During the breakup, school was an especially difficult endeavor. It seemed like Tim was everywhere, laughing and cutting up with his friends while I felt like I could barely move from one room to another. My English Literature class was just down the hall from one of Tim’s classes. It had been a place where we would meet and exchange quick notes before dashing off to beat the bell.
You can imagine how surprised I was to look up one morning and find him standing beside my desk. “What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Force of habit, I suppose.”
Force of habit?! Are you kidding me? You ripped my heart out of my chest and now you have the nerve to stand here like nothing’s changed. Was it not enough for you to kill me once!?! “Oh.” I said distantly.
“Well, I guess I should get to class.”
I nodded. He left and I laid my head on my desk and cried.
The following weekend our school’s drama club was doing a performance of “Crimes of the Heart.” I went with my best friend, Dionka, and Tim was there, sitting with another girl. Lots of people speculated as to whether or not they were on a date but no one could confirm it. I tried hard to act like I didn’t care. I cared deeply.
After the play, we milled about congratulating the cast and visiting with friends. The prom was a mere week away and the whole place was abuzz with news of who was taking who. Somewhere in the mix, my best friend caught wind that Tim had chosen a date. We got in my mom’s car to leave and she broke the news to me.
“He’s going with somebody named Stephanie from another school.” She reported.
“WHAT?!”
Okay, we both had ex’s but this was the ex. The one he had dated for nearly two years; the one who was petite and bubbly and that his parents adored because she was just so entertaining. Her nickname was “Funny” for crying out loud. And she was everything that I was not in high school.
“Why her? Of all the girls on the planet he could’ve picked; why did he have to choose her?” I fumed as I put the car in reverse. I was so angry, so hurt, and so completely distraught until an unexpected thud and sudden jerking motion silenced me. I looked at Dionka. Slowly we both turned and looked out the back windshield. I had backed into a car parked a few spaces up. Not just any car. The Mac Daddy of all cars. Ca-di-llac. Ugh.
I kept my sensibilities long enough to pull right back into the space we had just vacated. I put the car in park and then crumbled into a heap of hysteria. Dionka ushered me out of the car and back into the Performing Arts Center where we searched frantically for our chorus teacher. She explained to him what had happened and he held me while I sobbed. Once I had regained some manner of control, he led me by the hand out to the cars and inspected both bumpers. Thanks to the providence of God and possibly the fact that it was 10 pm in a dimly lit parking lot; it appeared that neither car was damaged.
He turned the keys over to Dionka and instructed her to get us out of there and get me home for the night. Neither of us knew until after the fact that she did not yet have her license. I made it home safely that night; still stinging from the rejection by Tim and the humiliation of the accident, but safely home.
To the owner of the Cadillac that was parked in a PAC lot in Georgia sometime in May of 1991 –I’m very sorry…but it was really all Tim’s fault.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Salt in the Wound
Johnny and I headed out that evening for a “Tim who?” night or so I thought. Our first stop was the movie theatre –two tickets to “Sleeping with the Enemy.” So far, so good. I was actually enjoying myself and things were going fine until Julia Roberts just had to move in next to a drama teacher dancing around his backyard whistling songs from West Side Story. Mine and Tim’s West Side Story. Johnny looked at me and grimaced as the tears began to well up in my eyes. I’m certain I was the only one in the crowd crying when Julia shot her demented husband.
We left the theatre and in hopes of redeeming the night, Johnny suggested we drop by the video store and rent a nice comedy. We made our selection and moved to the counter to check out where who should be working? None other than Tim’s best friend (and eventual best man in our wedding) Mike, of course. “You’re on a date! Whoa, you bounced back fast. Wait ‘til I tell Tim.” He chimed. With a new puddle of tears clouding my eyes, I ran out the door and waited at Johnny’s truck. He stayed behind and tried to clarify that we were not on a date and I had not bounced back; tearfully fleeing the store was Exhibit A to the contrary.
Well, the night was going swimmingly if you didn’t count the mascara now pooling under my eyes and the streak marks down my earlier press-powdered face. Johnny was beside himself with guilt for adding to my torment. I thought it best if he took me home but he would not give up that easily.
“Please, let me just take you one more place and if you don’t feel any better, I’ll take you home and you’ll never hear from me again.”
I relented and after a short drive we pulled up in the parking lot of E.W. Oliver Elementary School. What in heavens name are we doing here? I wondered as I followed him to the back of the school and out onto the playground.
“You’re probably wondering what in the world we are doing here?” he said. Obviously. “Well, do you see those monkey bars over there?”
I nodded. By this time it was dark and starting to mist but Johnny was undeterred.
“When I was in elementary school, there was a girl named Betty Lou Henson* who used to hang upside down from those monkey bars. She was the prettiest girl in the school and I wanted more than anything for her to notice me.”
I was wet and chilled but intrigued. He continued.
“I decided that the only way to impress her was to hang upside down just like she did. So, one day I climbed to the top of the monkey bars, got into position, and lowered myself down. I yelled, ‘Hey, Betty Lou, look at me!’ And do you know what happened next?”
I ventured a sarcastic guess, “She fell madly in love with you.”
“No!” he replied emphatically. “I lost my grip and fell to the ground. I landed square on my face and my nose started pouring blood all over my shirt. Betty Lou took one look at me, pointed her finger and laughed hysterically before running away with her friends.” He paused momentarily for effect. “And do you know what the point of this story is?”
I shot him a look that was something of a mix between confusion and amusement while shrugging my now very damp shoulders.
“The point is this. Sometimes you fall off the monkey bars and bust your nose and it bleeds all over the place. And it hurts for a while but sooner or later you’ve got to climb back up on those bars and try again.” I couldn’t help but smile at the insanity of it all. “Now I better get you out of this rain before I top the night off by giving you pneumonia.”
The evening ended as Johnny serenaded me in my front yard with the theme from Love Boat. At that point, I could’ve said the heck with Tim Sexton. Here stood a guy who was willing to make a complete and utter fool of himself just for me. And I had little doubt that, given the right indicators, he would have grabbed me up and smothered me in another deep though somewhat less than satisfying kiss. But my heart. My heart was still pining away for the guy who didn’t seem to want me.
We left the theatre and in hopes of redeeming the night, Johnny suggested we drop by the video store and rent a nice comedy. We made our selection and moved to the counter to check out where who should be working? None other than Tim’s best friend (and eventual best man in our wedding) Mike, of course. “You’re on a date! Whoa, you bounced back fast. Wait ‘til I tell Tim.” He chimed. With a new puddle of tears clouding my eyes, I ran out the door and waited at Johnny’s truck. He stayed behind and tried to clarify that we were not on a date and I had not bounced back; tearfully fleeing the store was Exhibit A to the contrary.
Well, the night was going swimmingly if you didn’t count the mascara now pooling under my eyes and the streak marks down my earlier press-powdered face. Johnny was beside himself with guilt for adding to my torment. I thought it best if he took me home but he would not give up that easily.
“Please, let me just take you one more place and if you don’t feel any better, I’ll take you home and you’ll never hear from me again.”
I relented and after a short drive we pulled up in the parking lot of E.W. Oliver Elementary School. What in heavens name are we doing here? I wondered as I followed him to the back of the school and out onto the playground.
“You’re probably wondering what in the world we are doing here?” he said. Obviously. “Well, do you see those monkey bars over there?”
I nodded. By this time it was dark and starting to mist but Johnny was undeterred.
“When I was in elementary school, there was a girl named Betty Lou Henson* who used to hang upside down from those monkey bars. She was the prettiest girl in the school and I wanted more than anything for her to notice me.”
I was wet and chilled but intrigued. He continued.
“I decided that the only way to impress her was to hang upside down just like she did. So, one day I climbed to the top of the monkey bars, got into position, and lowered myself down. I yelled, ‘Hey, Betty Lou, look at me!’ And do you know what happened next?”
I ventured a sarcastic guess, “She fell madly in love with you.”
“No!” he replied emphatically. “I lost my grip and fell to the ground. I landed square on my face and my nose started pouring blood all over my shirt. Betty Lou took one look at me, pointed her finger and laughed hysterically before running away with her friends.” He paused momentarily for effect. “And do you know what the point of this story is?”
I shot him a look that was something of a mix between confusion and amusement while shrugging my now very damp shoulders.
“The point is this. Sometimes you fall off the monkey bars and bust your nose and it bleeds all over the place. And it hurts for a while but sooner or later you’ve got to climb back up on those bars and try again.” I couldn’t help but smile at the insanity of it all. “Now I better get you out of this rain before I top the night off by giving you pneumonia.”
The evening ended as Johnny serenaded me in my front yard with the theme from Love Boat. At that point, I could’ve said the heck with Tim Sexton. Here stood a guy who was willing to make a complete and utter fool of himself just for me. And I had little doubt that, given the right indicators, he would have grabbed me up and smothered me in another deep though somewhat less than satisfying kiss. But my heart. My heart was still pining away for the guy who didn’t seem to want me.
Monday, August 4, 2008
More Than Words
Having gone on a real first date we would normally come to the part of our story where I face, yet again, that crucible of relationships: the kiss. But much to Tim’s chagrin, that wasn’t happening. As you now know, my past experiences (read: disappointments) were almost enough to keep me from any future attempts at titillating tongue wrestling; but there was an even greater force behind my reservations than just past failures.
There was no question that I was completely in love with Tim. I envisioned us holding hands, hugging, and kissing, all those things that couples were supposed to do; but when we were together –screeeeeech –it was like a mental slamming of the brakes. No matter how much I wanted to grab that boy and lay one on him, I couldn’t do it.
In the year and a few months prior to meeting the man of my dreams, my ideology of love and relationships had taken some hefty blows. First, was the devastation brought on by learning that the couple I admired most in the world had fallen prey to the web of adultery. This was followed shortly by news that someone very close to me had become pregnant and decided to abort her unborn child. My wonderfully naïve ideals about sex and intimacy were suddenly challenged by reality in a fallen world. I became fearfully convinced that physical affection of any kind between the opposite sexes was a slippery slope doomed to end in a puddle of immorality and heartache.
So, for four months Tim endured a girlfriend who showered him with love letters, words of affirmation, and romantic prose all the while keeping him at arm’s length. Poor sweet boy.
Oh, wait, did I say endured? What I meant was…dumped. Dumped twice to be exact. Come on, I admit my part in over correcting based on other people’s actions but I’m not letting him off the hook that easy. The boy actually bought and played for me the cassette single of the song “More Than Words” by Extreme. If you aren’t familiar with it, let’s just say it’s the melodically veiled, 80’s rock ballad version of “put out or get out.”
(I must interject here and say that this is why Tim was reluctant about my writing of this story. “You’re going to make me look like a jerk.” “Oh honey” I assured him, “I’m not going to make you look like anything. We’ll just let history speak for itself.” ;-))
Our first break up lasted only a week. The second lasted almost a month and came out of nowhere. It was a Sunday, Tim’s senior prom was about a month off, and we’d traveled with his family to visit his Granny in North Georgia. Unbeknownst to me, Tim had decided that this trip would be the ultimate test of our relationship. Either he was going to get open affection from me or I was going to get kicked to the curb. I thought it had been a pleasant trip. At least as pleasant as being an outsider to a family gathering can be.
He drove me home later that night and we went inside to chat with my parents for a few minutes. My dad, ever the kidder, jabbed at Tim by saying, “Man, I wish you would break up with her before the prom so I don’t have to buy some expensive dress.” Ha. Ha. Chuckles all around. I walked him out to the front porch and he proceeded to dump me. I couldn’t believe it and my dad was even more dumbfounded. “What’s wrong with that boy? I was just joking!”
I was destroyed. I hardly ate. And I slept a lot because it was the only time I didn’t feel like I’d been punched in the stomach. I still believed we were meant to be together, I just couldn’t understand why God hadn’t let Tim in on the picture yet. Friends tried to perk me up but I couldn’t seem to shake the blues. I remember having a friend, Jeff, over to watch a movie. I slept through most of it and when I walked him out later that night he said, “You were smiling in your sleep. It’s the first time you’ve smiled in days.” Yep, it was that bad.
Then one afternoon I got a call with a familiar voice on the other end. It was Johnny. He’d heard about the break up and wanted to take me out. No strings attached. Just a fun night with a friend to take my mind off of Tim. He definitely had his work cut out for him.
There was no question that I was completely in love with Tim. I envisioned us holding hands, hugging, and kissing, all those things that couples were supposed to do; but when we were together –screeeeeech –it was like a mental slamming of the brakes. No matter how much I wanted to grab that boy and lay one on him, I couldn’t do it.
In the year and a few months prior to meeting the man of my dreams, my ideology of love and relationships had taken some hefty blows. First, was the devastation brought on by learning that the couple I admired most in the world had fallen prey to the web of adultery. This was followed shortly by news that someone very close to me had become pregnant and decided to abort her unborn child. My wonderfully naïve ideals about sex and intimacy were suddenly challenged by reality in a fallen world. I became fearfully convinced that physical affection of any kind between the opposite sexes was a slippery slope doomed to end in a puddle of immorality and heartache.
So, for four months Tim endured a girlfriend who showered him with love letters, words of affirmation, and romantic prose all the while keeping him at arm’s length. Poor sweet boy.
Oh, wait, did I say endured? What I meant was…dumped. Dumped twice to be exact. Come on, I admit my part in over correcting based on other people’s actions but I’m not letting him off the hook that easy. The boy actually bought and played for me the cassette single of the song “More Than Words” by Extreme. If you aren’t familiar with it, let’s just say it’s the melodically veiled, 80’s rock ballad version of “put out or get out.”
(I must interject here and say that this is why Tim was reluctant about my writing of this story. “You’re going to make me look like a jerk.” “Oh honey” I assured him, “I’m not going to make you look like anything. We’ll just let history speak for itself.” ;-))
Our first break up lasted only a week. The second lasted almost a month and came out of nowhere. It was a Sunday, Tim’s senior prom was about a month off, and we’d traveled with his family to visit his Granny in North Georgia. Unbeknownst to me, Tim had decided that this trip would be the ultimate test of our relationship. Either he was going to get open affection from me or I was going to get kicked to the curb. I thought it had been a pleasant trip. At least as pleasant as being an outsider to a family gathering can be.
He drove me home later that night and we went inside to chat with my parents for a few minutes. My dad, ever the kidder, jabbed at Tim by saying, “Man, I wish you would break up with her before the prom so I don’t have to buy some expensive dress.” Ha. Ha. Chuckles all around. I walked him out to the front porch and he proceeded to dump me. I couldn’t believe it and my dad was even more dumbfounded. “What’s wrong with that boy? I was just joking!”
I was destroyed. I hardly ate. And I slept a lot because it was the only time I didn’t feel like I’d been punched in the stomach. I still believed we were meant to be together, I just couldn’t understand why God hadn’t let Tim in on the picture yet. Friends tried to perk me up but I couldn’t seem to shake the blues. I remember having a friend, Jeff, over to watch a movie. I slept through most of it and when I walked him out later that night he said, “You were smiling in your sleep. It’s the first time you’ve smiled in days.” Yep, it was that bad.
Then one afternoon I got a call with a familiar voice on the other end. It was Johnny. He’d heard about the break up and wanted to take me out. No strings attached. Just a fun night with a friend to take my mind off of Tim. He definitely had his work cut out for him.
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