Memoirs of an Insane Freshman Girl

Chapter 11: The "Official" Relationship

Chapter 11: The “Official” Relationship

         As much as it pains me to write this—and trust me, it does—I have to because if I don’t, then I’ll forget, and that’s something that I’m afraid of.  I don’t have many fears—okay, that’s definitely a lie because I am scared of lots of things—but the ones I do have are pretty severe.  Heights really freak me out.  Even just riding a horse—that one time in my lifetime—terrified me because I felt like I was so high up.  When we went to Camp Lakewood for a sixth grade field trip, we climbed up the side of this wall and then had to walk across this log over a road that was really high up off the ground.  Apparently, the look on my face was paralyzed because one of my teachers told me later that I had look absolutely panic-stricken.  I’m only decently frightened of spiders and other insects.  They are more annoying to me than scary.  If this makes any sense, it depends on the situation.  If a spider is crawling in my bed, I’ll freak out and run away screaming, but if it’s just crawling up the side of a wall outside, it’s really no big deal to me.  While I’m still on the subject of fears, I must convert back to my original topic of being scared of forgetting.  I feel like I’ve already forgotten so much of my childhood, and I don’t want to lose anything else that I’ll probably want to look back on and remember in the years to come.  I’ve already forgotten parts of eighth grade year and even freshmen year.  Still speaking of fears, I was both equally terrified and excited about having a boyfriend.           

More specifically, I was more accurately described as being in an ecstatic shock.  I still couldn’t believe that this guy liked me.  I was so psyched that it wasn’t just some random guy who liked me who I knew nothing about, but it was the guy that I liked and had liked for many months before as I pined for him, staring across the classroom in an attempt to catch his eye for an ever sparks-flying chemistry moment.  At this point in time in January, Chris and I were in what I had deemed full-on flirt mode.  In fact, we were acting like a couple almost more than when we were “officially” going out.  In fact, our flirting was so common and expected that it was almost scripted.  I was still getting to know him by asking him endless questions—most seemingly trivial and meaningless but some substantial.  One thing I never really understood about Chris was that he never really talked about himself.  I know that was supposed to make me a happy girlfriend that he was so selfless that he didn’t want to sit there all day talking about how great he was, but I didn’t exactly want him to be completely silent.  He never even talked about his family until I asked him.  He never seemed to really want to talk to me about important stuff.  I was going to say that he never really seemed to want to talk to me, but then I remembered the nights he begged me not to go to sleep because he still wanted to talk to me.
         
The thing is that Chris really was a good guy—mostly anyway.  He was a pretty devout Christian, always trying to help people do the right thing and follow the right path.  That’s not a bad thing, but a really thing in my book; I really respected him for everything he did to try to help people.  In the end, though, that’s what came between us:  his need to make me a better person.  That was actually one of the qualities that attracted me to him in the first place:  his love for making people laugh and enjoy themselves.  He was a funny guy by nature, but he always exploited his talents to the best of his abilities.  Most of the time, his idiocy and stupidity led to people laughing more than his hilarity, but he was mostly okay with that as long as he was making people happy.  That was the problem with Chris.  He was always trying to make other people happy but never really stopped to think about if he was really happy, but I’m getting ahead of myself. 
         
Even though it’s really embarrassing to admit, as of this time, I had never kissed a guy before.  That’s another thing I was scared of.  What if I did it wrong?  Of course, I couldn’t know what to expect, but I did know one thing for sure.  I really, really wanted to kiss Chris.  In fact, Chris and I had actually talked about it on more than one occasion before it finally happened.  No, we weren’t officially going out when we had our first kiss, but personally, it didn’t even bother me because I just liked him so much that it didn’t matter to me.  After a week or two, it did kind of start to perturb me that we weren’t going out when we so obviously liked each other, talked 24/7, and kissed for Christ’s sake!  Why wouldn’t he just ask me out?  Although, I must say, it was just a little embarrassing for my best friends to yell across the classroom we were eating lunch in that Chris should just ask me out already.  I’m not really the kind of girl that blushes, but I knew without looking in a mirror that redness was creeping its way across my cheeks.  Speaking of blushing, there is only one time I have ever seen Chris blush, and it was all because of Carla.  Carla and I were talking about Chris at lunch one day before Chris and I were going out—this was not unusual as Carla was well-informed of my unwavering obsession with him and my constant monologues describing every last detail of him and me—and I was joking around that I should ask Chris how many kids he and I were going to have.  Carla immediately pounced on the opportunity and deemed that she was going to ask Chris how many kids we were going to have when we got married.  It was a little embarrassing, but I didn’t really care because I don’t get easily embarrassed.  Carla sat behind Chris in Lit/Comp; so, when we got back from our split lunch, I watched across the room as Carla said something to Chris—inevitably, the how many kids question—and Chris just started blushing and didn’t say anything.  I must note here that at this point in time, I sat a ways away from Chris, but I still had a pretty good angle for staring across the room at his strange gold eyes. 
         
Even more embarrassingly enough to admit, Chris and I actually talked about the kids we were going to have, where we would go on our honeymoon, and where we would live.  (Four to five—his desires, not mine—Hawaii/Mexico, and Florida.) The hell with him if he thought I was going to be pregnant and go into labor five times!  Just to clear up any confusion, I’m not sure I even want kids at all.  I’ve never really been good with kids like my sister, Megan, and I don’t really have an interest in self-inflicted pain and torture.  But maybe one day when I’m feeling a little too happy with my life and a need a dose of misery, I’ll just go get pregnant and pop out a few kids.  Okay, I know that sounds completely, utterly pessimistic, but of course, if you haven’t gathered as much that that is my personality than there is no hope left for you.  Pessimism and sarcasm are the two stones on which my life is built.  I honestly don’t know what I would do without them.  They are so much a part of my life that I don’t think there would be anything left of me if you stripped them of me. 
         
Now more than ever, I was anxious for Chris to ask me out because I knew for a fact that he liked me, and I just wanted it to be official.  I don’t really know why I wanted this so much because it wasn’t that big of a deal.  It’s not like that many people even knew about our relationship.  We pretty much kept it on the down low which was perfectly fine with me because I really didn’t want my parents finding out.  I wasn’t really allowed to date until I was sixteen, but what they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them.  Chris and I ended up making a deal because there was something we both desperately wanted.  I wanted him to ask me out, and he wanted me to stop cursing and lying—technically that’s two things for him, I suppose.  I must add that it’s not really in my nature to use profanity on purpose.  Mostly, I’ll just run into something and mumble “shit” or something along those lines.  Either that or I’ll get pissed off at a guy and say “asshole”, but that’s pretty much it.  Apparently my somewhat-often in his presence use of profanity had irked him to his very limits that he made the deal.  If I could go two days without cursing or lying, then he would ask me out.  Now I must address the lying part of the deal.  When he said he didn’t want me to lie, he meant that he didn’t want me to be sarcastic.  Basically, I would say stuff like “I don’t even remember any of Algebra,” or “I didn’t even pay attention,” and he would decide that that wasn’t really true because I was undoubtedly acing all of my classes with flying colors.  I really didn’t consider any of those things lying, but apparently, it really bothered him when I was trying to downplay my intelligence or in his eloquent words, “act dumb”.  Chris had no idea what I had gone through my entire life regarding my academic excellence, and I was just trying to be normal and fit in for once.  Chris definitely wasn’t one to be subtle; so, we made the deal.           

It took a couple of days because I would let a curse word slip, but eventually, he did finally ask me out.  It was actually pretty inconsequential and a disappointment in comparison to all the days of dreams leading up to that moment.  Chris and I had made a regular habit of walking over the annex—the other building that included gym, Health, and French classes—together because we had 6th hour Honors Geometry together, and we both had 7th hour classes over at the annex 2nd semester.  Just to backtrack a little, it’s actually kind of funny how fate turned out that 1st semester, we both had 1st hour over at the annex.  I remember how I always watched for him as he walked over to the main building because he was usually pretty far ahead of me because our Health teacher usually let us out late.  I’ll never forget that ugly red backpack he always carried.  In fact, to this day, I can rarely look at a red backpack without remembering all those days I had searched for it, comforted just by knowing of his present whereabouts.  Also, on another side note relating to the backpack, once, when Chris wasn’t in the classroom during lunch, my girls and I looked through his backpack to see if he had anything interesting in it.  Unfortunately, we didn’t find anything interesting except a book about wrestling. 
         
Another invasion of his privacy was in his ugly orange coat.  It was actually ironic the first day he wore it because I had been thinking about how he only wore sweatshirts, and I wondered if he even had a winter coat.  Then he walked in wearing his ugly orange coat, and it was like déjà vu that I had just been thinking about that.  One day when he was again absent from the classroom during lunch for a time, I went over to his desk and put his coat on—yes, the ugly orange one.  I know that may sound very strange and bordering on slightly stalkerish-obsessed, but I guess I had already crossed that line long ago; so, I didn’t even care anymore.  Of course, my justification was just to see if it fit, but still, seeing if your crush’s coat fits you is bordering on slightly insane as well. 
         
So as we were walking together over to the annex—probably hand-in-hand, but at this time, I can’t recall if we were at the holding-hands stage yet—he uneventfully asked me out.  I’m not even going to replay his words because it was basically pathetic.  I don’t wish to offend him, but there is a way to ask a girl out—and that was definitely not it.  Of course, I overlooked his lack of communications skills because I so head-over-heels obsessed that I couldn’t even see straight or see any of his flaws because he was so perfect in my head and dreams.  That’s one of the vices of having a vivid imagination—you’re always disappointed.  I escalated Chris so much in my head that when I finally got around to talking to him and seeing him, I was disappointed that he wasn’t as great as I thought he was.  I was only comparing him to perfection.  What’s wrong with that?  I know that it was wrong, but I somehow couldn’t put that perfect picture of us out of my head that had been floating around way back when in the beginning of keyboarding class. 
         
Approximately a week after Chris horribly asked me out, he told me the news that basically broke us up.  Honestly, now that I’ve given it some thought, I realize that Chris and I would have never worked out anyway in the long run because even if not for that horrible news, we still would have broken up because of cause of us not being friends.  Yes, it’s very confusing and complicated, but that was just the foundation of Chris’s and my relationship.  As Chris and I soon discovered, neither of us were very good at being in a relationship.  Honestly, I’m not really a “relationship” person, if you know what I mean.  I’m not saying I just want guys to make out with.  I’m just saying that a relationship takes a lot of hard work and commitment, and I’m not that type of girl.  I’m more of a crushing-on-guys girl, but when a guy was crushing back on me, I didn’t really know what to do.  I’m glad that it turned out the way it did, that Chris and I didn’t rush into a relationship that neither of us was ready for, but I must say that we both sucked at being in a relationship.  We were good at being together, but being boyfriend-girlfriend was just not in either of our natures. 
         
I must note that I was a fairly possessive girlfriend, but I kept it all in my head because I didn’t want Chris to think I was this overly obsessive, clingy girlfriend that couldn’t trust him talking to members of the opposite sex.  I know Chris had also gotten jealous of guys in my life, too.  Before freshmen year, I didn’t really have any guy friends, but now I had a couple of close guy friends I could talk to about almost anything without it being weird or really any different than me just talking to one of my girlfriends—not that they were like my girlfriends, just that I knew I could really trust them.  Eddie, for instance, I only really started getting to know during second semester.  I had always known him as the gentlemanly type, always courteous to the ladies—holding the door open for them, telling them how nice they looked, etc.  When our Advanced Lit/Comp class went on a field trip to the Holocaust Museum, one thing I’ll never forget was how I thought Eddie looked really sexy in his black shirt and tie.  Since we were going to a place to be respected, we were expected to dress nicely.  I remember that Chris didn’t even dress up at all which irked me beyond all get out at the time.  I had been thinking, Why couldn’t Chris put forth the effort in looking nice like Eddie?  Of course, I had compared Chris to Eddie more times than I could count. 
         
First of all, Eddie really cared about me.  He was always making sure I was okay and helping me through stuff that was kind of confusing when I needed advice.  Only once did I ever get a concerned comment from Chris, and that was only because he was scared I wasn’t eating.  Between cross country and soccer season, I had taken up skipping lunch occasionally or eating just a Twix bar and drinking a Diet Pepsi—it must be noted that I do in no way or form like Diet Pepsi, but it’s the only diet soda the school carries, and my heart is forever taken to the rich, artificial aspartame taste of Diet Coke.  Once, I made the mistake of telling Chris how my calves were cramping up during my soccer game because I was dehydrated.  Then he got into full coach mode; I really wouldn’t call it concerned boyfriend mode—well, maybe he was a little bit of a concerned boyfriend, and it did make me feel a little better that he cared enough to extensively discuss it.  He was the reason I made sure I got properly hydrated before soccer practice and games and ate a good lunch.  I do owe him that much at least—that he helped me in some way.  The fact that Eddie would make a good boyfriend was not lost on me.  I acknowledged this and surely told Eddie this, but I never really thought much of it. 
         
I had always wondered what it would be like if Eddie and I were ever to go out, but I hadn’t really been attracted to him in that way.  We were just really good friends, but we had made a deal.  Previously, we had both been lip-virgins—we had never kissed a member of the opposite sex, not family or when we were young and didn’t know any better, etc.—and we had discussed this in great detail.  It had actually been a topic for a majority of our conversations.  We made a deal that we had to kiss each other before we graduated—of course, it was my idea, and I sometimes wonder why I did ask him to make the deal.  Mostly, I was just curious what we would be like together, and I’ll at least find out how he kisses one day.  The semi-funny part of this was that Eddie and I made this deal right before Chris asked me out.  It’s not like Eddie and I expected for us to go out because neither of us wanted it, but it’s kind of reassuring just to have something to look forward to and think about.  Maybe this deal was supposed to tell me something because not even a day after Chris and I broke up, Chris asked me if I was going to hook up with Eddie.  Honestly, the thought never really crossed my mind.  Well, okay, of course, it had a couple times, but it had mostly been a long time ago.  It never really occurred to me now that Chris and I were broken up that I would just go out with another guy.  I was definitely not expecting that question; so, I answered no and asked why.  Chris swore up and down that he knew I had always liked Eddie and because I was so close to him when I was helping him out with girl troubles just because I didn’t want him to get his heart broken.  Apparently wanting someone to be happy is equivalent to liking someone these days.