What the Heck?

The taste of foot was still lingering in my mouth when he said, “Can I come see you?” And before I could grab it and stuff it back down my throat- “Sure.” With that, I had clenched the deal and re-enrolled myself in the “You Big Fat Idiot School of Dating.”

It was even worse than before. Not only did I hate him and his…his…breathing; I hated myself, too. I remember riding in the car and Mitch would reach over and lay his hand on my thigh and a voice in my head would be screaming “WHY MUST YOU TOUCH ME?!!!” Then another voice would reply “Well, idiot, maybe it’s because you are too co-dependent to be honest with him and break off a relationship that you clearly have no interest in.” oh. yeah.

He is married now and I’m sure could care less but I’ve occasionally wondered if I should send an apology card. “Roses are red, Violets are blue, I should’ve dumped you the first time the sound of your breathing made me shudder with waves of nausea but I didn’t because I was an idiot. Sorry ‘bout that.” Nah. But for the record, I do admit that I was wrong. Now, where was I?

Oh that’s right, graduating summa cum laude from the YBFISD. I dragged things out for several more weeks all the while finding ways to avoid goodnight kisses at the end of dates and being aloof but friendly when we were together. It was during this time that I was portraying Rapunzel in our school’s performance of “Into the Woods.” And it was during this time that a girlfriend and fellow pseudo-thespian enlisted my help to express her feelings toward a certain guy, we’ll call him Johnny, in hopes that he would pursue a relationship with her. It’s a tricky situation when you are spending more time with a guy than your friend who is madly in love with him. And even though I truly did campaign on her behalf, he just wasn’t interested…in her.

About a week into summer vacation I got a phone call from Johnny asking if we could “hang out” sometime. Yes, technically I was still with Mitch but I saw no harm since Johnny and I were just friends. So, one Friday night, Johnny came to my house and we hung out in my driveway until well after 3 am. Oh, put your eyebrow down –nothing happened. We just talked. But it did start my wheels a-turnin’. What if? Being a complete yellow-bellied chicken had kept me from ending things once and for all with Mitch, but maybe, just maybe, I’d found a new motivation.

The next week, Mitch and I grabbed some lunch (we worked together at a business owned by his father), went back to his house to eat, and that’s when I broke the news. Broke like a piece of glass being dropped off a ten story building. A deafening shatter. It was ugly. He was hurt. In fact, he left me sitting there at the table and his mom had to drive me back to work. If she hated me for what I had just done, she never showed it. She was very understanding. Still, it was the longest three minute ride of my life.

I felt horrible and I felt relieved. The relieved part quickly and completely replaced the horrible part. That night, Johnny picked me up for a movie.