Famous Last Words

I’d gotten off to a rocky start but I was undeterred. I had long since outgrown those sixth grade days of weeding through the yearbook, searching for potential suitors, while listening mournfully to the Air Supply Greatest Hits album. “I’m all out of love, I’m so lost without you.” They just don’t write songs like that anymore.

But that was the past; I was now part of a great generation of young women who knew the profound truth that “love is a battlefield.” And I had tasted the empowerment of punk rock prostitutes who could scare off the vilest of pimps by the mere rhythmic shaking of their bosoms. Never mind that I had no bosom to speak of.

Love was out there. Unfortunately, so were silly but deeply felt crushes which never resulted in relationships. I was the one that guys would flirt with when their actual girlfriends weren’t around. Not because I was a tramp. On the contrary, I was a “good girl.” But I was the fun girl. In retrospect, their steady girlfriends had one thing in common; they were ultra-prissy-pants. The type with perfectly painted finger nails, hair curled and Aqua-netted just so. I was girly enough with my pink floral sweaters and oh yes, pink Converse tennis shoes but I was also a bit of a tom-boy. I didn’t mind if my hair got tousled or if I got thrown fully clothed into the swimming pool. I was approachable; a friendly flirtation when it was convenient.

There was one guy in particular. His sister was a good friend even though she was a year or two older than me. He and I were the same age. He began dating a girl in our youth group and they continued that relationship off and on for years. But when I would spend the night with his sister, he and I would stay up all night watching stupid Monty Python movies together; laughing and laughing. We would sit cuddled up on the couch and talk about everything under the sun and my heart would flutter at how perfect it all seemed. I had every reason to believe that he would dump his well-endowed steady and declare me as his true love. Ah, but the next morning we would head to church, walk into the youth room and I was suddenly invisible. He was a jerk. I was nice. Nice, forgiving, and stupid which meant this cycle was repeated time and again.

What those guys saw as a little innocent flirting behind their girlfriend’s back wreaked havoc on my tender and naïve emotions. Not to mention giving me more than my share of dirty looks and threats to have my butt kicked. Luckily, no one was willing to risk their Lee press-on nails for the likes of me.

Even so, I plodded on believing that a serious, long-term relationship would come my way because that was what teenagers of my time were expected to have. I just didn’t know it would come looking for my sister first.