute drive. It took an hour. Having fun yet? I wasn't.

We picked up Kevin and then Bobby Ray. I did try to keep an open mind about this date, but I'll be honest. My heart did not flutter when we picked him up. I thought, 'Okay, I'll see what his personality is like.' Why, oh why, did I bother?

What do high school students do for a fun-filled, wholesome evening? They decide to go to a local restaurant and order appetizers and split the bill. This is known as the cheap date. We decided to go to a local restaurant for some food (aka appetizers) and on the way there, my car got a little stuck on the ice. Remember the ice? I do. Clearly. I'm in a car with 4 boys and my car gets stuck. What do they all do? Sit there, on their butts. Bobby Ray decides to open his mouth with some wonderfully witty comment, like, "Ha ha. Oh man, we're stuck. Hee hee." My response, as nicely and sugary as I could say through gritted teeth, "Then get out and push." At that moment, I rocked the car free of the ice and we were back on our way.

Remember the stupid games you play as a kid? Like Truth or Dare. Now, I understand this is a 'risky' game to play but it never worked out like that with our group. We actually had a rule with our version of the game to keep it fair. You could not ask someone something that you weren't willing to answer yourself. The dares picked were always lame (yes, I use the word lame) because we did it more to get to know each other better. The answers always stayed 'in the car' and I think one of the best dares ever involved Scott howling at the moon. As I said, lame.

So we decided to play Truth or Dare. As we are playing, Liese and Kevin are holding their usual session of necking in the backseat. What does this wonderful 'date' of mine do? He wants to watch so he pulls out a miner's flashlight (you know, the ones that strap to your forehead) and turns it on so he can watch them.

What type of person carries a miner's flashlight in their jacket pocket? I need an answer to this question. This is not like having a pen in your pocket. I know the Boy Scouts' motto is to 'Be Prepared' but this is ridiculous.

As Bobby Ray is watching them make out, someone dares him to kiss me. It might have been Renee or Scott. Is it a wonder why our friendships have faded over the years? He looks at me, trying to strut his stuff as much as you can from the passenger seat of a Chevy Nova, and says, "I'm game."

Oh baby, oh baby, oh.

I politely make up a lie, "I don't kiss on the first date." Totally not true. I've never had an objection to a small kiss on the first date. Not like I've ever really had a relationship that started with a first date. Most of the relationships I've had, I've known the guy for at least a year before we even go out. This might also be a slight problem in my dating life. But back to the date.

I got out of kissing Bobby Ray. Thank you God. I mean that.

At this point, we pull up to the local restaurant. Since there are 7 of us, we get two tables pushed together in the middle of the place. Here is the seating arrangement:

Kevin Liese Bobby Ray

Renee Scott Myself Adam

This was so I could be forced to stare at Bobby Ray throughout our meal. I say forced because I did not want to stare at Bobby Ray. By the time we reached the restaurant and had sat down, I knew I was not interested in Bobby Ray and so pleased that Adam had tagged along.

We ordered our appetizer samplers (also, this is easy for girls to not eat as much, since they can just nibble from the tray). Bobby Ray showed his class and style by telling witty stories throughout the meal. Such gems are hard to forget. I heard every single penis joke I had heard from second grade through fifth grade. Wow. My heart was a flutter. Oh, how could I pass up this lovely, sophisticated man?

Bobby Ray also decided that dinner was the perfect time to start making fun of Adam. That's right. He started ripping on one of my best friends and the boy I was ecstatic was there to save me from this torture. A word of advice to any man wanting my heart: Making fun of those I love the first night you met them or me is not a good idea. I'm pretty loyal to my friends. So we sat during dinner, Liese, Kevin, Scott, and Renee all at their end of the table missing the comic gems from Bobby Ray, Adam and I lowering our opinions of this boy every time he opened his mouth.

Finally, finally, it was time to pay the bill. The seven of us arose from the table and headed to the register. As we were paying, Bobby Ray found it socially acceptable to have his hands creep up from behind and start fondling Renee's chest. That's right. He started groping her. I'll admit, Renee had a good rack for a teenager, but come on. She actually shrieked. Scott was pretty pissed off by this point and we quickly ushered everyone into the car.

Don't ask why we didn't drop this loser off right then and there. The only thing I can think of is that Liese and Kevin wanted to give the night another chance. The seven of us headed up to Renee's house, since she had the earliest curfew. When we got there, it was decided to watch a movie.

What movie is perfect for a romantic evening? What could possibly make the night better and better? I'll tell you.

Stephen King's TV mini series, "IT." That's right. We watched a cheesy horror movie that did the book absolutely no justice what-so-ever.

Liese and Kevin found a spot on the floor to cuddle. Renee sat down next to her mom on the couch. Scott and Adam also headed for the couch while Bobby Ray found the only available chair. I stood there, wondering where to go. I knew for a fact I wanted to be away from Bobby Ray. Can you blame me? Do you think I was not giving him the proper chance? Is it wrong of me to pass judgment based on the miner's light, the penis jokes, the insulting of my great friend, and the groping of my other friend? Maybe it was.

Back to the fact I'm looking for a place to sit and watch the movie. Bobby Ray slides over and says, like one of those oily, sleazy men in a bar as they stare at your tits, "You could sit on my lap." His eyes drop a little and a sly little grin shows up on his face. Just thinking about it to this day makes me want to vomit.

Adam pipes up at this moment, and believe me, my adoration for him increased tenfold. "Hey, Scott, Renee, slide over. Beth, you could join us here." Thank you Jesus! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! The trumpets sounded and my heart wanted to leap from my chest. It doesn't seem like much, but I was so grateful for this simple act.

We watched half of the movie before we realized Scott and Adam should be getting home soon. It was time to head south again. Here's the adventure for the evening.

Remember the ice? How could you forget. I'm driving south on the highway, going about 50 miles an hour (the limit was 55, but I slowed down for the ice). A red light is coming up so I gently pressed the brake pedal. I didn't swerve. I didn't lock up my brakes. No, what happened is that my car stalled, still going 45 miles an hour. The light ahead is still red, I have 5 additional people (without me) in the car, no brakes, and cars are crossing the highway for their green light.

In one liquid motion, I put my left foot on the clutch, my right foot started pumping the brakes, I swiveled the steering wheel, and pulled the emergency brake. The Nova spun 270 degrees and came to a stop. We stopped in plenty of time for the light and no other cars were near us on the road. We were safe.

Liese and Kevin sat in an oblivious state in the back seat. I think they'd been smooching again. Probably. The looks on Scott and Adam's faces were remarkable. There was a slight bit of stun and a look of awe. I think they enjoyed it. Bobby Ray picked this moment to turn in his seat, look me in the eyes, and arrogantly say, "Way to go . . . Babe."

Now, my knuckles did not turn white from the adventure with the car. They now gripped the steering wheel because every bit of my being was holding them there so I wouldn't deck this guy. I hate, I hate, I HATE, pet names. If I know someone for a long time, I could handle maybe a couple of minor pet names, but there are an immediate pet peeve. There is only one that I can put up with because it is what my mom calls me. Babe is not it.

As daggers formed in my eyes, I glared at him. You know the look. Vivian Leigh had it best in Gone with the Wind. It's the look that says, "I want you to be wiped from existence."

I turned to Scott and Adam, my look softening greatly as I turned, and said, "Is it okay for us to drop Kevin and this guy off first?"

They both agreed and thankfully the rest of the night went off without a hitch. Scott got into a little trouble for curfew (I'm so sorry, to this day I'm sorry) and Adam got into a little trouble (for something completely unrelated to curfew. He'd been experimenting with hairspray and a lighter on the kitchen counter before I picked him up). Everything else was pretty much okay. I figured this guy was out of my life forever.

To explain how much I disliked this individual, here is a phone conversation the next day.

Ring, ring:

Me: Hello.

Guy: Beth? Hey, how's it going?

Me: Fine. Oh God, why, why, why? (Okay, the italics are what I was thinking. The tone came out the same.)

Guy: What are you doing?

Me: Cleaning my room.

Guy: Are you really busy?

Me: Yes.

Guy: Oh. What are you doing tomorrow?

Me: I'm in a bowling tournament. (Did I ever mention that I was a huge bowler in high school. I used to bowl 6 days a week.)

Guy: Really?! What one? (Smile in his voice.)

Me: It's a parent/child tournament.

Guy: Maybe I could join too!

Me: No, you can't.

Guy: Why not? (Confusion sets in.)

Me: I'm pretty sure you have to be on a league.

Guy: Yeah. I am.

Me: Oh yeah? What league are you on?

Guy: I'm on your team.

Long pause.

Me: John?

Guy: Yes.

Me: Oh, I'm so sorry! I thought you were Bobby Ray! Thank goodness. How's it going? (Hear the smile in my voice now.)

John: Man, I was really trying to figure out what I did.

The conversation kept on, but you get the point. I was rude, curt, and trying to get one of my great friends off the phone because of this guy. I ended up seeing the guy a few years later at something and ran the other way. The one blind date I ever went on turned out horribly and this is why I cringe every time someone says, "I know someone who would be great for you."

3 Comments:

At 10:36 AM, CarpeDM said...

I know someone who would be good for you. The scariest words in the world.

Brooksba, I loved this. Even though you had just told me this story the other day, I loved re-reading it and getting the whole effect of the car description, Bobby Ray in all of his oafishness, it was so much fun.

Kudos to you. Babe (Don't kill me. I'm just kidding).

At 4:57 PM, Matt said...

Little Sister-(that is an ok name isn't it? I would hate to have a blog written about me on that-just kidding) I loved this blog. You are incredible, and yes those words are even scary for men to hear as well. Of course, I think that's true, because well I would have to be aman to know that wouldn't I? I will talk to you later, take care Little Sister. Remember, the right guy had better pass the Big Brother test, because if he doesn't I would hate to see what Scott would do to him.
Matt

At 5:13 PM, Chiraag said...

Hi, I was just reading your blog and I think it has good potential. Would it be possible to blog roll me or add a link to my site please? My url is http://chiraag88.blogspot.com

How I wish to be a kid again...

Don't get me wrong. There are definite things to being an adult that are great, but I wish there were some of those childhood innocence ideals that could be held onto forever. One of those is the first day of summer.

Remember the last day of school every year? How relaxed and full of possibility it was? I remember sitting in class, watching the clock tick down, waiting for that moment when the bell would ring and the halls would fill of students rushing out to start their summer adventures.

Summer was always a time of sleeping late, playing games, and exploring. In one of the neighborhoods we lived in there was a weekly puppet show. This is one of those things that can only be enjoyed through the eyes of a child. The kids around and I would make up games, running through the woods nearby, never fearful of other people but each monster we made up was real. You could believe the summer would last forever because it did. To a child, three months is a lifetime. It wasn't the nice weather, it was the idea of having no responsibilities, no place to go. All you had to worry about was getting home in time for supper.

I miss the feeling of that last day of school, the true start of summer. I enjoyed going to school and those responsibilities but nothing beat that feeling of possibility.

Was it the nice weather that made summer great? I don't think so. Nice weather still comes each year (although I like spring and fall more than summer), it just never falls in line with that last day of school anymore.

I posted a song the other night that reminded me of a boy I knew in high school. Thinking about him got me thinking about the last day of school. Even in high school, when summer meant hours of working to afford all those late nights out playing pool, going to the drive-in, and driving for hours on end, the last day of school still filled my heart with happiness. Maybe it was the fact it was him or maybe it was the fact it was the last day of school on my last summer before adulthood, or maybe it was a little bit of both, but I was ready to have fun and go against my strict logic.

As we were leaving school that fine, sunny day, he turned to me and asked simply, "Can I drive?" Now, this may not seem like a lot, but it really was. As I mentioned, I have strict logic reasoning. He didn't have a license and had never driven a stick before and I loved my car. But the sun made his eyes sparkle and of course, I caved in. I started my last summer of being a kid laughing and smiling and just enjoying his company. I still remember that mischievous smile of his and it lifts me up. We are lucky as human beings to experience things and make memories that we can carry for life. The feeling that day will stick with me forever.

1 Comments:

At 11:43 AM, CarpeDM said...

You are definitely an impressionist, Beth. I do remember what it was like to be truly free. I miss it.

Song of the Night - Summer Obsession

Alright, I admit it. Years ago I had a thing for a certain guy and ever summer the feelings come back. I haven't talked to him in over 4 years and I still think of him every time summer comes creeping up. This song has nothing to do with summer, but it reminds me of him (he exposed me to it by singing it sweetly and full of emotion) and summer reminds me of him, so here it is:

You Move Me
Performed by Garth Brooks

This is how it seems to me
Life is only therapy
Real expensive
And no guarantee
So I lie here on the couch
With my heart hanging out
Frozen solid with fear
Like a rock in the ground

But you move me
You give me courage
I didn't know I had
You move me
I can't go with you
And stay where I am
So you move me

This is how love was to me
I could look and not see
Going through the emotions
Not knowing what they mean
And it scared me so much
That I just wouldn't budge
I might have stayed there forever
If not for your touch

Oh but you move me
Out of myself and into the fire
You move me
Now I'm burning with love
And with hope and desire
How you move me

You go whistling in the dark
Making light of it
And I follow with my heart
Laughing all the way

Oh 'cause you move me
You get me dancing and you make me sing
You move me
Now I'm taking delight
In every little thing
How you move me

It's a sweet song from the Garth Brooks album, Sevens. I used to listen to it over and over as I tried to fall asleep each night. Unrequited love aside (drunk girl from karaoke, "I don't know what that is,"), it's a soft, happy song about how the presence of one person, or the thought of one person, can set your heart free. I don't regret my feelings for this individual, I do regret never really telling him. I'm glad I knew him and will carry those feelings in my heart for the rest of my life.

I have gotten over wanting to see him again. Time changes everyone, I'm a different person now and I'm sure he is too. I sometimes wonder how his life is going, but I don't need to be a part of it any longer. I wish him happiness and I hope that he is spreading joy to those lives he is touching.


** Side note, I don't like the spell check on this program. If there are any apostrophes that are replaced with weird symbols, that's the spell check. It keeps changing them into very odd looking characters.