I really like writing about things from my past. In my life, I’ve found that I can go through just about anything rotten and horrible and awkward just as long as I can retell the story and get a couple of laughs out of it. I would call it my “gift” but that just sounds too Oprah of me, so I won’t.
Blogs on the subjects of my childhood or recent-ish past might not be very popular, but for some reason, I like telling these stories. Besides, it brings back good memories for my Mom who is still my number one fan. (Mom, you might not want to read this one. It might possibly bring back bad memories. Turn a blind eye, or read on. It’s your choice.)
Today, I’m going to tell you the story of my first kiss. It involves my ex-husband, who might not be so happy that I’m putting this out here, but in order for him to convey his displeasure, he’d actually have to contact me and I am fairly confident that will not happen. We’ve just done too good of a job of avoiding each other for the past 3 years to ruin it now.
When I was 19, I met a boy. A boy who was 24. I fell instantly and inexplicably in love. In fact, I’m still trying to wrap my head around that one. I’ll just chalk it up to youth. Yeah? Yeah. Let’s roll with that. I met him in June, and we would occasionally see each other at events involving our other friends. My parents met him in July and they were all “Uh oh”, but didn’t really do anything to stop it until the following December. (But that’s a whole other story.) In October, I invited him to go to a Halloween party with me and in November, he had surgery on one of his ankles. I can’t remember which ankle. It’s not that important. What IS important is that he was on crutches.
I can’t remember how or why, but we started hanging out a lot around the middle of November. Since he was on crutches, I volunteered to be his chauffer when we hung out. (I tell you what, it is paining me greatly to write these words. I have to break about every sentence and a half to bank my head on the table and yell “STUPID! STUPID! STUUUUPIDDDD!”) Our so-called “Hanging out” consisted of going over to my friend Liz’s house and hanging out with her mom and siblings.
One night, November 16, 2004 to be exact, we went over to Liz’s and my ex (let’s call him “Guy”) suggested that we go back to his house and chill. When I say “his house”, I mean his parent’s house. I was NINETEEN! I didn’t think it was weird that he still lived with his parents! I still lived with MINE! (My brother is now 24, and when I look at where he is with his life, I see why my parents had a problem with Guy’s housing situation.) Anyway, man was I stupid! I told Liz that we were leaving and that if my mom called and asked where I was, to tell her that I’d just left. Then, Liz was supposed to call me on my cell phone and tell me that my mom had called so I could hightail it home. Flawless.
After we arrived at Guy’s house, we decided to go in to watch some TV. Only he didn’t turn on the TV. He started kissing my cheek and it weirded me out so I awkwardly tried to deflect the kisses and carry on a conversation instead. I made no eye contact, I just looked around the room and studied the wood paneling and glamour shots of his sisters from 1979. I finally decided that I’d had enough and that I should be getting home. It was after 10 and my mom and dad were probably wondering where I was. He got up (after I handed him his crutches) and he walked me out to my car. After more awkward conversation, which involved me keeping my hands in the pockets of my open coat and flailing my arms about, he grabbed both sides of my coat and pulled me closer to him. I, naturally assumed that instead of just trying to steady himself, he was wanting a good night kiss. I innocently leaned in for a quick peck when I was shocked, surprised, and displeased to find that A BOY’S TONGUE HAD ENTERED MY MOUTH! (You see where this is going, don’t you?) I quickly stepped back, alarmed and outraged, and as I did so, I knocked him off balance and onto his recently surgeried foot. Did I mention it was icy outside? It was icy outside.
As he stood there trying to muffle his cries of agony and suppress all of the curse words he knew but wasn’t supposed to utter around such an innocent girl, I did the only thing I could think of.
“Um…. I better get home. My Mom’s probably worried.”
I ran to my car, got in, and drove home as fast as I possibly could, yelling at myself the whole way home. “How could you be so stupid?!?!? You’re such a dork! He’s never going to call you again!!” while thoughts such as “Can I fake my own death?" and "Is immigrating to Canada a viable option?” ran through my dumb head.
I went to bed, but couldn’t sleep. I was a crabby person to live with the next few days and every time my mom, dad, or brother would ask me what was wrong, I would snap back with “NOTHING.” or “I HAVE A HEADACHE.” (Yeah. A headache named “Guy”…) I couldn’t tell anyone! I didn’t even tell my best friend! I ignored his calls for days until finally he called one night when I was at Olivia’s house watching a movie. Surely if I answered, I could just pull off the giggly girl defense, play as if nothing happened, and he would leave me alone for the rest of my life, right?
“Have you been avoiding me?” he asked.
“(To Guy) No! (to Olivia)*BAHAHAHA!* (to Guy) Why would I avoid you? (to Olivia) *HAHAAH!* THAT’S MY FAVORITE PART! ANTHONY ANDREWS IS SO CUTE AND FUNNY! I WISH HE WOULD MARRY ME! (to Guy) Sorry. Why would I be avoiding you?” I replied.
“Because you haven’t been answering my calls.” he pressed.
“(To Guy) Oh! (To Olivia) *BAHAHAHAH!!!* (to Guy) I’m sorry. I’ve just been really busy.” I responded.
The conversation continued like that and he got me to agree to hang out later that week. I knew I should just tell him to go away, but once again I was afraid of being lame. Being upfront would be way more lame than biting your tongue and ending up married and then divorced because you were too chicken to just tell someone go to stick their tongue down someone else’s throat, right?
*Head hits desk.*