I never do that. Hardly ever. But the other day, while we were watching the Beatles tribute show, I did a quick search for a guy I had such a crush on in high school, Rob D. I found his page, and he's still married to the girl he dated just out of high school and they have three gangly children and she's still very beautiful and thin.
I was getting all nostalgic for those days and wondering why we never ended up together, (the Beatles were playing "Yesterday" in the background, so I had the perfect medley going) and then I clicked on a link to a Vimeo on his page, and watched a video of him and his family at a cabin this last Thanksgiving, and then I came to the part in the video where he and his ten year old son are smiling and then the camera pans back to show that they are shooting some kind of semi automatic rifle at a target. That's when I had a moment of clarity unclouded by sentimental lyrics of a song I actually don't really even like that much and I thought, Oh, right, yes, we had a quite a few things not in common. Like Jesus. We did not share a love of Jesus. I mean, I went to his church and got saved quite a few times to try to get him to notice me (the boy, not Jesus) and it never worked, in either case. I was never enveloped by the spirit of Christ or in the arms of this tan boy who work blue Converse sneakers and played keyboard in a Christian rock band.
In fact, I dated his best friend for a while (also in the band; he played drums); Mike was more of a bad boy because he used to drink beer and smoke cigarettes before he accepted God as his personal savior. I mean, come on, he was in tenth grade in the 1980s--how much of a delinquent could he have been? I also remember him telling me that Rob thought my boobs were too big. As if that were something I could control. If you want to blame anyone for that, blame God. Maybe that made me too much of a temptress or something--a living test of his iron will and resistance.
We kissed once, in my bedroom, after a study session. But we did it in such a way that it was sort of pretending, like I think both of us were shrugging and saying, "We should probably just see what it's like. I mean, what's the big deal?" And so we kissed and I thought I would die and then he bolted from my room and we never talked about it again, at least not to my memory.
I did write him a note the next day that was some kind of made up story about a boy and a girl playing tennis, and how the game gets faster and more heated, and at the end, the guy drops his racquet with a clatter and leaves the tennis court, while the girl wonders, "Will you still lob me tomorrow?" That was the end line, if I remember correctly. Which I probably don't. He might have a whole different story that he tells himself about how that all happened. Or he might not remember at all. I do.
|This is not him, this is his best friend who I dated instead. Someday, I'll write a blog post tribute about the perms I've had over the years.|