Tuesday, August 23, 2005
a memory followed by a missive
Back in high school, I had a penchant for the boys who went against the grain. (read: messed up, brooding, anti-authority potheads who could only express emotions if it had to do with him, himself, his life, his anger, his, he, him, himself or Jim Morrison.) I was the only one who understood him, you see.
After a brief tryst (brief tryst = one makeout session in his car which, of course to my 16 year-old mind, means the beginning of a beautiful and lasting commitment based on values such as trust, communication and openness) Prince Morrison never bothered to speak to me again. Even though we hung out in the same crowd of friends every day.
Awkward. Feeling cheap. Also stupid. Blaming self.
Over the summer immediately after this little experience, I saw him at a party. And with uncharacteristic-like assertion, I made my way over to him to ask a very important question.
Me: (after a brief amount of “hi, how are you” banter) You know, you could’ve been a little more honest with me.
Him: About what?
Me: Well…about your intentions.
Him: (half a smirk) I never had any intentions.
WOW. I could actually taste the adrenaline in my mouth after that. My whole body went numb with humiliation. Do you believe this guy? (well, maybe you do cuz you’ve met a few just like him.)
What I still wonder to this day is where I got the idea that these guys were actually the ones to be paying attention to. What is it? I mean yeah, he was a great kisser, but wasI really that easily won? Hi, I'm Mary. You don’t have to be nice to me, you just have to have to treat me bad and then I’ll devote months of wasted energy crushing on you.
I think of all the truly great ones - - those guy friends I could trust, who actually graduated from high school, some with honors. They were funny, they were smart, they were uncomplicated, and on top of it all, they were decent. They were kind, they were thoughtful. So where was I?!
To the Good Guy I May Have Missed Out On, or May Yet Fall in Love With:
I am so sorry that I was such an idiot. I’m sorry I didn’t see you standing there the whole time. I was such a fool.
You knew what was up, what was real. I didn’t. I made a mess. I traded a good heart for a lead-singing emotional vacuum with great hair and a cruel smirk. And about 3 or 4 more like him followed after.
The worst bit of it is that even though I’m better now, and I’ve wised up some, you’re still going to have to deal with the baggage I’m lugging around. And none of it is your doing. But believe me, love, I’m whittling it down as much as I can before you get here. My goal is to reduce it to the carry-on: an adequate burden, but more lightweight and equipped with a trusty handle for greater manageability. I’m working on it.
No matter what you think, good guys do finish first. But they’re usually the last to be recognized for it. And I will always know you’re Numero Uno in the real record book. You’ll always be my personal Number One.
Love, Your Once-Lost-Now-Good Girl
Hey, maybe I could make them for you and you could make them for me?
We should have a contest. Who was the biggest boy idiot? Was it "g"? Was it Hobo? Or the famous Miss Hass? You be the judge...tonight on BloggerLand.
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